But Sylvia had by this time posted herself against the wall and between the two doors that let out of the room. She reached behind her and pulled out a black, shiny 45 automatic—Nina knew that’s what it was because it was the same gun Penelope Royale carried in her boat.
“Now listen to me. Everybody, listen to me!”
“Who are you?”
“What is happening here?”
“My God! My God, let us out!”
Sylvia merely shook her head and said, as calmly as possible under the circumstances:
“You have to listen to me. My name is Sylvia Morales. I’m an agent of the United States Secret Service. I don’t want you to panic, but you do have to know what is happening. An attempt has been made on the life of Congresswoman Bannister. The shooter apparently was located in the fourth floor of the office building next to Briarwood. Only one shot was fired. Congresswoman Bannister is all right. No one has been hurt.”
“Why can’t we get out of here?”
“What if he comes in here? Why can’t we leave?”
Another shake of the head:
“We don’t know where he is at this moment. If you start running down the halls, you may meet him.”
“He’s coming here?”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know where he is or what his intentions are. We have to assume though that he is still armed and dangerous.”
“But what if he comes in here?”
A short pause and then Sylvia Morales said:
“If he comes in here, I’ll kill him.”
There was very little to be said to that.
Nina could see Sylvia, standing ramrod straight, positioned precisely between the two doors, looking first at one, then at the other.
She had never felt so safe in her life.
The next fifteen to twenty minutes reminded Nina of the time following her escape at the library, except much more so. Sirens were going off all over the campus. Students moved in pairs and other small groups, arms around each other, mouths opened in shocked silence. And everyone seemed to be realizing the falsity of that comforting, but never really true, statement:
“It can’t happen here.”
Columbine.
Sandy Hook.
Different of course, because here no one had been injured.
But still…
“Here, dear. You’ve got to get some coffee in you.”
“Thank you, Laurencia.”
The two of them had been moved by other officers—uniformed guards had been pouring into the building for some time now—and were seated in the front row of what Nina assumed was a regular classroom.
Blackboard.
No windows.
Every two minutes, another officer wearing a different uniform would park himself in front of her, look her straight in the eye, and ask:
“Are you certain you’re ok?”
To which she would merely nod and say:
“I’m fine.”
She was getting a little sick of it.
Finally, the ebb and flow of Protective Personnel stabilized a bit, and Nina realized that she and Laurencia were in something like command central.
Sylvia had re-materialized, and was sitting two seats away from them, smiling reassuringly.
There were three other agents in the room––all men, all dressed in business suits.
These were, Nina assumed, all secret service agents.
And at the front of the room, seated behind the teacher’s desk, was Stockmeyer.
He cleared his throat.
The soft mumblings of conversation stopped.
“All right. Things seem to have calmed down somewhat, and I’d like to be sure everyone knows where we are. First, Congresswoman Bannister: are you all right?”
It would have been improper to smile, so Nina did not do so.
“Yes. I’m fine. Thanks to Sylvia.”
“Senator Dalrymple?”
A nod.
“I’m fine, Agent Stockmeyer. No one was shooting at me.”
“No, but the letters have been referencing you. We have to assume that you are a potential target as well.”
To this, Laurencia actually did smile.
Senators, Nina mused, can pull off things Representatives can’t.
At least, temporary Representatives.
“Target,” said Laurencia, quietly. “There’s something so reassuring about that term.”
“I’m sorry to put it that way. It’s just…”
“It’s just true.”
“Yes. Unfortunately. And, I must tell you because you need to know. We were not able to apprehend the suspect. The closest law enforcement officials to the building in question were campus security, and they took about two minutes to get there. That was sufficient time for the shooter to flee the building.”
Silence for a time.
Then Stockmeyer:
“Now, Agent Morales. Tell us what happened.”
Sylvia leaned forward on her desk.
“Nina had been speaking for maybe five minutes. I saw something kind of sparkle out of the corner of my eye. I looked over at the office building and saw the rifle barrel glinting in the sun. I shouted. Then I was able to get around the row of seats and make a dive for her. I covered her just as the window shattered. The next thing I realized, we were on the ground. I don’t know where the bullet went.”
“Did you see that the building was over there, and that there were numerous windows in it…before the Congresswoman began to speak?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you let her proceed?”
“I’m sorry, sir. A rookie’s mistake. A trainee’s mistake. I should have either had the podium moved to a more secure place in the hall, or insisted that the speech take place in a different room, with no windows.”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Then tell me…”
Nina interrupted.
She surprised herself by doing so.
But she had to know.
“Where did,” she asked, quietly, “the bullet actually go?”
Stockmeyer shook his head:
“That’s not really important in our…”
“Where did it go?”
A pause.
Then:
“It went into the wall four feet behind the podium.”
“So it passed through where my head would have been.”
“Yes.”
Nina got up, took two step, bent down, and embraced Sylvia.
“Thank you. Thank you.”
Both of them had tears in their eyes.
Nina’s encounter in the Georgetown University Library had garnered little in the way of public attention. Nothing had actually happened, other than a few books being defaced.
The shooting at George Washington University, as the event almost immediately became labeled, was a different matter.
It would have been big news had no political figure been involved.
As it was..
Protests and marches sprang up again, with Lissies shouting and singing and screaming support for Nina Bannister, who had come within a split second of being a martyr for the cause of women’s rights.
The thing was all over the Social Network.
Students who had been in the hall were being interviewed, and were telling, of course, wildly differing accounts of what had actually happened.
By seven o’clock in the evening, Nina and her roommate were sitting in the kitchen of their apartment—somehow this had become their favorite place of all—having a glass of white wine.
They had, they decided, earned it.
The apartment was surrounded by security personnel.
Her entire life, Nina now assumed, would be surrounded by security personnel.
They were surprised then to hear a knock at the door.
Nina looked at Laurencia:
“Reporters?”
Laurencia shook her head:
; “Reporters are banned. The security people won’t let them come up.”
“Then who?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea”
“Should we open the door?”
Laurencia got to her feet:
“I may,” she said, “be a target, and people may be shooting at my new friend with deer rifles. But I will not be too damned frightened to open the door of my own apartment.”
So that is what she did.
Revealing Sylvia Morales, who stood just outside the door.
“Sorry to bother both of you.”
“Come in, Sylvia!”
In a minute’s time, all three of them were seated at the table, and another glass of cold wine had been poured.
“I’m not supposed to be up here. But I knew someone on the detail down below, and I bribed him.”
“Why,” asked Nina, “are you not supposed to be up here? You’re our security detail.”
“Not any more.”
“What?”
“No. I was removed.”
‘Removed from what?”
“From being on your protection team.”
“That’s ridiculous! You saved my life! That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen! I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you!”
But Sylvia merely shook her head and said:
“None of it should have happened. A huge open window like that, with a massive building next door, lots of offices—it’s Protection 101. You were a sitting duck.”
“So they’re firing you?”
She shrugged:
“We’ll see. The main thing is—well, it’s just sad. Because I like both of you. And I’d like to have continued working with you.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Nina. “Surely we have some say in who our agent is! And we want you! We’ll call Stockmeyer and insist!”
A shake of the head:
“Not the Secret Service. He pretty much does as he wants.”
But Laurencia was taking out her cell phone and dialing it.
“Perhaps we can change his attitude.”
“I appreciate it, Senator, but if you’re calling Stockmeyer on my behalf…”
“I’m not calling Stockmeyer.”
A pause while she listened, the phone to her ear.
Finally, she said:
“This is Laurencia Dalrymple. Is he available?”
A pause. Then:
“Excellent. I’m so fortunate. Please tell him I’m calling in a favor. Give him this number. Tell him I’ll be waiting. Thank you.”
She flipped the phone shut.
“Now. Let’s wait a bit. I believe I’ll have some more wine. Nina?”
“No, I’ve had plenty.”
“Sylvia?”
“On duty.”
“Just as you wish.”
She had finished pouring her second glass when the phone rang.
She flipped it open and said into it:
“Thank you so much for calling me back. I have a favor to ask, especially if you have any pull with the Secret Service.”
She was silent for a time, then smiled and said:
“Well I would think so too. We have a wonderful agent assigned to us. Sylvia Morales is her name. She saved Nina’s life today, and, for that, as a reward, she has been replaced.”
Silence.
Then:
“I know. It’s insane. But the bottom line is we love her, and we feel safe being in her protection. We don’t want another agent. So if you could…ah. Ah, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”
And, so saying, she hung up.
“Who was that?” asked Nina.
“A friend with some power. I’ve been in Washington a good bit longer than he, and so I’ve been able to do several favors for him. Now perhaps he can do one for us. At any rate, we shall see. Let’s simply enjoy our wine for a bit. And while we do so…”
The phone rang.
Laurencia handed it to Sylvia:
“I feel certain it’s for you, honey.”
Sylvia took it and said into it:
“Agent Morales here.”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand. And I appreciate it greatly. Yes. Yes, of course.”
She hung up, then turned, and, beaming, said to Nina:
“I’ve been reinstated! That was Stockmeyer! He’s decided to give me a second chance!”
“Wonderful!” shouted Nina.
And the phone rang yet again.
Laurencia:
“Yes. Yes, she’s back. Thank you so much!”
Pause.
“Oh yes, she is here. I’ll let you speak to her.”
Laurencia handed the phone to Sylvia, who listened for a moment and finally said:
“Thank you, sir. I was just doing my job.”
Pause.
Sylvia:
“Nina, he wants to talk to you.”
“Who…”
“Here. Just listen.”
Nina took the phone.
She did listen.
Finally, she said:
“No, sir. I’m quite all right. And yes, sir. I’m proud of the Lissie movement too.”
She listened for a time longer, said a few words, she hardly remembered what they were.
Then she hung up.
Laurencia and Sylvia were both smiling at her.
“That,” she said, smiling back at them, “was the President of The United States.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ROLL DOWN LIKE WATERS
There was no sleep for either of them, of course, but there was a decision made. Nina made it at around four in the morning, while she was thrashing around in bed, reliving the previous hours.
She told it to Laurencia over a very early breakfast—for her roommate could not sleep either––while they were eating bran flakes covered with milk and blueberries, and drinking coffee.
The sun had not yet risen, nor had gray flakes begun to appear in the sky.
The neighborhood was relatively quiet. A siren in the distance; a dog barking somewhere down the street.
Outside, the security vehicles had made themselves invisible.
But they were there.
And they would always be there.
For—how long, for God’s sake?
“I have to quit,” Nina was saying.
Laurencia looked at her, but did not seem surprised.
“Quit and do what?”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
Nina looked back and did seem surprised, but only because she was.
“What do you mean, ‘why?’”
“Just what I asked.”
“Laurencia, this idiot shot at me.”
“Yes, I know. I was there.”
“The bullet could have blown up my head! “
“But it didn’t.”
“No, but next time…”
‘You’re sure there’s going to be a next time?”
“That’s just it, Laurencia. Maybe if I quit, there won’t be. This nut obviously thinks I’m doing something against the will of God. If I stop, maybe he will, too.”
“Then he will have won.”
“And I’ll still be alive.”
“Yes. You will be.”
Nina leaned forward on the table:
“Laurencia, I don’t want to be a martyr. I’m not meant to be. I’m not a famous person, or at least I haven’t lived my life that way. I came here to Washington because a lot of people asked me to, and because I thought I could make a difference, just a little difference.”
“A little difference.”
“Yes, and that’s all. Now people are beginning to look at me as some kind of Gender Messiah.”
“Because to them you are.”
“But why can’t somebody else be, for a while? Why do I have to spend the next part of my life, for I don’t know how many months, terrified to sit by a window, and diving under the bed every time a
tire blows out?”
Laurencia thought about that for a time and then said:
“You have a point. If you went back to Bay St. Lucy, maybe the guy would be satisfied. Maybe all the guys would be satisfied, and maybe the Lissie movement would just die out for lack of a leader.”
“I don’t think…”
“Tell you what, Nina. Let me take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“One of my favorite places in Washington. We have the limo here that the Secret Service has assigned to us. They’ll take us now if we want to go.”
“So early?”
“This place never closes. I go there often before sunrise, to experience the dawn. Come on: I’ll show it to you.”
So Nina finished dressing, and, five minutes later, she was driving down West Basin Drive, to the Martin Luther King Memorial.
She had not seen it close up, but it astonished her on being let out at the limo.
It was more impressive in the dark, both it and the granite blocks it had been hewn from, glowing white in searchlights installed at its base.
“It’s like Rushmore,” she whispered to Laurencia. “That massive white statue, carved out of the limestone mountain behind it, containing it.”
Laurencia shook her head:
“Not limestone. No, the sculpture was carved from 159 blocks of granite that were assembled to appear as one singular piece. The whole thing is meant to convey the three themes that were central throughout Dr. King’s life. Democracy, justice and hope. The statue is thirty feet high and known as the Stone of Hope.” Dr. King is carved gazing out over the horizon—where the sun will come up, actually—and concentrating on the future and the hope of humanity. To the side is a 450-foot inscription wall, made from granite panels. It’s inscribed with fourteen excerpts from Dr. King’s sermons and public addresses. Come on. Let’s just walk around the memorial, and read.
They did, Laurencia leading, Nina a step or so behind.
They were alone at the memorial. To their left loomed the Washington Monument, and directly across the Tidal Basin, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.
But these things seemed almost unimportant compared to the words carved into white granite in front of her:
“Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
And:
“Out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.”
And:
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
Sex Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 6) Page 13