Page 140 of Enemy Within
“Welby.”
“It’s Jennifer.” He’d never heard Pete’s voice shake like that. Even over the phone, he heard Pete’s panic, sensed his terror. “It’s fucking Jennifer.”
“What?”
“Jason just called me. She met a group of guys in the East Wing garage. They had guns. She shot him. He’s bleeding out down there!”
His chair flew back when he stood up and crashed into the far wall. He’d barked orders to his men, calling for the video feeds to be pulled up. Nothing but snow and static on the East Wing cameras—someone had destroyed them already.
But he’d spotted her leading a team through the Residence, almost to the West Wing.
His palm hit the alarm switch as he shouted for the agents to grab their weapons and initiate intruder procedures. “Pete, we’re coming for you.”
They’d barely managed to evacuate Pete and the rest of the offices in the West Wing before Jennifer had blasted her way in.
He’d found General Bell and Senator Allen in the empty Vice President’s office. Wide-eyed, Senator Allen had hovered behind General Bell. Welby had to shout at him twice to get him to move, to run in front of him down the hall to the stairs that would lead them to the ground floor.
Welby watched the monitor as he shed his jacket and strapped on a flak vest. He’d had no time to grab one before running to rescue the rest of the staff. “Where is she going?” On-screen, Jennifer moved quickly down the hallways, slipping past the Oval Office. She didn’t seem to care about the president’s spaces.
Pete appeared beside him, his hands laced behind his head. “Holy shit,” he breathed, watching Jennifer. “Holy fucking shit.”
“How did we miss this?” Welby slammed three new clips of ammo onto his belt and checked the clip in his weapon. He’d fired six shots already.
“God, she has total access to the White House. The Residence, everything, because of her stupid fucking flowers!” Pete grit his teeth, almost screaming. “She wasn’t on the manifest for the flight to Russia. She came onboard at the last minute, something about the flowers, she said. They needed to be tended in flight. Not like other times, where they could just be put in water. She insisted on coming. I thought she just wanted to spend time with Jason. And I thought she was cleared. I thought she was listed.”
“What’s Jason’s status?”
“He sounded fucking bad on the phone.” Pete’s voice shook. He scrubbed his hands over his face, watching Jennifer kick down one of the doors to an unmarked room in the West Wing.
“Oh fuck,” Welby hissed.
Pete echoed him. “Fucking hell, not that.”
Welby shouted over the din of agents loading up and strapping on their flak vests. Forty agents had assembled in Horsepower, and more held down the rest of the White House and surrounded the West Wing. “Listen up! Our target has just led her team to the elevator entrance to the PEOC!” Behind him, Jennifer laid her palm on the keypad, and the reinforced steel doors to the presidential elevator slid open. “She’s entering the elevator and descending to the bunker!”
The PEOC, the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. All cleared West Wing staff had access to it, in case they were the last line of defense, and they were the ones who had to get the president down to the bunker. Pete frowned. “What the fuck is she doing down there?”
“Nothing good.” Welby nodded to his men. “I want two teams to work on breaching the bunker from the East Wing. Try and drill through the vault doors there.”
“Sir, it’s—”
“I know it’s reinforced, and I know it’s meant to withstand a nuclear blast. Do what you can. We have to get in there. Get creative.” He jerked his head, sending two teams out the door. “The rest of you are going to secure the West Wing. Post up triple strength around the Situation Room. Escort Senator Allen there, too.” Most of the staff had retired to the Situation Room, and the Speaker of the House was on a secured connection from the Capitol. The national security staff were in there as well, along with General Bradford and CIA Director Mori.
The agents filed out. As they went, each laid their palm over a picture taped by the door. It had appeared right after the Langley blast, both a reminder and a testament. A way to honor their fallen, and a promise to do better.
Each agent touched a picture of President Spiers and Ethan Reichenbach, their former boss, dancing arm in arm at the White House Christmas Ball.
Welby spared a glance for General Bell and Senator Allen as the senator was escorted from Horsepower. General Bell had to know what it meant. Did Senator Allen?
By the shocked look on their faces, both men registered the impact. Back in the war, when Welby had served, he and his men used to slap a picture of the World Trade Center in New York City before battle, reminding them why they were there and what they were doing.
He turned away, listening on the radio as his teams checked in.
“Agent Welby.” General Bell stood behind him, unbuttoning his dress uniform jacket. “I’m coming with you.” He reached for one of the flak jackets hanging in the weapons locker.
“Sir—”
Pete interrupted. “I’m coming too.” He mimicked General Bell’s movements, slipping the flak jacket over his head and securing the straps around his chest and under his arms.
