The Girl in the White House

by Nick Harlow

  “Why didn’t we just use this before?”

  “I was hoping to make another deal with the kid. Of course we wouldn’t be doing this if our nurse had been successful.” He pointed toward the door. “You get the Rusch kid and whatever you do, don’t hurt him. I’ll take out the rest and then we’ll be on our way. Go. I’ll be right behind you.” He reached into the duffel bag. “I need more ammo.”

  “I’ll get the kid and meet you at the elevator.”

  “See you in a few minutes.”

  Briggs headed toward the door. Mayfair simply watched.

  SCOTT CROUCHED NEXT to the wall behind a black metal cabinet, gun drawn, aimed at the door.

  Heart pounding.

  It was a lot easier when I didn’t have to think about it.

  He took a quick look behind him to see if Sydney was on the way.

  The hallway was empty.

  Then he heard it.

  He whipped his head back around as he saw the door slowly opening. The barrel of a gun peeked through.

  Scott took a deep breath and aimed.

  The man slowly stepped through and started to look around. As soon as he was clear of the door Scott fired three times, striking him once in the stomach and twice in the chest. The man’s gun fell to the floor as he crumpled to the ground.

  “Whew.” He exhaled some tension, took a few deep breaths, and waited to make sure the man was dead. He didn’t move as a large pool of blood formed around his chest. Scott stood up and moved toward him, keeping the gun trained on the enemy just in case. He moved the man’s gun away with his foot even though he was sure the guy was dead. He knelt down next to the body, felt for a pulse, and turned to yell down the hall. “Hey Syd, I got him!”

  He reached for the dead man’s gun when suddenly an arm looped around his neck and applied a strong headlock. “Ah, young Mister Rusch. How convenient of you to greet me at the door. Drop the gun.”

  Scott did so immediately. Mayfair stood him up, maintaining the headlock just as he saw Sydney run toward him and come to a screeching halt.

  Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God—”

  Mayfair pointed his gun at her. “Drop your weapon.”

  She stood there, staring at Scott. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Mayfair tightened his grip around Scott’s neck, making him wince. “Drop. Your. Weapon.”

  “You can’t kill him, Mayfair. You need him.”

  “But I can shoot you. I really don’t need to do so any longer, Miss Donovan. But I will if I have to.”

  Scott locked eyes with her. “Syd, drop it. Before you get hurt.”

  She realized Scott was right. Though she desperately wanted to keep Mayfair from taking Scott as a hostage, she had no choice. And knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she slowly leaned down and placed the gun on the floor, never taking her eyes off them.

  Mayfair loosened his grip on Scott a bit. “Very good, Miss Donovan. Now, very calmly and quietly, let’s head to the elevator. Don’t call out to whoever else is down here. Do exactly what I ask and no one gets hurt.” He pointed down the hall with his gun. “Elevator. Let’s go. I assume you have the key to unlock it.”

  Sydney nodded. She walked backwards down the hall, feeling her way with one hand, not wanting to turn her back on them. Mayfair maintained his headlock on Scott as they followed. He wasn’t resisting.

  He’s really giving himself up for us.

  Finally they made it through the rest of the bunker and reached the elevator.

  Mayfair cocked his head at it. “Now unlock it and then move to the other side of the room. Quickly.”

  Sydney pulled the key from her pocket and used it to open the elevator door, then stepped aside. “Please don’t kill him. I’m begging you. Please.”

  Mayfair turned and started to back toward the elevator, pulling Scott with him as he kept him in the headlock. He flashed a slight smile at her. “Don’t worry. Like you said, I can’t kill him. He’s my boarding pass out of here.” With his free hand he raised his hand and hit Scott in the head with the butt of the gun.

  “No!”

  Scott immediately went limp, unconscious, with Mayfair keeping him upright. “Don’t worry, he’s just knocked out. I don’t need him holding me up while I get out of here and I can’t take the chance he might get away.” Mayfair bent over and easily hoisted Scott over his shoulder, then studied her face, obviously noting her quivering lip. “Well, I guess from the look on your face Speaker Rusch was right. It appears the First Daughter is more than just friends with my hostage. I’ll be sure to send him back, Miss Donovan.” He moved into the elevator with Scott bent in half over his shoulder like a rag doll, arms hanging down to the floor. Mayfair pressed a button and the door started to close. “Maybe.”

  The door closed and Sydney’s emotions exploded in a flood of tears.

  WILSON GOT THE CALL from Mayfair that it was time head for the extraction point. He moved toward the hostages, gun at his side. “Okay, party’s over. Time to go.”

  President Donovan looked up at him. “You’re releasing everyone?”

  Wilson nodded. “Yep. Including you, Mister President. You have served your purpose. C’mon, let’s go.”

  Gladys grabbed her purse, reached into it and pulled out the lipstick taser. “Hold on a minute young man. If I’m going to be on national TV, I need to look decent. Let me just touch up my lipstick.” She shot a quick look at the President, who got the message.

  Wilson rolled his eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, old lady, no one cares about your damn makeup.” He reached for her arm to pull her from the chair. “C’mon, move! We don’t have time for this!” He yanked her out of the chair.

  Gladys shoved the lipstick taser into his chest and pushed the button, sending a huge bolt of electricity through his body. Wilson immediately grunted, staggered a bit, then hit the floor and started convulsing. “Watch who you’re calling old.”

  The President immediately grabbed the man’s gun while the Secretary of State pulled a telephone cord from the wall, knelt on Wilson’s back and tied him up. Donovan headed out of the room, gun raised. “I’m going to get Sydney and those kids. Get everyone out of here.”

  The Secretary looked up. “Wait, Mister President—”

  Donovan was already gone.

  SYDNEY SLUMPED AGAINST the cold concrete wall, knees drawn into her chest as the tears flowed like never before. Helpless to do anything as she stared at the closed elevator door five minutes after Mayfair had taken Scott.

  I know they’re going to kill him.

  I’ll never see him again.

  I never got to—

  The movement on the television monitor caught her eye as it showed video of the hostages being released.

  Her father was not among them.

  “Oh, dear God, no—”

  The motor of the elevator came alive, jolting her back to reality. “Oh, God.” Sydney wiped her eyes, stood up straight, and raised her gun at the door.

  The bell rang as the elevator reached the bunker.

  The gun shook a bit so she steadied it with her free hand as the door opened. She took a deep breath, ready to fire—

  And looked into her father’s bloodied face.

  Sydney dropped the gun and ran into his arms. “Oh my God! Dad!”

  He hugged her harder than even as he ran his hands through her hair, her tears now those of joy. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

  She leaned back and looked at his bruised, bloodied face. “You’re obviously not.”

  “I’ll be fine. Who got shot down here?”

  “Agent Ryan, but the doctor saved him. He’s going to be okay.”

  “Great, let’s get him and everyone else out of here. It’s over.”

  “So they got Mayfair and his people?”

  “I took out the ones that were left myself. Not sure how many got away.”

  “Did you get Mayfair?”

  Donovan shook his head. “I
didn’t see him. He must have escaped somehow.”

  He hands flew up to her mouth. “Oh no... Dad... he’s got Scott.”

  “What?”

  She pulled him back into the elevator. “C’mon, we need to get you upstairs right now. Mayfair took Scott as a hostage because Speaker Rusch was behind all this—”

  “Excuse me?”

  She pressed a button closing the elevator doors. They headed up. “I’ll explain the whole thing later. The Speaker orchestrated this whole thing and was going to blow up Mayfair’s plane to cover his tracks, and when Mayfair found out he took Scott as insurance. The Speaker won’t kill his own son. But Dad, Scott’s father doesn’t know he’s a hostage. You’ve gotta call him and tell him his son is on that plane. And if you can’t get in touch with him you need to go on TV right now or Scott will be killed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sydney quickened her pace as her father power-walked out the door of the White House and headed straight for the media parked outside the gate. The Secret Service immediately surrounded them. A cheer went up as reporters and photographers scrambled and fought for position at the gate.

  Director of Communications Jason Cruz ran to meet them. “Mister President, are you—”

  “I need to go on the air right now, Jason.”

  “Let’s get you cleaned up first—”

  He put up his hand. “No. This is urgent. My daughter will fill you in.” He blew past Cruz and Sydney stopped for a moment.

  “Jason, Mayfair took Scott Rusch as a hostage. The Speaker of the House doesn’t know and is prepared to order the plane shot down that Mayfair is using to escape.”

  “Good God! The Speaker—”

  She started walking again. “C’mon, I’ll explain later. Right now my dad has to get on the air since he can’t get in touch with the Speaker.”

  “Right.”

  Two paramedics met the President at the gate but he pushed them aside. “Later, guys. I’m fine.” Sydney caught up with him as he moved forward. They were immediately surrounded by the media.

  “Mister President, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you know that the Speaker of the House—”

  “And I have some urgent news that cannot wait. One of our captors, Agent Mayfair, has managed to escape and still has a hostage. It’s the son of the Speaker of the House, Scott Rusch. So I want no action taken against Mayfair. Let me be clear, I am in no way compromised and am still the Commander-in-Chief. So this is a direct order that no action is to be taken. Mayfair is armed and extremely dangerous, and I do not want to put the life of Scott Rusch at risk. I will do whatever it takes to ensure his safe return.”

  “Sir, I thought you had a policy against negotiating with terrorists. Why did you order the troops—”

  “I’ll explain that later.”

  “Mister President, are you willing to negotiate with the terrorist for the release of Scott Mayfair?”

  “I’ll leave that up to his father.”

  THE LOW HUM ACCOMPANIED the throbbing pain in his temple as Scott started to regain consciousness. He rubbed his forehead as his eyes flickered open. “Oh, my head...” His vision cleared, revealing Mayfair sitting across from him looking at a computer tablet. Scott winced from the pain as he straightened up in his seat. “Mayfair...”

  “Ah, welcome back, Mister Rusch.”

  I’m on a plane...

  Scott took a quick look out the window.

  Dark.

  “Where are we?”

  “On the way to my new and improved life. Thanks to you.”

  Scott took a look around the private jet, noting he and Mayfair were the only ones aboard. “Where are the rest of your people?”

  Mayfair put the tablet on the seat next to him. “Apparently the President disposed of what remained of my team. I’m the only survivor. Of course, that would not be the case if you were not my prisoner.”

  “So I guess since we’re still flying my father knows I’m here.”

  “As does the whole world. Better than putting your face on a milk carton, if I say so myself. Kidnap a child of privilege and the networks go wild. Of course, that puts even more pressure on your father to pay up.”

  Scott reached for his forehead and jerked his hand back after touching it. “Damn, that hurts.”

  Mayfair reached into a bag next to his seat and pulled out an instant freeze pack, then tossed it to Scott. “Sorry about the bump on the head, but it was necessary. This should help.”

  Scott shook it, activating the cold, and gently pressed it to his head. “Thanks.” It quickly began numbing the area.

  “Can’t have you passing out from the pain for our next broadcast, now can we?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve already sent your father and the networks a photo of you, but of course, that didn’t prove you’re still alive. We need a bit of video to show the world, since everyone is clamoring for your safe return. Think you’re up to begging daddy to pay your ransom? On live television?”

  Scott chuckled a bit. “Talk about irony.”

  “What?”

  “It just hit me. That old proverb. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You think I don’t want to get even with my father for all this? And for wanting Sydney killed? I might have more incentive than you do.”

  “Ah, I thought I detected a connection with the young lady when I left the bunker. You should have seen her, reduced to a quivering lump as we left. But you’re right, the ancient proverb applies here. We both want to get even with your father. Perhaps you more so than me. So, are you ready to let your father see you with a gun to your head?”

  “Mayfair, that’s one thing I won’t mind doing for you. As long as you don’t pull the trigger. How much am I worth, anyway?”

  “I have not given him an amount yet. I was waiting for you to wake up and give me a hint as to how much he might have available in liquid assets. Or willing to pay.”

  Scott nodded. “Fortunately for you my father has a habit of leaving bank statements on his desk at home. He’s got more than four million stashed in that same Cayman Islands bank that held my trust fund. It’s under a bogus company using my mother’s maiden name, which is Harrington. And he has access to the Democratic National Committee’s account they use as a slush fund for stuff that’s off the books. Which is probably what he was using to pay you in the first place. I’ve overheard him talking on the phone about that account and I believe there’s always a million or two available.”

  “Sounds like five million is very doable.”

  “I’d say so. Hell, ask for six. As for being willing to pay, well... he loves money more than anything. Except the power that comes with his position. So he’ll definitely pay because if he didn’t he’d get voted out of office in a heartbeat.” He looked out the window again. “So, after you get your money—”

  “I’ll let you go. But only if you agree to do one other thing for me.”

  STERLING RUSCH WORE a trench in the carpet, waiting for Mayfair to call while FBI agents were talking in the reception area.

  He had no choice but to pay whatever Mayfair asked. The whole world was watching.

  And the President hadn’t made things any easier. While Frank Donovan maintained that the United States did not negotiate with terrorists, he made it clear that Scott’s abduction was now a kidnapping which was under the control of the FBI. And while the United States would offer support, anything regarding ransom was up to the Rusch family. Donovan’s actions were puzzling, to say the least.

  Rusch would pay for his son. He had to. The political implications would be disastrous if he didn’t. But what worried him is that Mayfair would always be a loose end out there somewhere, and who knew when he might pop up again demanding more money. This could go on forever.

  Rusch jumped as his tablet came alive with the signal of an incoming
video chat.

  The FBI agents immediately rushed into his office. The senior agent looked at the tablet and nodded.

  Rusch tapped it to make the connection and his son’s face filled the screen. The huge bruise on Scott’s forehead looked even worse than before. His son’s eyes filled with fear.

  “Dad...” Scott’s voice cracked.

  He reminded himself that the video was going to be broadcast on the networks as Mayfair had set up the video version of a conference call. Look extremely concerned. “Oh my God, Scott, are you okay?”

  “I’m alive, but I won’t be if you don’t give Mayfair exactly what he wants. Please, dad, you have to— please don’t let me die. Give him whatever he wants.”

  “Whatever it takes, son. We’ll get you home.”

  And then a gun came into the picture, pressed against Scott’s head.

  “Dear God, no... please don’t hurt my son.”

  Then Mayfair’s voice. “Mister Speaker, unless you do exactly as I say—”

  “Name your price.”

  “I want the four million you have in the Cayman Islands account—”

  The Speaker couldn’t hold back his surprised look. “Four million? I don’t have—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Rusch, I know you’ve got it stashed under a bogus company bearing your wife’s maiden name. Lie to me again and I’ll shoot your kid right now and toss his body out of the plane.”

  “Sorry, I forgot about those funds.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Tell me where to transfer—”

  “Oh, I’m not done. I need two million from the Democratic National Committee’s discretionary fund. Which I understand is used for, shall we say, off the books operations. And I know you have access to this money. Six million total. Otherwise—”

  “You’ll have your money.”

  “Excellent. And don’t stall.” The gun was removed from Scott’s head, and Rusch saw his son breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I will transfer the funds immediately. When will you return my son?”