Double Crossfire

by Anthony J. Tata

  “Roger that,” Jake said.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She was seeing a different Jake Mahegan than she ever thought possible. One she never believed could exist.

  “We need to ask you, Cassie. Has Jake ever said anything to make you believe he is a member of the Resistance? Here you and Zara are on a sanctioned mission to save the president and vice president without blowing the fact that we know Carmen Biagatti is the Resistance leader inside the administration. Is it just a coincidence that Jake winds up on Biagatti’s team at this very time? This month, this week, when the revolution is happening?”

  Cassie thought back. Jake had never uttered anything political in his life, as far as she could remember. He was 100 percent mission driven.

  “He was angry about a lack of resources for the Russian, Iran, and North Korea fights we just had, but that’s it,” Cassie said.

  “That’s a pretty big thing right there,” Jamie said.

  “There’s a chance we might see him if he’s got the bodyguard mission on Biagatti. Can you handle that?”

  “Seeing Jake?” Her voice was excited. She desperately wanted to see him, talk to him, straighten her head out.

  “You wouldn’t be socializing. And given the pace of everything, there might be gunshots. Can you kill Jake, Cassie? To protect the president?”

  “What?!”

  “Yes. That’s the commitment I need from you,” Jamie said. “It’s either me or Jake. At the end of the day, it might come down to that. If he’s in this with Biagatti, and we believe that he is, then he’s got to be put down.”

  Cassie’s mind whirled with memories of Jake and visualizations of their future, none of which included shooting him. She braced herself and said, “I’m a patriot and will always do the right thing.”

  “Okay, that’s going to have to be good enough for now, because we have to get moving,” Zara said. The elevator chimed and two Secret Service men stepped out. Both were wearing sunglasses, black coats, dark suits with blue ties, and black shoes. The bulk under their coats hinted that they were carrying significant hardware, plus wearing body armor. The lead man had a buzz cut, not unlike a Russian hit man. The second man’s black hair was gelled back, Gordon Gekko style.

  “Madam Senator, we have to get you to the Capitol for the swearing-in ceremony immediately,” the lead man said.

  Zara had her pistol on her hip, while Cassie’s was beneath her blazer for a quick draw across her chest. They would have to be head shots, though, because the body mass of the two big men was covered with something that would stop a nine-millimeter bullet, she was certain.

  “Who are you guys?” Jamie said, stepping back.

  “We’re Secret Service, ma’am. And we need to go now,” the lead man said.

  “How did you get into my apartment?” Zara asked.

  Cassie continued to slide to her left, toward the kitchen, gaining the flank, grasping her personal rucksack as she did so.

  “We don’t have time for these questions. There has been a coup, and, Senator, you are next in line. Our mission is to protect you,” Buzz Cut said.

  Cassie snapped her pistol out of her holster and shouted, “On the floor now!”

  Zara moved in front of Jamie as both men drew their weapons. Cassie wasted no time in capping Gordon Gekko in the head. Buzz Cut’s pistol was up, but Zara fired two rounds into his face.

  “Search them for credentials immediately,” Jamie said.

  Cassie was already kneeling next to Gekko and found nothing but a Secret Service Special Agent shield, which looked authentic enough, but could easily be purchased at the Spy Store up the road.

  “Just shields,” Cassie said. “Why would these men be sanitized? They used the shields to get into the building, gain access, and do what?”

  “Kill me,” Jamie said. “See? This is as serious as it gets. No one knew I was here. I have a phone that the NSA probably tracked. The Resistance is everywhere. If they’re going three down on the depth chart, they’re trying to clean house big-time.”

  “But you said yourself that the Resistance wanted you,” Cassie said.

  “What the fuck am I going to do with two dead bodies and two tanks of cyanide gas? This apartment is becoming a biohazard,” Zara quipped.

  “We have to get going. Straight to the garage and then straight to the Capitol, correct?” Jamie asked.

  “Yes. Media is going batshit crazy,” Zara said.

  “Any of them onto me being here?”

  “No. I’m not sure how these two figured it out,” Zara replied. “Unless Jake told them.”

  “First, Jake doesn’t know where I am. Second, if Jake wanted you dead, you’d both be dead,” Cassie said.

  “I think you overestimate your crush there, girl,” Zara said.

  “Are you with me or against me, Cassie? We’ve got to get moving now.”

  Cassie nodded. “I’m coming.”

  “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining, Cassie, but I’ll take that for now. Let’s go,” Jamie said.

  The elevator chimed; they stepped over the two dead men and gathered into the elevator. The doors opened into the lower garage. Zara had positioned her car so that it was directly in front of the elevator. Zara entered the driver’s compartment, with Cassie riding shotgun, her rucksack between her legs. Jamie sat in the customary VIP position of the back right seat.

  As they pulled onto the M Street Southwest, Cassie said, “I’ve got three women dressed in black running along the river. They’ve spotted the car and are heading directly at us from our two o’clock.”

  “Damnit,” Zara muttered. “Where is our OpSec?”

  “Just make a turn and haul ass. Get off this road!” Jamie shouted.

  Zara pulled a Rockford 180 and was driving in the opposite direction, which was when the first bullet struck the rear window.

  CHAPTER 14

  JAKE MAHEGAN LOOKED AT DIRECTOR BIAGATTI AND SAID, “THE Speaker’s dead, which leaves us with Jamie Carter.”

  “Lord help us with that bitch,” Biagatti said.

  “I don’t know the woman, but a very coordinated effort began with Senator Hite, which put Carter in place. Then, just like that, we have the top three elected officials in the country killed,” Mahegan said.

  They were in the Porsche Panamera doing 100 mph on I-66 as the sun was cresting the horizon. Mahegan had switched the flashers on and they had already passed four cops, with Biagatti saying the same thing she always said, “We should have taken the helicopter.”

  To which, Mahegan said each time, “It’s got more important stuff to do right now.”

  They crossed the Potomac into DC, and Mahegan kept the Porsche cruising past the White House, along Constitution, until he found a parking spot near the Russell Senate Office Building, where he parked the car at the curb. They jumped out and immediately a member of the Capitol Police was on them, pistols raised, shouting, “Stop!”

  “Director of the CIA here. We need to be at the swearing-in ceremony,” Biagatti said, holding up her credentials. The Russell Building loomed to their front, Constitution Avenue to their rear. The cop was tall and stocky, with a shaved head and wraparound sunglasses. His blue uniform was crisp and sharp. His biceps strained the material of his uniform. He carried a Glock 19, which hadn’t wavered since Biagatti had spoken. His nametag read: JENSEN, and Mahegan thought that he looked like a big Swede from Minnesota.

  “Seriously? You’re drawing down on the director of the CIA?” Mahegan said. “You might as well go inside and sign your own dismissal papers. I’ve never worked with the Capitol Police, but I imagine it isn’t too different than the military, where I served and maybe you did, too. If this were the Army and you were aiming your pistol at the chief of staff, a four-star general, whom you clearly either recognize or should recognize, then I’d say your career would be over. Either way, you’re derelict. You either recognize Director Biagatti here, and are still choosing to aim a loaded pistol in her face,
or you don’t recognize her, which makes you derelict in your duties, because you’re supposed to know all of the key players here in DC. And now would be a good time to brush up on that depth chart, because there are some changes happening. So, what’s it going to be? You going to shoot the director of the CIA?”

  “How about I just shoot you?” Jensen said.

  “You’d better shoot to kill, Jensen. That’s all I’ve got to say,” Mahegan said.

  The two men stared at each other, and Mahegan took a step closer to Jensen.

  “You part of the Resistance? That was this is all about? You patrolling for them?” Jensen asked.

  Mahegan had his earbud in, and O’Malley could hear everything that was transpiring.

  “Sergeant Olaf Jensen from St. Paul, Minnesota. Heavyweight wrestler in high school and college. Social media shows him as a supporter of the president and his political party. Dad was a cop. Mom was a schoolteacher. Has a younger sister, Helen, at the University of Minnesota studying engineering. Pictures on social media indicate they’re close. There’s nothing that would indicate he’s a Resister. A few bar fights on his record, so I’m guessing he’s got a bad temper, that’s all,” O’Malley said.

  “Voices in your head talking to you?” Jensen said.

  “Something like that, Olaf. Would your sister, Helen, be proud of you for aiming a weapon at a woman? She’s studying hard to be an engineer and here she’s got a hothead brother holding up the show. Going to make the front page. Dad’s a cop. Mom’s a teacher. This what you learned from them? Headline, St. Paul Man Shoots Director of the CIA.”

  Jensen’s stone face melted. “How the fuck you know about my family?”

  “I’m standing next to the director of the CIA. That info just flows out of her brain. Now get out of the way, Jensen, before I . . . disarm you in a way that will embarrass you,” Mahegan said.

  Mahegan nudged Biagatti’s arm and they walked past Jensen, who didn’t move. Mahegan’s considerable mass bumped into Jensen’s, causing the police officer to take a step to maintain his balance. They came through the private back entrance and rode the elevator to the main hallway, checked the directory, and began jogging to Senator Hite’s former office. As they turned the corner, a gaggle of reporters was huddled around the main door. A tall, dark-haired woman pushed through, created an alley, and Senator Jamie Carter followed, with Cassie on her heels.

  Cassie?

  Mahegan stopped, Biagatti’s forward momentum carrying her into the throng of reporters. She turned and said, “Jake, come on!”

  Cassie’s eyes were focused on the crowd of reporters, any of which could be Resistance members ready to complete the kill of the top four—unless, of course, installing Carter was the plan all along. Mahegan shoved through with the director. He was eyes down, looking at hands one minute, and eyes up, looking at eyes the next. All he saw was a rabid press corps trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The fact was that no one could completely understand the last three years. The country had been splitting apart, forcing people to choose sides. You either hated or loved the president. Mahegan kept his politics to himself, to the extent that he had any. He was an operator, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the damage being done to a country he loved and served.

  Never one to place blame, Mahegan had tired of the media wars, picking apart everything the current administration did or failed to do. If he was tired of it, he knew that most of the country had to be over it. Nonetheless, the Resistance that had begun with the president’s election, and continued to this day, had manifested itself in a revolution. First it was classic James Madison’s “Violence of Factions” venting through government channels and semipeaceful protests. The semipeaceful transitioned to semiviolent at some unidentifiable tipping point, which then led to all-out violence, one year before the next election. Assassination was apparently a better option than voting. Certainly, it gave a more identifiable outcome for both sides.

  Once in Jamie Carter’s office, they pushed past the dark-haired woman, who, Mahegan believed, had been with Cassie last night when they changed out the tanks to the SCIF.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m security for the director of the CIA, Carmen Biagatti. She needs to brief the incoming president on the intelligence and chaos happening right now.”

  Mahegan stared at the back of Cassie’s head as she spoke with Carter, who was gesturing with her hands, emphasizing point after point. He only had an oblique view of Cassie’s face, but even that gave him pause. What have I done?

  The throng of reporters grew by the second, pushing against the thin line of security. Why was Carter still standing in line of sight of the doorway?

  The mob parted as the chief justice of the Supreme Court barreled through with his security, two guys as big as Mahegan. It seemed that every public figure was upping their security game after what had happened in the last twelve hours.

  “We need to brief Senator Carter, Ms. Perro,” Biagatti said.

  “Zara, please,” she replied.

  Zara Perro. She’s at the heart of this thing.

  “Now,” Biagatti insisted.

  Zara looked at Biagatti, then Mahegan, and said, “Let’s do this in proper order. Chief Justice Walters is here. This will only take a minute. Then we can do the briefing. Your hunk of beef will have to stay out here, though.”

  “He’s cleared to hear everything I have to say,” Biagatti said.

  “But perhaps not everything our new president will have to say. It’s her call, after all,” Zara said.

  “That’s right, so let her make it. Jake has been inside this thing from Jump Street and knows more than anyone else about what’s happening.”

  “I go where the director goes,” Mahegan said. “Right now, it’s hard to tell who’s on the right side of this thing.”

  “Indeed,” Zara said. She smiled slightly. “I can see why Cassie likes you. Glad she’s working for us.”

  “Working for you?”

  “Just a sec,” Zara said. She intercepted the chief justice and said to him, “Right this way.” Guiding him through the doorway into an open conference room, the chief justice and Jamie Carter squared off. They were in full view of the press. Cassie was between them, holding the Bible in her hand.

  Cassie. A million thoughts ran through his mind. The waves crashing on the beach just over the dunes from their Bald Head Island retreat. Riding flying suits and parachuting into a steep valley to rescue their boss, General Savage. The intense firefight in Yazd, Iran. Her emerald eyes, like jade stones. Her smile, intelligent and humorous.

  After the last 48 hours, was she still Cassie Bagwell, the woman he loved?

  The doorway to the outer office was filled with heads and cameras and boom mikes, all trying to get the scoop, capture the moment. Mahegan understood. Carter wanted proof that she was being sworn in as the president after the “Coup Assassinations,” as the New York Post had already labeled it.

  Next through the throng was the president’s doctor, who brushed past Mahegan, paused, leaned in, and whispered something; then he continued on to the small lectern set up with a microphone. With the doctor was the White House spokeswoman, Maggie Myers, known affectionately by the press pool as “M-Squared.” Maggie was wearing a white blouse, navy suit, and low heels. She had pulled her brunette hair back into a ponytail, baring her grim facial features. Somehow, she had to explain the last twenty-four hours to the nation. Instead of doing it from the White House, someone had deferred to Senator Carter’s desires to perform the ceremony from her Senate office.

  Maggie stood before the podium and coughed. The gathering hushed as she began speaking.

  “It is with the deepest sadness imaginable that I have to report the deaths of the president, vice president, and Speaker of the House. White House physician Dr. Colin White has confirmed everything I am telling you.”

  Dr. White stepped forward, nodded, and then returned to his position behind
Maggie.

  “Consistent with Article Twenty-five of the United States Constitution, Dr. White has declared the president unable to serve, which then transfers the acting presidency to the vice president, who Dr. White has also declared unable to serve. The next in the line of succession is the Speaker, who Dr. White has likewise confirmed is unable to serve. Terrorist attacks were effected at an undisclosed location in Northern Virginia against the president and vice president, and nearly simultaneously, terrorists attacked the Speaker of the House. This was a coordinated effort to overthrow the government. We have our director of the Central Intelligence Agency here to answer questions, to the extent she may have any answers, given the fluid situation. We also have Chief Justice Harrison Walters here to swear in the Senate pro tem, newly elected senator Jamie Carter, as the acting president.”

  Mahegan detected the slightest emphasis on the word acting.

  “Consistent with an unprecedented and perhaps unforeseen evolution of events, we are acting out of an abundance of caution and rapidly designating Senator Carter as the president until further notice. Chief Justice Walters will conduct the swearing in.”

  Maggie left no time for questions, quickly pivoting to Chief Justice Walters, who somberly approached the microphone, turned to a ninety-degree angle, and motioned for Jamie to join him, which she did.

  A hush fell over the journalists, even the gaggle behind the gaggle. They all seemed to get the message. This was history in the making, and no one wanted to be recorded as forever destroying the moment.

  Mahegan thought about the grainy videos he had seen of Lyndon Johnson taking the oath aboard Air Force One after John F. Kennedy’s assassination. His wife, Lady Bird Johnson, and Jackie Kennedy flanked him then, as Cassie and Zara Perro joined Senator Jamie Carter today.

  Cassie had not yet acknowledged him. Her eyes were downcast, focused on the task at hand. She didn’t appear to be particularly pleased to be there. If anyone could see inside Cassie’s mind, it was Mahegan. She was torn. Jamie was Cassie’s godmother, and the only family Jamie had left in the world. That connection had allowed Cassie to get inside Senator, shortly to be President, Jamie Carter’s inner circle less than forty-eight hours after calling him and asking for his help. Mahegan followed Director Biagatti into the conference room. They had counted on Zara’s pursuit, and even though Jake had only the one communication with Cassie, it appeared to have worked.