The Lost Order

by Steve Berry

  And fired.

  She heard a crackle of glass breaking.

  Apparently he’d found what he was after.

  She nodded at Rick, and he agreed.

  Do it.

  She called out, “I’m a United States Justice Department agent. I need you to toss out your weapon and stay where you are.”

  Her target turned toward her, seemed to consider the command for an instant, then fired two rounds her way.

  * * *

  Grant retreated, until he was no longer visible from down the corridor.

  “We have the building sealed,” a female voice said. “There’s nowhere to go. Toss your weapon down the hall.”

  He clenched his teeth and all restraint vanished from his composure.

  This big risk had turned treacherous.

  Justice Department?

  He retrieved what he’d come for, then stepped back to peer down the hall, toward where the voice seemed centered, and caught a quick glimpse of a face disappearing around the edge of the far doorway.

  He sent two more bullets to that spot.

  * * *

  Stephanie whirled back and slammed herself and Rick to the carpet. Rounds found the Sheetrock where she’d just been standing, piercing the wall and whizzing into the gallery beyond.

  “Stay here,” she told Rick. “On the floor.”

  He nodded his understanding and she sprang to her knees, risking a low-level look back down the corridor.

  No one in sight.

  She came to her feet and headed toward the rotunda. More open doors to dark offices on either side of the corridor offered her a refuge, if need be. Ten more feet and she’d be there. She cursed herself again for allowing this to go as far as it had. She came to the end of the corridor and saw no one in the rotunda. A glass-fronted display case stood shattered against the wall, a bullet hole in its rear panel.

  Multiple doorways led out of the octagonal-shaped space.

  “No argument this time,” she yelled back to Rick. “Alert security and call the police. I assume the double doors I’m looking at are the only way out of here.”

  “That’s right. All of the other exits go to offices or meeting rooms.”

  “You stay put.”

  She rushed after the killer, following the only route the man could have taken, finding a vestibule with white walls, a checkerboard floor, and a staircase leading down. She descended quickly and quietly, staying close to the iron railing, finding the ground floor where everything was enveloped in a spooky semi-darkness. To her right was the building’s Mall entrance. Across the way on the far side was the street entrance. He hadn’t fled through either set of doors—fire alarms would have sounded. So she turned left and, with her gaze, searched the ground floor, main hall.

  Movement caught her attention.

  She focused through the shadows and caught sight of her man as he swung into view and leveled his weapon.

  * * *

  Grant had heard a woman’s voice tell someone to alert security and call the police. Then he’d spotted his pursuer. Older. Silver-blondish hair. Armed, taking cover behind a half wall, in the foyer at the bottom of the staircase, near the building’s Mall-side exit.

  He was huddled in the Great Hall, among a line of faux-marble columns that held up the second floor, three tall windows behind him, which offered no escape as they were locked and barred. He knew every inch of the building’s geography. The only escape would come to his left, through an arched doorway, down a short connecting corridor into Schermer Hall.

  His pursuer had assumed a position fifty feet away, and he would have to navigate thirty feet from where he stood behind the column to the beginning of the corridor. Once there, he’d be safe. Getting there was the problem. Lots of open space, plenty of opportunity to be shot. He heard the bleating wail of a siren in the distance and assumed the worst.

  He leveled his gun and sent two rounds in her direction, the bullets whizzing past an arched half wall, ricocheting in all directions.

  Then he rushed toward his escape.

  * * *

  Stephanie kept down, using the thick masonry for protection as bullets came her way. The rounds raced by overhead through an archway that opened into the main gallery, lead pinging off the iron railing of the staircase behind her. She hoped she had this guy contained, or at least occupied enough until help arrived. Sirens in the distance offered hope. A quick look and she saw the man vanish through a set of double doors marked TO SCHERMER HALL & THE COMMONS.

  She fled her position and ran.

  An enclosed corridor led to the Gothic-like Schermer Hall.

  A klaxon filled the air.

  Fire alarm?

  Not good.

  To her left a lighted sign identified a fire exit and a cocked-open door signaled a route. She rushed over and saw a metal staircase leading one flight down to an outside door.

  He was gone.

  Luckily, she’d caught a look. Mid-thirties. Straight nose, square chin, wide jaw, same curly hair. She returned to the main hall. To her right doors opened and Smithsonian security guards burst inside.

  The fire alarm stopped.

  She told them what had happened and men fanned out, several heading for the street side of the building and the gardens, others back toward the Mall. But she knew there was little chance of finding their target. He’d known from the start what he wanted and how to get away.

  She climbed the stairs, back to where Rick waited in the rotunda.

  Two security guards joined them.

  She again noticed the display case, a huge gold monstrosity, its glass front in pieces scattered on the floor.

  “Do you know what he was after?” she asked.

  Rick nodded.

  “I see exactly what he came for.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Diane remained irritated at her brother, who greeted Lucius Vance as if they were long-lost cousins. His pandering sickened her. Vance was just an elected official, susceptible to the polls and owned by big-money contributors. Any grasp on power he possessed was tenuous, at best. How many Speakers of the House had fallen to scandal? A lot. Nearly half served little more than a year in the job. One for only a few hours. They were, as her father used to say, “comers and goers.” She had little respect for politicians. Especially the 21st-century variety, who seemed more concerned with their own survival than making any kind of difference. In theory Vance was no better than the others, but there was definitely something attractive about his raw ambition, a quality Alex had never much coveted.

  “Have a seat,” her brother said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  Vance had requested the meeting, once he realized he would be attending the funeral, and she’d agreed. The clock on the far wall read 11:20 P.M. The help was gone, the house restored to order. Only she and Kenneth were here, along with Vance and his two security people, who both now waited outside.

  “I want to say again, Diane, that I offer my sincere condolences. Though we were never friends, Alex and I weren’t enemies, either. He served this state for a long time, and will surely be missed. I really hate that this happened.”

  Vance was ensconced comfortably in one of the club chairs. She and Kenneth sat in their own facing him. He had a habit of barely moving his lips when he spoke, like some ventriloquist with his dummy.

  “I’m also glad we have this chance to speak privately,” Vance said. “I have good news. We’re moving forward. Immediately.”

  She was surprised. “You’re ready?”

  “I’ve studied this from every angle. I even had some lawyers I trust look at it. They see no problem. The House parliamentarian also says the concept is constitutional.”

  “You discussed this with him?” she asked.

  “Nothing is going to get out of the Rules Committee unless the parliamentarian stamps his okay. Not to worry, he’s my guy, loyal to a fault, and I’ve been working with him quietly for nearly a month now. I have the votes to make this hap
pen.”

  Magical words, for sure.

  She imagined the many times throughout American history meetings just like this had been held in nondescript places, outside the public eye where momentous decisions were made. One that came to mind was the famous 1790 dinner among Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton where Hamilton convinced two political rivals to support his plan for debt reduction in return for Virginia being the location of the proposed new capital city. Another was the meeting in 1861 when Francis Blair conveyed to Robert E. Lee Lincoln’s request that Lee assume command of the Union army. Lee refused, instead resigning his commission and standing with his native Virginia.

  “This is great,” Kenneth said, his face beaming. “It’s exactly what we’ve been working for.”

  She did not share that enthusiasm. Not yet, anyway. She wanted to hear more. “Is the Rules Committee primed?”

  “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t.”

  Any change to procedures in the House of Representatives first had to be approved by the Committee on Rules, one of the oldest standing committees in Congress, currently comprising thirteen members. Nine appointed by the Speaker, the other four from the minority. Its nickname was the Speaker’s Committee, since it was how the leadership controlled the House. Every single measure, before heading to a floor vote, had to pass through Rules.

  “No one opposes you?” she asked.

  Vance sipped on a glass of Evian with a squeeze of lime. “No one that matters. My nine votes will do as I say. The other four?” He shrugged. “Who cares? But if they think about it, they’ll be with me, too. This is to everyone’s advantage.”

  “This action will be revolutionary,” she said. “Highly controversial. There’ll be consequences we have to consider.”

  Vance gave a shrug. “It’s the perfect time. The press is skewering the Senate for its failure to confirm Fox’s cabinet appointees. Even the holier-than-thou New York Times is calling for change. The House is furious with the Senate for rejecting one of our former members for a cabinet position. The people of this country are fed up with this crap. We’re fed up. So enough already. There’s no reason to wait. Let’s end it.”

  She understood why he could not have moved prior to this point. A change had been needed in the White House, which came in the last election. A new president, untested, unsure, seemed perfect to exploit. An old warrior like Danny Daniels would have proved difficult to challenge. He might even have mustered enough public support to quell things. As it was, the Senate’s natural obstructionism had played right into their hands, and the White House had even joined the chorus for change, expressing its own frustrations.

  Everything seemed primed.

  She sipped on the whiskey she’d poured herself. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Vance tossed her a smile. “I think in three days. Tops. This has to happen quick, with no delays. There’s a one-day-layover rule in effect. So once the Rules Committee reports the proposed change, we have to wait one day before the committee can vote. Then we’ll go straight from committee to a floor vote. Within an hour or so. The press will get wind of it during the one-day layover, but it’ll be over and done before they can do anything.”

  “And once we get to the House floor, will it pass?” she asked.

  Vance sat forward on the chair and turned his handsome face her way. “My people will do what needs to be done. We have nearly a 60 percent majority. But you might be surprised at how many from the other side join us.”

  Vance’s party controlled both the House and the presidency. But the other side of the aisle would have to be considered. Luckily, few in Congress possessed the tenacity to fight. Instead, they preferred to posture. This issue, though, left no wiggle room. You were either with it or against it. And Vance was right, there was a lot here for both sides to embrace.

  “I’m the Speaker of the House,” Vance said. “That means I live by results. Those are achieved by getting the people under me to do what I want. I wouldn’t be here talking to you if I didn’t have this under control. We’ll sell this by making it not a political issue, but one of common sense. Thankfully, the Senate’s arrogance over the past few months will make that an easy sell.”

  Kenneth seemed elated.

  She was glad, too. She’d listened to Alex rant for years about Congress and its abuses, how the Senate had become more and more dysfunctional, and how there was little to nothing that could be done about it.

  Actually, there was something.

  An idea that wise men from the South conceived long ago but never had the chance to implement. Instead, those same wise men had been goaded into foolishly seceding from the Union and starting a civil war—one they lost badly. Thomas Jefferson said, A little rebellion now and then is a good thing, as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.

  And he was right.

  But it all depended on the form of rebellion.

  “How does it feel?” she asked. “You’re about to become the most powerful man in the country.”

  Vance nodded and gave her a wide, confident grin.

  “That I am. And all thanks to you.”

  * * *

  They talked for another twenty minutes, then her brother left to drive to Nashville. Kenneth had never cared for Blount County, and she hadn’t offered him a room for the night. She preferred him two hundred miles away. Vance was still there, the hour approaching 1:00 A.M.

  “Let’s walk outside,” he said to her.

  They stepped out onto the wet deck.

  The rain had finally stopped.

  “It’s really lovely here,” he said. “A little piece of paradise.”

  “I’m going to sell this place.”

  “Really? I didn’t realize you hated it that much.”

  “That part of my life is over. Alex is gone. Time to move on.”

  She heard movement below and stared out beyond the railing. In the penumbra of the deck lights she saw a man wandering in the short grass of the rear yard, near the tree line. A wall of impenetrable black signified the start of the forest, which she knew continued unabated for miles.

  Vance saw the man, too, and called out, “Is there a problem?”

  She realized that the figure below was one of the Secret Service agents, patrolling the grounds.

  “No, sir,” a voice said from below. “I just wanted to have a look.”

  “Any reason why?”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Danny froze against the wet tree.

  Vance’s Secret Service agent stood twenty feet away, at the edge of the light and yard, just beyond the woods line. If he coughed or sneezed or even breathed too loud he’d be found. He’d heard the agent’s explanation as to why he was there—“I thought I heard something”—and wondered how far the man would go to satisfy his suspicions.

  “What’s causing your concern?” Vance asked from the deck.

  “It’s too dark. There’s no way to know what’s out there. You really should go back inside.”

  “This is the way it always is,” Diane said. “It’s the mountains. I’m sure you heard a raccoon or a deer out after the rain. Could even be a bear. We have lots of those.”

  The agent said nothing. As he should. Danny knew the drill. The Secret Service wasn’t there to chitchat or engage in a debate. They simply did their job. Protection detail required a special type of personality, equal parts bodyguard, diplomat, and confidant. Having Secret Service protection meant that other people were constantly in your business. No longer could you go wherever you pleased, whenever you pleased. Instead you had to ask, preparations had to be made. He wondered if this visit here, tonight, had been planned or happened on a whim. It made a difference when it came to security.

  He watched as the agent continued to stand in the yard facing his way. A wall of blackness loomed between them. He was safe so long as he didn’t make a sound and the man ventured no closer.

>   “It’s fine,” Vance said. “Go back around front. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

  The agent retreated.

  He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

  * * *

  Diane stood beside Vance.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said to her.

  It had been a few months since they were last together. Their affair started two years ago. Kenneth had introduced them so she could explain what she knew, and Vance had been immediately intrigued at the possibilities. At first she’d thought Vance was only humoring her, a chance to work his way closer, but she came to see that his curiosity was genuine. Her husband had long ago lost all physical interest in her, their marriage no longer intimate. Her liaisons with Vance had numbered only a few, and always in places far from Washington or Blount County. And she harbored no illusions. The man was married, with three children, a nine-term veteran of Congress, now Speaker of the House. He wouldn’t discard all that. Nor would she want him to.

  “I wish I had time to stay,” he said.

  “That would not be a good idea.”

  “I meant what I said earlier. You have my sincere condolences on Alex’s death. It’s a terrible thing that happened.”

  “And I appreciate that. Yet you wouldn’t mind sleeping with the widow.”

  “Come on, Diane. Don’t get moral on me. You made that choice long ago, when your husband was still alive.”

  That she had.

  Interesting how easy it had been, crossing the morality line. Five years ago if someone had said she would become a multiple adulteress she would have slapped the person down. But as she’d grown older, she’d also grown restless. Alex satisfied his passions with politics. She had nothing. Until rediscovering all her father’s old papers and the dreams of men long dead.

  “I think we should keep this proper,” she said. “Especially with what’s happening. Like I said, you’re about to become the most powerful man in this country, and powerful men need wives and children. Not mistresses.”

  “Changing history can be quite an aphrodisiac.”

  He was standing close, her skin tingling under his warm breath. She couldn’t argue with that observation, which more than anything else explained her liaisons with him.