Operation Assassination

by Anne Fox

  The agent got wide-eyed. “Are you sure that these were members of Congress and that they actually meant for you to assassinate the President?”

  “Positive. I recognized them, and I asked them to confirm their request.”

  “And after careful consideration,” Edge added, “and for the reasons they stated, we agreed to the mission.”

  “You were planning to assassinate the President,” the agent said.

  “Not just planning! We were ready to execute the mission!” Hank shouted.

  “And can I ask who you are?” the agent demanded of Hank.

  “I’m the unit’s sniper. And unknown, undetected by your detail, I was up on a hill this morning, with my rifle aimed, a round in the chamber, and my fucking finger on the trigger. It would have taken just a touch on that trigger and just the one round in the chamber and right now you’d have a dead President being flown back to Washington. Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

  Hank went limp in the arms of the men holding her. “I was that close to killing the President,” she wailed. “That close! If I hadn’t listened to my little voices, I’d have killed him! Why the hell didn’t you tell us? Why the hell didn’t you tell us?” She writhed in the men’s arms, wailing.

  “We obviously have a situation,” Doc Andy said, getting up. “Bring her back to the medical suite.”

  As Edge and Amigo followed Doc Andy with Hank supported between them, Spud said, “This is the cost of not communicating with us.”

  “I don’t see why this is entirely our doing,” the agent said. “Neither did you communicate with us.”

  “Before I joined this unit, I was one of you,” Spud said. “I know how you operate. I worked PPD. Informing the Secret Service that we had been tasked with assassinating the President would have been counterproductive to the mission. With as long as the President has appeared to be compromised, with every legal mechanism that could have possibly removed him exhausted, and with your inability to determine exactly how it’s occurring, you should have at the very least notified us so we would not have accepted a conflicting mission.”

  “Hank was so upset she was dry-heaving this morning,” Amigo added as he and Edge came back into the room. “Doc Andy’s got her sedated and in bed, Spud.”

  Spud sat and massaged his temples, his elbows resting on the table. “What you also don’t know is that the woman who was just taken out of here is my wife. She has agonized over this mission ever since it was proposed that we do it. She’s been unable to eat. She’s been unable to sleep. She’s been unable to share our bed. And now I wonder how much of my wife I have left. So you will please understand when I tell you, there will be no more holding information back from us. This unit and PPD will now work hand in hand to get to the bottom of what’s going on with the President. There will be no instances when information isn’t shared with the unit, and the unit will likewise not fail to inform PPD of whatever facts we may discover. I’m sure I have the agreement of the rest of the team.”

  The five other team members reached out and tapped knuckles on the table.

  “There you have it,” Spud said. “Our decision is unanimous, save for my wife who is in no condition to participate. For the team members, I’m going to suggest we all get a good night’s rest, or at least the best we can muster. Tomorrow, we’ll do some mission planning for the joint mission with PPD.”

  16

  “Home again, home again, jiggity jig,” Edge quipped as the unit members who had been at Kilgore descended down the staircase into their headquarters at Quantico.

  “My rifle,” Hank mumbled.

  “I’ve got it, Hank,” Amigo said. “I’ll get it put away.”

  The entire team watched as Spud and Doc Andy led Hank off to the infirmary. “Ain’t none of this good,” Voice remarked.

  Doc Rich met the three as they came through the corridor within the medical area. “Let’s get her in bed.”

  “I want my blankie,” Hank said.

  Doc Rich and Doc Andy both looked at her with concern.

  “It’s ok,” Spud said. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “She’s got a down comforter that she asked for from her things when she joined the unit. She’s always referred to it as her ‘blankie.’ I’ll go get it.”

  After Spud had left and they had Hank settled in one of the infirmary’s hospital beds, Doc Rich turned to Doc Andy and asked, “What’s your prognosis?”

  Doc Andy steered her aside and said, “I think if you do a medical work-up, you’re going to find that she’s physically exhausted, dehydrated, sleep deprived, and suffering a bit from a lack of food. The news that the Secret Service dished up was just the last shock to her system that it could take. My recommendation is going to be to get James in here to hang an IV and get her rehydrated, get her to eat something, and then get another dose of sedative into her so she can sleep. I’m betting with those things, we’ll see her back to normal in no time. Hank is not one who collapses under pressure in ordinary circumstances. But this mission didn’t entail even what the unit would call ordinary circumstances, and the greater part of the weight of it fell on her and her alone.”

  “Lab, to the infirmary,” Doc Rich said over the comm link.

  Spud came through the door with Hank’s comforter bundled in his arms. “This going to be ok?” he asked.

  “Go ahead – cover her up,” Doc Rich said as James came through the door. “James, set up an IV, please, and draw blood for a basic metabolic panel.” Doc Rich pressed on one of Hank’s fingernails and then watched how quickly the nail bed turned pink again. “She’s very dehydrated, so I’m hoping we won’t see any gross abnormalities.”

  Spud sat in the chair next to her bed. She turned and looked at him.

  “Hank, do you know who I am?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Did you think I could forget my husband?”

  “You’ve been pretty out of it. Do you know where you are?”

  “At HQ. In the infirmary.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Doc Andy and Doc Rich were both observing this exchange closely.

  “Might have something to do with freaking out after finding out I almost killed the President when it might not have been necessary.”

  Spud stroked her hair. “It seems my former organization doesn’t like to coordinate with us.”

  “Ya think?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

  Spud looked over at Doc Rich, who simply smiled.

  “What would you like to eat?”

  “I’d even eat something Edge made without my tutoring him on it first. I need some serious protein.”

  Spud recalled the last time he’d heard her say that. “How many eggs?”

  “Four.”

  “That ok?” he asked Doc Rich.

  “If she’s hungry, let her eat.”

  “Anything else with the eggs?”

  “I need some serious vegetables, too. I can’t remember the last time I took a crap, either.”

  Doc Rich shook her head. “It sounds like you’re going to be fine, Hank.”

  “And some coffee.”

  “No coffee,” Doc Rich said. “You’re dehydrated. Caffeine is the last thing you need right now.”

  “Besides, you’re going to drug me to sleep later.”

  “Yes, we are,” Doc Andy said.

  “It’s ok. I don’t remember the last time I slept more than a couple of hours straight, either.”

  “Let’s start with an assumption,” Voice said. “Let’s assume that the President isn’t taking anything himself, but is being drugged by someone else.”

  “Then we end up with the same problem the Secret Service has: who’s doing it, how are they doing it, and maybe we can add, why are they doing it,” Edge said.

  “This mission planning goes on without me?” Hank asked as she came into the library.

  “Amiga!” Amigo exclaimed. “You�
�re back!”

  “How do you feel?” Crow asked. “You aren’t AWOL from the infirmary, are you?”

  “Nope. Doc Andy says an assassination mission is more insane than I’ll ever be, and Doc Rich says that, given all my ordinary bodily functions have resumed normal cruise, I’m good to go.” Stroking her hand across Spud’s back before sitting next to him, she added, “All but one, perhaps.” Spud looked over and grinned at her.

  “None of that,” Cloud admonished. “All us lonely bachelors can’t take that kind of talk.”

  “Not my fault,” Spud said. “There’s this saying. Something about old age and treachery winning over youth and vigor? Just your luck, I’m the oldest guy here.” He put his arm around Hank. “Which is how I got the girl.”

  “Ok, we’re done, Spud,” Hank said. “These horny bastards – excuse me, bachelors are supposed to be mission planning.”

  “Alright. This horny bachelor was just saying that we have to figure out who’s drugging the President, how they’re doing it, and why,” Edge said.

  “The ‘why’ might not be too difficult to figure out,” Cloud said. “The simple question is, who has the most to gain?”

  “The obvious answer there is the Vice President,” Crow said. “With the President out of the way, he becomes President.”

  “Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because the President, even with all the odd outbursts, still has a substantial popular backing.” Edge shrugged. “So, why not just wait and ride the President’s coattails into the next presidency?”

  “Maybe the problem is his popular backing. It crosses parties, and when he was criticized for that, his remark was, ‘I’m not President for the party that nominated me, but for the American people.’ That struck a good chord with the citizens, but not with the leaders of his party. I’ll admit I haven’t agreed with everything he’s done or proposed, but I have to admire his way of setting partisanship aside,” Voice said.

  “So, you think maybe he pissed off the party elite?” Edge asked.

  “If that were the case,” Crow began, “would it be to the party’s benefit to involve the Vice President? After all, if he’s involved and the whole thing unravels, he’s going to be impeached rather than elevated to the presidency.”

  “The ‘who’ may not be as difficult as it appears on the surface as well,” Amigo said. “The pattern seems to be that the President seldom derails unless it’s during a public event right in Washington, DC. So, if we can get some cooperation from Secret Service, perhaps they can get us footage from the events where the President has slid into the ditch and we can see who’s around him.”

  “I can tell you that there are certain things that need not be considered,” Spud said. “Food prepared in the White House is prepared by chefs who are cleared to prepare it.”

  “What about someone putting something into the food after it’s been prepared?” Crow asked.

  “That’s certainly something that could be observed in a recording,” Hank said. “It would have to be put in only the President’s food, because we don’t see anyone else at these events going gorky.”

  “And I’m sure that would be observed by a Secret Service agent as well,” Spud said.

  “Maybe the ‘how’ is what we should be looking for first,” Cloud said.

  “That would require being able to closely observe what’s going on around the President before he derails,” Crow said.

  “We need to somehow get close to the President at a public event,” Hank said.

  “A White House party,” Spud said. “He’s derailed at more than one of them.”

  “So, how do you manage to get invited?” Crow asked.

  “That’s a very good question – especially for us,” Spud replied. “They check everyone who is invited, and of course getting invited when you don’t exist presents its own problems.”

  “What’s the drill?” Crow asked.

  “First, you have to have an invitation. Then when you enter the White House, the invitation is checked against the guest list, and you go through security screening. After that, you’re directed up onto the State Floor, where guests mingle with each other, enjoy the bar or the food, or dance to music in the East Room. There’s usually a photo op with the President and First Lady, and then people drift back out.

  “So our big problems here are first of all, getting an invitation. Second is the photo op. If someone who knows us sees the photo, the unit is potentially compromised,” Spud explained.

  “Who decides who gets an invitation?” Edge asked.

  “That’s coordinated through the social secretary’s office.”

  “And there’s no way we could get one of us onto the list?” Hank asked.

  “I could ask our gunny. He’s the SAIC – Special Agent in Charge – for the shift. Those are the guys who work PPD and are in close proximity to the President.”

  “Then it’s just a matter of an event occurring that wouldn’t make someone raise eyebrows over one of us attending,” Hank said.

  “There’s one coming up,” Edge said. “A reception for supporters of the arts.”

  “Want me to get a message to the Secret Service gunny?” Voice asked.

  “Do,” Spud replied. “If we can get an invitation to this event, it will give us a prime opportunity to see what happens around the President before he appears to lose his mind.”

  “And then Mike will lose his mind making what he considers to be appropriate clothing for a White House event,” Voice said.

  “We’ve got word from our Secret Service gunny that invitations are on their way,” Voice said, putting his pencil back down.

  “I wonder who won the prize?” Spud asked.

  “Dave Garino will be bringing both the invitations and the fake credentials for the event. The gunny asked for pictures for all seven of us, so I guess we find out when Dave comes by.”

  “Speaking of which...” It was Dave himself, with a courier pouch in his hands. He dropped it in the center of the table.

  “Grab some coffee, Dave,” Edge said. “I think there might even be a little food over there if you want to grab some lunch.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. I’m curious about this big event that’s happening for the mission.”

  “It’s not specifically for the mission, but we’re taking advantage of it,” Crow explained. He picked up the courier pouch and unzipped it. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he read, “The Reception for Supporters of the Arts allows a person to bring a guest.”

  “That’s typical of White House affairs,” Spud said.

  “You will find an invitation for the two chosen Field Team members. Given Spud is an experienced Secret Service agent, he and his wife will be the attendees.” Crow slid out the invitation. “It seems that James and Katie Hank won the honors.”

  “We’re usually Jim and Katie Smith,” Spud said.

  “Maybe the Secret Service found out that Katie Hank has a pilot’s license,” Crow said. “That would make drawing up fake documents for Hank simpler, given the FAA had to create an entire identity for her in order to issue the license.”

  “I wonder if they’d do the same with mine, then,” Edge pondered.

  Crow chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out if you ever get invited to the White House.”

  Spud sighed. “I’m guessing you all think this is going to be one wonderful, glamorous assignment, but I’m dreading getting a tux done. If Mike fusses for a week over a simple business suit, he’s going to go out of his mind over a black tie tux and an evening dress for a visit to the White House.”

  “I already have a dress,” Hank said.

  “Like hell you’re wearing that dress to the White House,” Spud said. “I’m not going to be having the President inviting you to visit him in the residence.”

  The entire team laughed.

  “Glad you agree.” It was Mike, who had walked into the cafeteria midway through the conversation. “You, and you,” he added, pointing at Spud and Han
k. “I need you both in the cutting room, and I’d like that to happen as close to right now as you can make it.”

  “This event is two weeks away, Mike,” Spud protested.

  “And it’s going to take me that long if I rush to get both your outfits done. No garment of mine is going to the White House unless it’s perfect.”

  Spud and Hank stood up and followed him. Turning and looking over his shoulder at the remaining members of the team, Spud silently mouthed, Help me!

  “Spud, hold still,” Mike admonished.

  “It will be easier for me to do that if you can try to keep your hand off my dick,” Spud said with annoyance.

  “Do you know how hard it is for a bespoke tailor like me to get a proper fit on a guy like you?” Mike protested. “Your physical attributes are not of my making, but this pair of pants is. Besides, this isn’t your first White House affair. What the hell did you do for the others you’ve been to?”

  “I rented a tux,” Spud said. “And no one made any kinds of comments on it.”

  “I’ll bet the pants strangled the crap out of you, too.”

  Now that you mention it...

  “If you want to have a pleasant evening of dancing with your wife, I’ll suggest you allow me to get this rise and give right for you.”

  Hank sat watching, her amusement obvious. “You should just cooperate and let Mike make you a stunning tux,” she said.

  “Do you let him grope your crotch when he’s making you a dress?”

  “It’s not groping, Spud. He’s just making sure the clothing will fit you just right.” She smiled at him. “You want it to make me want to get it right back off of you, don’t you?”

  “Which is why she’s not going in the red dress,” Mike said. “We’d never get the two of you out of your quarters.”

  “I just don’t like my manhood manhandled,” Spud said.

  “Bet you don’t mind when Hank does it. Drop the pants.”