Traitor
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Epilogue
Traitor
by
Murray McDonald
Traitor
Murray McDonald
Published by Murray McDonald
Copyright 2013 Murray McDonald
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The right of Murray McDonald to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Saturday 5th July
Washington D.C.
The sound of the gunshot reverberated through her entire body. Her sole purpose in life was to ensure that wouldn’t happen. She crashed through the door and was met by the sight of her colleague stemming blood from a chest wound. Unfortunately it wasn’t his own.
“Shots fired, POTUS is down, I repeat POTUS is down,” she said calmly into her mic. Years of training had taken over.
She swept the Yellow Oval Room as more agents came crashing through the door. Trauma kits in hand, they rushed to the President’s aid.
“Bill?!” she shouted, looking at her colleague, pressing his hand into the President’s wound. The room was clear, except for the President and Bill Jameson, the head of the President’s Secret Service protection team. A National Intelligence Cross lay on the floor next to the President; its recipient was nowhere to be seen. Frankie began to panic. Her training had not covered the loss of a loved one.
“Balcony!” replied Bill urgently, the President’s blood spurting between his fingers as he tried to maintain pressure while handing over to the medics who were flooding into the room.
Frankie rushed across the lounge and burst onto the second floor balcony, her gun at the ready. It was empty. The corner of her eye caught a movement on the railing that ran around the perimeter of the balcony. A thin wire was attached to the railing and trailed down to the ground below. Frankie moved across and watched a man unclip himself from the wire and take off at a sprint.
“Bill! Who’s Nick chasing?”
“Chasing?!”
“Who’s he chasing?! Where’s the shooter?!’ she shouted, scanning the grounds for whoever had taken the shot.
“He’s not chasing, he’s running!” replied Bill, as he joined her.
Frankie lined up her shot. He was already beyond pistol range but still within her capability. The image of the morning they’d had had flashed through her mind. She should be taking the shot, but it wasn’t right. She could still feel him inside her.
She hesitated. “Are you sure?!” she asked, taking aim.
“Shoot him!’ screamed Bill, lining up his own shot.
They both squeezed off shots. They both missed, although only one wasn’t intentional.
“Shit! We missed him!” said Bill, watching Nick disappear around the side of the White House. Bill turned back towards the scene in the lounge and spoke into his mic. “All agents, the shooter is Nick Geller, DIA agent, last seen on the southeast corner of the residence, heading towards Kennedy Gardens. He is armed and extremely—”
A massive explosion interrupted Bill, lifting him and Frankie off their feet and slamming them into the railing. As heavy dust filled the air, the entire West Wing of the White House lay in ruins. The President was holding on by a thread and Frankie held her stomach, praying to God that the baby of the President’s would-be assassin was safe.
Chapter 2
The White House - East Wing
Presidential Emergency Operations Centre (PEOC)
Frankie took the seat indicated to her. Her mind was still racing. Barely thirty minutes had passed since the shooting and the explosion. The President was on his way to the Walter Reed National Military Medical Centre. His condition was described as grave. She looked around the room. For every face she recognized, there was another she didn’t. Everybody remained silent. No hum of chatter, just the deathly silence of shock.
From the faces she knew, she was the only Secret Service Agent in the room. She was also, at least she assumed, the only person in the room with intimate knowledge of the suspect. She focused on the word ‘suspect’. She was still struggling to accept that Nick was capable of the deceit involved in the acts he was alleged to have committed. She had no issue believing he was capable of the acts themselves, they were what he had been trained for, that’s what he did - just not to his own President or country.
The arrival of the FBI’s Deputy Director and Bill Jameson, Frankie’s immediate boss, silenced the already quiet room completely. Bill sought her out and, with a flick of his head, summoned her to him. Frankie got up and walked across the room, conscious of every pair of eyes in the room following her closely.
�
��Could you just give us a few minutes, Frankie?” whispered Bill in her ear. His apologetic tone made it clear that he did not agree with her having to leave the room.
Frankie opened the door to leave just as the Deputy Director’s voice boomed across the room.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, you’ve been selected as the brightest and finest in your organizations, and you’re here to lead the hunt for Nick Geller.”
Frankie closed the door behind her, tears pouring down her cheeks, as she realized that she was not just closing the door to the room. Her life, her career, everything that made her who she was, had just ended. She had also been one of the brightest and finest operatives in the organization. She was the Deputy Lead Agent in charge of the presidential protection detail. No one had ever reached that position at her age and, more surprisingly, not with her background. Her professionalism and ability were without equal and nobody doubted Frankie had a long and illustrious career ahead of her. Had it not been for Nick Geller, Frankie would have been representing the Secret Service on the Task Force. In all likelihood, she was about to be labeled a potential accomplice and conspirator. She began to shake with panic. She hadn’t even considered that prospect.
With her legs no longer able to support her weight, she slid down the wall and pulled herself into a tight ball. The questions poured through her mind, all unanswered.
How did I miss the clues? How could I have trusted him? Will anyone believe me?
Every question had the same answer. A blank. The more she asked of herself, the less sense it made and the more she realized she was going to be suspected.
Nick Geller. She had loved him. She still did. Love didn’t just stop. They had first spotted each other six months earlier, flirted with each other professionally, both knowing they wanted more. She was delighted when the flowers arrived at the White House addressed to ‘The President’s hot guard’. Embarrassingly, they were handed to her. She wasn’t the only female member of the President’s protection detail. However, it seemed the mailroom were in little doubt and directed them straight to her.
He was everything she wanted from a man. Handsome, well mannered, well travelled, intelligent and, most importantly, she actually felt he could protect her. His eyes pierced into her, opened her up like no one had ever managed before. He had a raw power and energy that very few possessed. There was no doubt in her mind that Nick Geller was a very special man. The man for her. She shared her house, her life, her body and soon a child with Nick Geller. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the test she had only taken that morning, or its positive outcome. She banged her head back against the wall in frustration.
Would he have still done it if I had told him?
It was irrelevant. She hadn’t thought he was capable of anything like this to begin with.
Frankie felt the floor vibrate as a herd of shiny leather shoes thundered towards her with purpose. She pulled herself together, stood up and wiped her eyes as best she could. The thunder rose to a crescendo as the posse appeared at the end of the corridor. Secret Service agents flanked their protectee so well that Frankie could not even see who was coming. She assumed it was either the Vice President or the First Lady, given the size of the protection detail and the entourage in tow.
Her first glimpse of the protectee made Frankie realize that the worst day of her life had just gotten worse. The Speaker of the House drew to a stop by her side. The Chief Justice, Frankie could see, was still pushing his way through the entourage, a bible held high above the crowd, as he maneuvered his way towards the Speaker.
“Aisha Franks?” asked the Speaker, looking at Frankie.
Frankie winced at the Arab name her Muslim mother had insisted on giving her. A name that very few knew existed.
Chapter 3
Fort Detrick, Maryland
United States Army Medical Research and Materiel Command (USAMRMC)
Brigadier General Harold F. McLennan watched the horror at the White House unfold on the 24/7 news channels. With each passing minute, another of his senior staff joined him as the news of the attack on their President and the world’s most prestigious address filtered through. They were all desperate to know how their Commander and Chief was doing and whether any of their departments could assist in any way.
Between them, they controlled and developed the most advanced medical research and procedures in the world for battlefield injuries, diseases and biological weapons. If there were any people in the world who could help in that situation, the professionals crowding General McLennan’s office were amongst the very few who could. The General had made a call to Walter Reed Hospital the moment he had heard the President had been shot. His people were ready to help in any way they could. The offer was noted and much to McLennan’s concern and frustration, they did not update or offer any details of the President’s condition.
His answer, therefore, remained the same to each of his concerned subordinates. Walter Reed would call if they needed them. In the meantime, all they could do was hope and pray for the President and all the other casualties.
An audible gasp silenced his office when the first aerial shots of the White House were broadcast across the world. The West Wing, the executive branch of the federal government, lay in ruins. The main body of the house remained undamaged but it was a very different silhouette that would be adorning the Washington skyline for some time to come.
The new skyline faded out, replaced by a somber-faced White House spokesman in front of a hastily prepared podium on the East side of the White House, out of view of the rubble and debris that littered the previously pristine White House lawns.
General McLennan hit the volume button on his remote and bathed the office in the background sounds of emergency sirens a few hundred miles away.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” began the spokesman, “I will be brief. At approximately 9:55 this morning, a gunman shot and injured the President. The President is responding well to treatment and is expected to make a full recovery.” The spokesman paused as the relief was absorbed by reporters and audiences at home. “To aid his escape, the gunman triggered an explosive device that has damaged the West Wing of—”
The office door burst open and grabbed everyone’s attention away from the TV screen. A breathless and panting Colonel Valerie Barnes, a sight that, without the dramatic entrance, would have got their attention anyway, stood almost unable to speak.
“General,” she gasped, between attempts to re-oxygenate her lungs.
General McLennan was already up and helping her into a seat before she collapsed.
“Val?” he asked, concern deep in voice.
“W-we’ve got a Level 4 b-breach!” she stammered.
Level 4 was the highest biosafety hazard category involving highly infectious diseases with high fatality rates and no known cures; it was not an area in which you ever wanted to suffer a breach. A number of her colleagues in the room openly moved away from her.
“Not a leak, a theft!” she said, making it clear she thought this situation far worse. She could control a leak.
“Impossible,” replied the General, calmly. “This facility is as secure as Fort Knox and anyway, security would have alerted me by now.”
“I’ve only just discovered it!” she said, tears welling in her eyes. The implications of her failure were catastrophic.
“I’m sorry to say that so far we have been unable to locate the Vice President.” The voice of the spokesperson cut through the chaos in the room, as the enormity of the announcement caught their ears.
“What did he just say?” asked the General, turning back to the TV.
“It looks as though the Vice President was in the West Wing when the explosion was triggered,” explained one of his subordinates.
“Sorry, what explosion?” asked Val.
“The President has been shot and the gunman blew up the West Wing as part of his getaway,” replied the General succinctly.
“Oh my God! Is he okay?’
<
br /> “It appears so. Now, what is it you think is missing?”
“I don’t think anything is missing,” she replied angrily. “I know that fifty doses of Zaire Ebolavirus have been stolen!”
“You must be mistaken,” argued the General, shaking his head. However, his demeanor changed.
“What’s the big deal?” asked one of the few non-medical members of the team.
“You know the movie Outbreak?” replied Val. On receiving an affirmative nod, she continued, “Zaire Elboavrius is like the disease they faced but much worse and with no magic serum to cure it!”
“Oh shit!”
The TV was issuing an alert in the background and caught Val’s attention: “We ask all citizens across the city and beyond to look out for this man. Please do not approach him. He is armed and extremely dangerous. If you do see him, call 911, lock all doors and windows and wait for the emergency services to attend. His name is Nick Geller…”
Nick Geller’s photo appeared on the screen.
“Holy fuck!” said Val. Her heart almost stopped as the image burned into her retinas.
“What?” asked the General, turning to the screen and seeing Geller’s face.
“He was here yesterday!” Val managed to say. “Oh fuck! What has he done?!”
The General ran to his desk and picked up the phone. “Get me the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs now!!” he commanded. “Whatever he’s doing, get him on the phone now!!”
While he waited to be put through, he turned to Val. “Get to DC immediately. I want the White House and Walter Reed Hospital quarantined. Nobody gets out of either building until we have an all-clear and I mean nobody!”
Chapter 4
“Yes, Madam Speaker,” replied Frankie.
“The President wants you in on the investigation,” she said gruffly before barging into the Operations Center. “The President is alive and will recover,” she announced loudly, walking to the seat at the top of the table. The Speaker was on the opposite side of the political divide from President Mitchell and she made sure he knew it.
Traitor Page 1