Marc Cameron - Act of Terror

“In D.C.?”

“Nope.” Thibodaux shook his head. “New York. And there’ve been a few more developments while you were off in Bootystan with your new girlfriends. They’ve announced the location of the VP’s daughter’s wedding. She’s getting married off the south end of Manhattan on Governors Island at five o’clock.”

“Tonight?” Quinn glanced at his wrist, remembering the Breitling had been reduced to molten bits by the Hellfire missile strike. “What time is it now?”

“Ten past eleven in the morning,” Mrs. Miyagi said. She returned the vial of antiseptic to the cargo pocket of her BDU pants and took out a white pill, handing it to Quinn.

“Provigil,” she said.

“Thank you.” Quinn nodded, popping the pill dry. Provigil was a drug the military sometimes gave pilots to keep them awake during long missions. It didn’t cause the jitters like caffeine or amphetamines and there was no crash when it wore off. It had yet to be determined if there were any negative long-term effects. After what Quinn had just been through, he didn’t care. He had to keep moving. Sleep was not an option.

“Governors Island has to be the target,” Quinn said. “Can we have them postpone it?”

Thibodaux shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. According to Palmer, the vice president and Mrs. Hughes feel safe enough since they didn’t release the location to the public until a day ago.”

“But many people must have already known,” Mrs. Miyagi mused.

“And two can keep a secret,” Jacques said. “If one of them is dead…”

“I don’t like it.” Quinn used Mrs. Miyagi’s shoulder to get to his feet. “We have to keep the president away at least.”

“Palmer-san has advised him just so,” Miyagi said. “But the president does not want to appear weak in front of the entire world. He has yet to decide what he will do.”

“Secret Service has tripled the number of agents on-site. They’re sweeping with Explosive Detection K9s and X-raying everything from the fruit baskets to wedding gifts.”

Quinn nodded, his brain in overdrive. If he was a terrorist, he’d pick the wedding.

Killing so many world leaders along with the president would not only throw world economic markets into a tailspin, it would prove that the United States was touchable-weak.

The wedding was as ripe a target as they came. Still, the politicians were just that-politicians-and they were wont to do what politicians did while they depended on him to look after the dirty little details like keeping them alive.

Suddenly heady with the situation, Quinn looked down at Miyagi and smiled. She and Thibodaux had taken care of things with such explosive force and precision, he’d forgotten to thank them.

“I…” He took a deep breath, feeling energy flow into his system. The focusing effects of the Provigil were coming at him fast. “You both…”

Miyagi put the tip of her finger to his lips to shush him. Apart from picking at the bone of his butchered toe, it was the tenderest thing he’d ever seen her do.

“Warriors do not speak of thanks. We do our duty.” She arched a thin black eyebrow. “Is that not so, Thibodaux-san?”

“I expect it is.” The Cajun shrugged.

“Very good.” She led Quinn toward the door. “Are you well enough to ride?”

Quinn flexed his shoulders, amazed at how good he felt. He took a deep breath and nodded. “As a matter of fact I am.”

“Excellent,” she said. “We haven’t much time. I have already spoken to Palmer. Your bikes will be waiting for you in New York.”

Quinn looked up. “The GS is fixed?”

“You will use my Ducati.” Miyagi shook her head. “But see that it comes back in one piece.”

Washington

Hartman Drake turned the wheel of his black BMW 7 Series sedan and smiled as the luxurious vehicle accelerated up the GW Parkway toward Arlington Cemetery. He glanced at the navy-blue Suburban in his rearview mirror. Considering his past, it was difficult to keep a stupid grin off his face. As a United States Congressman, Drake wouldn’t normally have rated a 24-7 security detail. But as the new speaker of the House, not to mention the leader of a public crusade against some extremely powerful-and now embarrassed-men and women within the government, he got dozens of threatening phone calls and hundreds of hateful emails each day. Civil liberties groups rallied outside the Rayburn House Office Building. Dark figures loitered in the shadows across Independence Avenue, photographing him as he came and went. Someone had even gone so far as to throw a brick through the bay window of his home in a gated community in Vienna, Virginia.

The Capitol Police had decided it would be prudent to assign a four-man detail.

Kathleen, sitting in the passenger seat, gushed over the fact that her husband warranted protection. She’d always been a little heady with power and prestige-ever since he’d been the editor of the college newspaper at Arizona State. Dumber than the box of proverbial rocks, she’d been fiercely devoted to him from the moment he got her into a game at the Sun Devil Stadium with his press pass.

He looked over at her with a contained smile. She was three years his junior, and her pale skin showed none of the pressures and anxieties of leadership that lined his brow like a washboard. He had to admit she was attractive in a stolid, hackneyed sort of way. She spent an hour on the treadmill every day, watched what she ate, and doted on him as though he were the last man in the world. Even worse, she believed every word that came out of his mouth. Men and women alike would often tell him how lucky he was to have such a wife-beautiful and devoted.

They passed under the gray shadows of the Memorial Bridge; Lincoln sat on his throne to the left. Thousands of dead lay in Arlington Cemetery to the right. Drake passed a rusted Ford pickup belching blue smoke, and then eased back into the right lane. He shot a soft look at his wife. She rarely ever said no to him-but even steak and eggs for breakfast got tiresome after a while.

He eased back into the left lane.

“I’m excited to spend some time in New York,” she said, hands folded in the lap of her peach-colored dress. It suited her complexion and overly sweet temperament.

“Seems like a bad time to me,” he said. “I should swing by the office and pick up some papers. We’re running early and I’ll only be a minute.”

“Hart,” she said sighed. “I’m so proud of what you’re doing, but can’t you take this one night off and just enjoy the wedding? There are going to be so many important people there.”

“This move that you and I are taking,” he said, looking across at her. “It’s the single biggest thing we’ve ever done, Kathleen.” He’d learned a long time before that if he wanted her buy in to something, he just had to talk about it as if it was a joint project between the two of them. He studied the tiny lines around her trusting brown eyes and wondered if she’d feel the same way if she knew how he felt about Julia Sanborn’s legs.

He didn’t love either one, but at least Julia was exciting. Kathleen was not a bad person; she was just boring. He’d admitted that to himself shortly after they’d met in college. But her father had the contacts in local politics to help him get started. Kathleen was far from homely and had produced two strong, healthy sons. She was, more than anything, comfortable.

His heart fluttered in his chest as he they shot past the sign announcing Reagan National Airport ahead. The Potomac River stretched off to their left. To the right was the Roaches Run Wildlife Sanctuary lagoon, a long tidal pond built when the city fathers had been dredging gravel to construct the Pentagon. The sight of it sent a shiver down both legs.