Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

“Relax. Take a breath, Beecher,” Reed says, his voice now warm and friendly. “You did good.”

He gives me a small smile and I can’t help but smile back, feeling strangely comfortable as I step into the room. “So Wallace is safe?” I ask. “You got him covered?”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Reed says. “The President has never been safer.”

Behind him, on the TV, I catch a glimpse of a waving American flag. But as the camera pulls out, I see that it’s one of the tiny flags on the front of the President’s private limo, the black Cadillac known as the Beast. The way the handheld camera’s shaking… this is the Service’s live surveillance footage.

As the door to the car opens, President Wallace steps out, followed by his young daughter. They don’t wave or look around. They head straight for their destination. But from the background, from the black pavement where they’re parked—

“President and his daughter on her school trip,” one of the agents announces.

School trip? But wasn’t that—? I squint at the TV, confused. I thought they canceled the school trip. Wallace took a helicopter here . So how’d—? I don’t understand. “Wallace brought the school trip here ?”

Reed looks over at Palmiotti, then back to me. “I’m sorry, Beecher.”

From behind, the Irish agent grabs my arm, nearly pulling my shoulder from its socket. There’s a loud kk-kk-kk as something bites my wrist. A handcuff. Then another kk-kk-kk and a metal clang. I look down as—I’m handcuffed to the metal foot of the bed.

“ What’re you—? Get these off me! ” I shout, trying to tug myself free. The cuffs bite deeper into my wrist. The bed’s bolted to the floor.

“You’re not listening, Beecher. You can wait here until he’s done,” Reed says. “Our job’s to keep him safe.”

“Safe!? I just told you someone’s gonna try and kill him here in the next ten minutes! Why would you suddenly let him walk around Camp David!?”

“Camp David?” Reed asks, his lips curved in a thin smile. “You really think we’d let you through the gates if the President was still at Camp David?”

Onscreen, the camera cuts to a wide shot of familiar marble columns and the wide steps that run up to it. Everyone knows that building.

“Breaking news,” the agent at the TV teases. “President Wallace surprises daughter at Lincoln Memorial.”

I tighten my glance, making sure I’m seeing it right. Wallace holds his daughter’s hand as they make their way toward what looks like the back of the Lincoln Memorial. But this event… this tour of the Memorial… they said it was canceled. The press said he was coming to Camp David. I saw the footage of them all getting on board the helicopt—

No. I saw his wife get on board. And their son. Then the helicopter took off. Which means—

“President Wallace was never on that helicopter, was he?” I ask, trying to step toward him as the handcuffs tug me back. “You never had any intention of bringing the President here!”

“We’ve got four deaths mirroring four different assassinations,” Reed explains. “You really think we’re gonna sit on our thumbs and let there be a fifth?”

“But if you—”

“I told you, Beecher, our job is to keep the President safe. And do you know the best way to do that? You take him to a place where no one knows he’s coming. Or at least… well… where most people don’t know he’s coming,” he adds, tossing a quick thank-you look at Palmiotti, who grins back, gloating like a toad with newfound flies.

A flush of blood runs through my ears. My wrist swells from the bite of the handcuff. He knew . He knew all along. That’s why he took me here—he knew Wallace was somewhere else.

Palmiotti stares at the TV, refusing to look my way. “You protect your friends; I protect mine,” he tells me.

“You think Wallace is your friend? How many times can he chew you up and crap you out before you realize you don’t owe him anything?”

“Think whatever you want of me, Beecher. What Wallace and I have been through… When I buried my father and had to identify the body, he was the one standing next to me. In his will, I was the one named to take care of his kids in case he died. He was the same for mine. When that person leaves your life, you have any idea how bad you want him back?”

As he says the words, all I can see is my own mental image of Tot in the hospital, lying there with a bullet in his head. No brain activity. The anger hits so fast, I nearly bite through my tongue.

“ YOU SPINELESS TOADY! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN YOU CAUSED!? ” I scream, lashing out with my free hand and grabbing his neck. I dig my fingers into his scar. I don’t let go. My fingers burrow down. His scar goes purple as I press even harder. No question, his skin’s about to split—

Puuum.

The punch clips me in the back of the head, knocking me to the ground. The Secret Service are all over me.

“ Get off me! ” I scream, thrashing and kicking wildly as flecks of spit fly from my mouth.

The Irish agent grabs my free arm; Small Ears grabs my legs. I fight hard, refusing to let them take hold, but…

I have no chance. They’re the Secret Service. They train for this every day. Without a single word uttered—without even a grunt—the Irish agent presses his thick forearm across my neck. As I gasp for air, they pin me to the cold concrete ground, my handcuffed arm still hooked to the bed and raised, like a kid in junior high asking a question of the teacher.

“You done yet, Beecher?” Reed asks, standing over me as they cuff my other hand to the bed.

My chest rises and falls, but no words come out. I show enough calm that Agent Irish lets go of my throat and the air returns to my lungs. “ Huuuh huuuh ,” I pant, fighting to catch my breath.

Palmiotti holds his neck, annoyed at the pain.

“It’s time to stop lying, Beecher,” Agent Reed adds, still standing over me. “We know who sent you. Just like we know who gave you the ace of clubs with Camp David written on it. Enough bullshit, son. Tell us why you’re helping the Knight and working with Nico.”

100

Eighteen years ago

Sagamore, Wisconsin

Maybe you misplaced it. Did you misplace it?” Beecher whispered, careful to keep his voice down.

Kneeling in the treehouse, Marshall replied with an anxious look as he shook the box of Lucky Charms cereal. There was nothing inside. Even the bra advertisements were gone.

“Maybe someone took it,” Paglinni scolded.

“No one took it,” Marshall insisted, pushing his glasses up on his face as he scrambled toward the foldout bed and ran his hand underneath the mattress. Nothing there either.

“Someone definitely took it,” Paglinni said as an infection of moans spread throughout the treehouse.

On this lazy Saturday morning, they were all here for the same reason. Now, that reason was gone.

“I told you you should’ve put a lock on this place. I bet Claudio snuck in and took it,” Paglinni said, referring to a seventh grader even he didn’t mess with.

Marshall shot a look at Beecher. Claudio didn’t take it.

“Guys, just give us a sec,” Beecher said to the group. Pulling Marshall aside and cornering him by the treehouse’s Plexiglas window, he whispered, “What’re you talking about?”

“I don’t hide the magazines up here,” Marshall whispered back. “At night, once everyone’s gone, the porn goes back to my room.”

“Your room? Why would you—?” Beecher stopped himself. “Don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”