Page 132 of Enemy Within
“Well, that’s dumb.” Jennifer shrugged. “I was there. I had to take care of the flowers President Spiers gave at the funeral.” She frowned and pursed her lips. “Is there anyone else missing?”
Pete stood and shuffled through his papers, scattering sheets right and left. “Where did you get that list, Jason?”
“From the original manifest.”
“Yeah, but who gave it to you?”
Jason swallowed. “Welby gave it to me.”
In the background, the song changed, the fast beat mellowing to something soft and smooth, almost bluesy. Almost like a farewell.
Pete’s gaze locked with Jason’s. “Tell me honestly: do you think we can trust the Secret Service?”
“Hey,youbrought Welby into this—” Jason shoved back from the table, holding his hands in front of him.
“Yeah, but the info we’re getting from them isn’t accurate! If Jennifer isn’t on the list, then who else is missing?”
“You want to accuse the guy we’ve been sitting next to for two days?”
“Where the hell is he now?” Pete spread his arms wide, shouting. “Or Daniels? They’ve both vanished! And the whole reason we’re in this mess is because of theliesthe Secret Service put out there!” He threw a folder onto the table. Papers skittered wildly, spreading across the polished mahogany surface.
“Okay.” Jennifer stood, slowly pushing back from the table. She dropped a kiss on Jason’s head. “You guys need a break. I’m going to go get some lunch and bring it back. Take a break until then.” She grabbed her phone. “Seriously, guys. You’re starting to see bogeymen everywhere.”
Jason smiled at her, his lopsided, dopey smile, as she ducked out.
In the hallway, she looked down at her phone. The last song played remained on the screen. The broadcaster would have set it to play on an endless loop, one long broadcast from the online radio station she’d been listening to for the past three weeks straight.
The song was called “A New Dawn Rises.”
Her phone buzzed. A text message popped up.The signal was sent. You in position?
[Heading to rendezvous now.]
She hurried through the West Wing, entered the Residence, and moved fast across the Cross Hall. Her heels clacked against the marble, the sounds bouncing off the tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers.
In ten minutes, a van would arrive at the gates. Florists, delivering flowers for her weekly order. Or at least, that was what their credentials said. In twelve minutes, they’d be parking beneath the East Wing, where she’d meet them at the loading dock. From there, it was eight minutes from the loading dock back to the West Wing.
They’d move faster once they started firing. And without Welby and Levi Daniels, the Secret Service agents left behind were all younger, less experienced agents who quaked in front of a senator and had only been called in when the White House needed to staff up in a hurry. Young, inexperienced, and easy to intimidate.
They were insignificant.
She ducked into the East Wing and headed for the elevator that would take her to the garage. She didn’t fidget as she waited for the elevator, watching the light as the car descended from the second floor to the first. When it dinged and the doors opened, she stepped inside smoothly. No one watching would have any idea what she was about to do.
The elevator doors started to close.
A hand grasped the sliding brass door. The doors slid back.
Jason grinned at her, his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, and shirt rumpled. “Mind if I tag along? Pete’s going crazy in there.” He shrugged. “I’d rather be with you.”
Jennifer pasted her wide, bright smile on her face, the one that had first lured Jason in. “Sure!”
Down they went, into the garage. She fished her keys out of her purse. “I have a floral delivery on the way, too. I’m going to check it out before we go, okay?”
“No prob.”
The doors dinged and opened to the dim, cavern-like depths of the underground garage. Dark shadows clung to the cars. Down a long aisle, a rectangle of light bled into the darkness, the ramp rising into the daylight.
A blue van rumbled down the ramp and rolled into the garage. She waved. It drove toward her.
