Finally, I had to draw our conversation to a close. I received hugs from all the children as I was leaving and entered the limo with a happy glow I’d been missing earlier. I sighed with contentment as the limo whisked me back to the White House to get ready for dinner with my father and the governors.
CHAPTER THREE
The dining room looked beautiful, dinner preparations were almost complete, and I went to my suite to change into an evening dress. Louisa had laid out the blue chiffon gown we’d agreed upon earlier. It really wasn’t so bad, I told myself. The soft chiffon layers floating dreamily from a demurely square neckline and tiny cap sleeves were a little out of style, but still pretty.
I pulled on the dress and inspected my reflection in the mirror. The fit was a bit unflattering, as the layers of fluttering fabric skimmed over my slightly ample bustline and hips but didn’t nip in at the waist to show that my figure was actually a tight hourglass rather than a stocky box. Hours of working out in the gym with my father as we discussed politics and upcoming events ensured that I was in great shape; it was a little annoying that the dress made me look like I’d never seen the inside of an exercise room.
However, I loved the way the subtle sparkle in the navy fabric took the color from somber to sophisticated. And the boxy style of the dress meant that the fit was loose enough to allow easy movement, so that was a plus.
Of course, it didn’t have any pockets. Evening attire never did. Why didn’t designers ever consider that you might want to carry something with you? I could put my tablet in an evening bag, but it seemed a little ridiculous to carry a bag when I wasn’t even leaving the house. I could leave the tablet in my room, but what if I needed to quickly contact one of the staff this evening? Even worse, what if the governors were incredibly boring and I needed to subtly exchange texts with my friends to entertain myself?
After a moment’s thought, I tucked the tablet into my cleavage. It was only a palm-size unit, so it was nicely concealed and conveniently located. I patted my chest with a little grin, grateful for my curvy build that provided this built-in hiding spot.
I stepped into the sky-high heels that matched my dress. The stilettos didn’t exactly fit into my requirements for easy movement, but at barely five feet tall, I added every inch possible to offset my woeful lack of height. I was willing to sacrifice a little freedom of movement in exchange for a bit of added height and confidence. Luckily, my years of practice meant that I could walk in heels easily and could even run a little, if necessary. Beyond that, I could always kick them off to get them out of my way.
With a final check to be sure that I looked mature and responsible enough to join the leaders of the nation for an evening, I headed downstairs to play hostess.
I went to the library, where my father and the governors would be arriving shortly. This room was ready also, but a few books out of place on the shelves against the wall caught my eye. I walked over to straighten the books and also checked to be sure the door to the hidden safe-room behind the shelves was securely latched. I was fairly certain my father and I were the only White House residents who knew of the existence of the little rooms hidden throughout the White House, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.
Ever since my mother was killed in one of the final battles of the war, my father had become obsessively security-conscious. Mother had been a civilian casualty who had nowhere to run when an attacking force invaded the compound where we lived. I was not even a year old and survived only because my mother had hidden me beneath a bed and protected my location with her very life.
Added to that, my father had been a Marine back when the armed forces had been divided into separate groups of Army, Navy, Marines, etc., instead of being combined into the Military Corps. He had joined the Marines in 2211 when the military still used human soldiers rather than the robotic mechanical soldiers that now made up most of the armed forces. Since he’d joined the military only months before the outbreak of the 3rd World War, he had spent much of his life as a soldier. He’d never lost the strategic, security-conscious mindset of a fighter, even when he’d become a commander instead of a boots-on-the-ground soldier.
As a result of all this, my father was especially focused on ensuring my safety. So he had secretly brought in contractors from far away to have these little cubbyholes installed in each of the major rooms of the New White House. I had been trained from a young age to bolt to the nearest hidden compartment on his signal, Code Red.
The books were straightened and the secret door securely closed, so I moved to the piano in the far corner. I began playing the calm, classical pieces I knew my father preferred as background music. When the door opened and my father and the governors entered the room, my fingers didn’t falter for a moment. I had done this so often that I could play from sheer muscle memory and leave my mind free to listen discreetly to the conversations behind me.
I could hear my father offering his apologies that Vice-President Rodriguez would not be joining us for dinner due to another commitment, and I was disappointed to learn that Cruz Rodriguez would not be at dinner. I’d known him for my entire life and most often referred to him as Uncle Cruz. He and my mother had grown up together; their families had even assumed that the two would marry eventually. But Angela Mercado had married my father instead, and Cruz had become a trusted family friend and political ally.
He was sly and funny and helped make boring diplomatic dinners more enjoyable with his subtle jokes and whispered commentary on the other guests. I always had a hard time stifling my laughter once he started offering red-carpet-style critiques of the outrageous fashions our guests often wore. This evening would feel much longer without his company.
“That’s a shame,” Governor Ruiz responded. “I was looking forward to telling Cruz about the antique handgun I recently acquired. It’s very similar to one in his collection.”
“Perhaps there will be time tomorrow afternoon,” my father suggested. “I know Cruz always welcomes a chance to talk about his hobby.”
My Uncle Cruz collected antique weaponry and loved to talk about it. I had been a captive audience many times as he told me about the many swords and guns he kept in the secured storage and display area in his suite. I couldn’t even count the number of times he’d coaxed me to come upstairs and see his latest acquisition. I indulged my uncle often enough that I knew quite a bit about the old weapons he treasured. In fact, I was probably one of only a few people my age who had even seen a gun. Guns hadn’t been used in many years, and most young people had only seen pictures of them in textbooks. Instead, the military had developed long-range and short-range stunners which used a burst of targeted electricity to incapacitate someone in seconds and were much more accurate than the old guns.
It sounded as if the conversation behind me was wrapping up. I was about to bring the music to a close and announce dinner when I heard a strange sound. It was a low, continuous rumble, like thunder, but not quite. My fingers faltered on the keys when I glanced out the window to see a blue, cloudless sky.
What WAS that sound? It was growing louder.
And then I could hear that the continual rumble was actually made up of many, many individual bursts of sound. There were sounds of breaking glass. And people began to shout and scream, while that rumbling noise just grew louder and louder.
I stopped playing and looked at my father. He met my eyes calmly and only said: “Code Red. Now.”
He turned to the governors and told them, “Come this way quickly, gentlemen. We’ll move to a secure area until we know what’s happening.”
Years of drills helped me to react immediately to my father’s command, and I sprinted for the far wall of the library as my father and the governors moved in the opposite direction. The governors were distracted by the sudden relocation, so my father was the only one who saw me press one very particular section of the elaborate carvings on the library shelves.
A small section of the shelving swung smoothly outward, leaving just
enough room for a single person to slide into the gap and pull the hidden door closed again. I was completely concealed from view, but tiny peepholes allowed me to see a little of what was happening in the room.
Each hidden safe-room was tiny – holding nothing more than a backpack with a small stash of food and water and a first-aid kit. There was room for only one person. My father had sent me here rather than taking the hiding spot for himself so that he could be sure I was safe while he led the governors to a larger safe area. There were so many hidden passages in this building that they would be able to simply disappear and come back for me when the coast was clear.
But there was no time. The library door burst open and people in black and gray fatigues poured into the room. Each person carried a long, box-like thing with a narrow tube protruding from the far end. It took me a moment, but I finally recognized them as machine guns like the ones I’d seen in my Uncle Cruz’s collection. I realized that these guns must have been the source of the incredible noise in the halls outside the library.
All this went through my mind in seconds as the gunmen continued to force their way into the library. And then they began to fire. The sound was like a hammer blow, forcing me to my knees. I cried out, but luckily no one could hear me over the incredible volume of the gunshots. I crawled closer to the wall and found a peephole. It allowed me to see only glimpses of the events, but it was enough to let me see my father and the three governors fall to the ground under the hail of bullets.
I shoved my hands against my mouth to hold back my screams. If the gunmen heard me they would only need to begin firing into the shelves. The small safe-room was reinforced to block the stream of a stunner, but I had no idea how well it would stand up to the deadly bits of metal flying through the air. Shaking, I stayed as still and as silent as I could, praying that the attackers would leave so I could go to my father.
When Uncle Cruz walked into the room I wanted to scream out a warning. I couldn’t let these people take the only family I had left. But I was so frightened I could only gasp for breath. And then I lost my breath for another reason because, in spite of my fears, the gunmen didn’t fire at him. Instead, a man at the front of the group stepped forward and saluted.
“Sir! Targets neutralized.”
“Where is the girl?” Cruz asked. “Poppy Walker should have been here as well.”
“Sir, there was no one else in the room when we arrived.”
“Dammit,” he said with a small frown. “Ah well, we’ll track her down soon enough. It’s a big building but not big enough to hide very long. I can’t have her running around loose. I want the entire First Family taken care of.”
I crumpled into myself on the floor of my hidey-hole, stunned. Uncle Cruz was a part of this horror? How could that be? I loved him. And he loved me – didn’t he?
And yet he had apparently given the order to find and “neutralize” my father. And he wanted me out of the way too.
CHAPTER FOUR
I don’t know how long I huddled there, waiting for a chance to make my escape. It felt like hours … days. Cruz – I refused to refer to him as ‘uncle’ ever again – had set up a command post of sorts in the library. He carelessly gestured at the bodies lying on the library floor and told his men: “Get these out of here.” It was obvious from his annoyed expression that the dead meant nothing to him. They were just trash to be removed.
Several men followed his orders and dragged the bodies of the President and governors from the room. I was so numb from shock at this point that I couldn’t even cry again when they took my father’s body away.
Cruz settled himself in one of the wingback chairs and worked intently at his tablet, reading through information and adding notes and sending emails from the looks of it. I had to force myself to stay in place instead of bursting into the room and attacking Cruz for his role in the horror I had just witnessed. Only the memory of my father’s instructions should I ever find myself in a situation like this kept me still.
Stay hidden. Be silent. Gather information. Thinking of those instructions, I decided it was time to do something with the information I had. Sliding the tablet from my cleavage, I activated my message program and began texting my best friend Letty. Her father was an investigative reporter with the biggest news-holo program on screen. If he couldn’t do something with this information, no one could.
Typing swiftly and silently, I sent an initial text instructing Letty to get her father immediately and not to read these messages unless they were completely alone. A second message warned them that if anyone knew they had these emails they would be in terrible danger. I worried that Letty’s father would think I was just being overly dramatic but knew that as soon as he read the next message, he would know that I was deathly serious. I then sent a series of follow-up messages that outlined the events of the evening and named Cruz as the man in charge.
I had just finished up my last message when the door opened and another group of people in gray fatigues entered the room. Like the last group of soldiers to come into the library, these people carried machine guns. But their guns were casually slung over shoulders or hanging from holsters rather than ready to fire.
It became apparent that these were leaders of various groups of soldiers as each stepped up one by one to report on his assignments.
“East wing?” Cruz asked.
“Cleared, sir.”
“Good. Stand down.”
The first soldier moved past my hiding spot behind the shelves as the next moved forward to answer Cruz’s questions.
“West wing clear, sir.”
“You can stand down.”
A female soldier moved to stand at attention before Cruz as he barked,
“Staff quarters?”
“Secured, sir.”
“And how many of the staff were lost in the entry phase?”
“Less than a dozen, sir. Most surrendered immediately. All staff have been moved to the West Library and are guarded by mechs.”
“Very good. Stand down and wait for my orders.”
The soldier gave a crisp nod and marched back to stand with the others who had finished their reports as yet another group leader faced Cruz.
“Public areas and offices?” he asked.
“Cleared, sir. All civilians have been moved to the West Library to wait with the house staff.”
“Excellent. Stand down.”
“Sir.”
The man walked toward me just as my tablet began to buzz with a response to my earlier messages. Though the ringer was only on vibrate, I was terrified that the faint noise was enough to give me away. I clutched the tablet tightly to my chest, hoping to muffle the sound. I didn’t dare move or even breathe until the soldier had moved past me with no indication that he heard anything. I exhaled shakily when he reached the other soldiers at the far end of the library and assumed a casual ‘at ease” stance.
I hurriedly changed the settings to keep the tablet completely silent, then read the incoming message. It had only three words: Are you safe?
If I had dared to make a sound I might have laughed. Instead I only responded: No, and left it at that.
My attention was pulled back to events in the library as another person entered the room. It was a tall, slender woman with gray hair pulled into a severe topknot. She was wearing the uniform of an officer with many ribbons, medals, and other insignia to indicate that she was a big deal. I recognized her immediately as the Commander-General of the North American Alliance Military Corps, General Emilie Duchéne.
“General Duchéne, are the family quarters secured?”
“Yes, Mr. President. They have been thoroughly searched. They are empty.”
“Mr. President.” A slow smile spread across Cruz’s impassive face. “I like the sound of that.”
“It suits you, sir.”
“Thank you. Now, there is still no sign of Poppy anywhere? My understanding was that she would be entertaining the governors and her father here i
n the East Library.”
“No, sir. No sign of her. We’ve looked everywhere and double-checked to be sure she wasn’t swept up with the staff and other civilians. She’s not with them in the West Library.”
“Piers probably told her to run at the first sign of trouble,” Cruz said grimly. “I want her found. If she’s alive, she’ll be glad to serve as hostess for dear Uncle Cruz and help legitimize the change in leadership. If she’s dead…” He shrugged, “She and her father can have matching flag-draped caskets at the state funeral next week. Frankly, I don’t care which it is.”
My fingernails dug bloody crescents into my palms as my fists clenched. If the force of my gaze could kill, Cruz would have dropped dead on the spot. Sadly, he was unaffected by my fierce, if unseen, glares.
General Duchéne asked, “What about the rumors of secret passages and safe rooms built into the New White House? Any chance she’s hiding somewhere like that?”
Cruz waved his hand dismissively. “Just rumors,” he assured the general. “Piers and I laughed about those rumors any number of times. Joked about installing some secret passageways so we could escape from official functions. Believe me, if there were anything like that I’d know about it. Piers considered me his best friend. He didn’t keep anything from me.”
Ha! I thought. Shows what you know. Dad obviously didn’t trust you as much as you thought he did. My father had very good instincts about people. He’d trusted Cruz as a family friend and ally. But if he’d been keeping secrets from his own Vice-President and best friend, he must have distrusted Cruz a little at some deep subconscious level. I’d never been so grateful for my father’s suspicious, security-obsessed outlook on life.
Cruz sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to find her later. We don’t have time to spend on that right now. We should get moving on the next phase. General, please give the order for all of our men to gather in the Ballroom for further instructions. Be sure that we have mechs guarding the room against retaliation. We don’t want to lose our strike force.”
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