Джеймс Паттерсон - Target - Alex Cross

“I was thinking the same thing,” Mahoney said.

“Mahoney, Cross,” FBI director Sanford said, waving us toward the president.

We shook hands with Larkin.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr. Cross,” he said in a grave voice. “Director Sanford said you and Special Agent Mahoney were the people he wanted involved in the investigation immediately.”

“Well,” I said, taken aback. “I’m honored to be here to help in any way I can, and please excuse the clothes.”

Larkin put his hand on my shoulder and gazed at me evenly. “We’ve got more dire things to deal with.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

He held my gaze a moment and then nodded and said softly, “Good. Take a seat, Dr. Cross. And keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

As Mahoney and I took seats, we saw members of the cabinet, one of the congressional leaders, and several others I did not recognize sizing us up. My first inclination was to ignore them, but then I realized that all of the people in the room feared for their lives but were also probably jockeying for position in the power vacuum created by the assassinations.

The killings were an act of war or a coup, something huge and sinister — I was in such a deep state of shock that for the moment I couldn’t do anything but heed Larkin’s advice to sit down, listen, and watch.

The acting president said, “The purpose of this meeting is twofold. All members of the current cabinet are to serve through the period of martial law at least. You will be separated, however, and flown with your families aboard one of the E-fours, the advanced airborne command posts, to secure locations.”

Several of them started to protest. Larkin held up his hand and said, “There is no discussion. This is being done for your own safety and for the good of the country. I will be doing the same thing in the near future.

“In any case, we will stay in close contact via secure satellite transmission. You will be involved in all major policy debates and made aware of decisions in real time.

“Chief Justice Watts and leaders of the majority and minority parties, I ask that you remain readily available in the coming days. In an emergency like this, I will need clear legal guidance on what I can and cannot do to try to defend the nation.”

The chief justice hesitated but then said, “It’s highly unorthodox, but I think in this time of crisis, it’s a smart idea, Mr. President.”

Larkin nodded, leaned forward, and looked around the table.

“Let me be clear about something,” he said. “In this case, no one is above the law or outside our jurisdiction. I am instructing Director Sanford and all intelligence agency leaders to follow the investigation wherever it leads.

“If this is the work of a hostile nation, we will declare war. If this is the work of any ideological group, domestic or foreign, we will root them out and bring them to justice. I will not have these heinous acts wreck the country, not on my watch.”

Many at the table nodded and voiced their approval.

Larkin started signing executive orders that put the Justice Department’s assassination-contingency plan into effect. In line with that plan, he sought and received approval from the congressional leaders and from the chief justice to temporarily amend the rules of Congress to limit members’ access to classified information as the investigation rolled forward.

The plan also called for a rapidly deployed investigative group answering to the FBI director, the AG, the president, and those gathered in the room. Larkin asked the majority leaders of both houses to form select committees on the assassinations that would provide independent oversight and reports.

“I will not allow this to be like the JFK investigation,” Larkin said. “I will not have some future panel judge us deficient in our investigation. This is no lone gunman. These coordinated assassinations are clearly the result of a massive conspiracy, the most outrageous attack on our democracy since Pearl Harbor, and I plan to tell the nation just that when I address them later in the day.”

For a moment Larkin seemed excited by that prospect, the idea of speaking to the nation in a time of great crisis, and I wondered whether he’d ever imagined himself president of the United States. He certainly had been a brilliant careerist.

I knew his résumé; he’d been a decorated army captain before going to Yale Law School and then joining the Justice Department. It was almost as if he’d planned his rise. And now here it was, his moment, probably a lot sooner than he’d expected.

The acting president looked down the table at me and Mahoney. “Dr. Cross, SAC Mahoney, for the next one hundred hours I am allocating unlimited resources to bring to bear on these crimes. Advise us on how best to proceed.”

Metro police chief of detectives Bree Stone and Metro detective John Sampson walked the perimeter of the DC arena as a mix of FBI, Secret Service, and Metro investigators manned a system to get the children out of the venue while interviewing anyone with any information, anything at all.

The main security checkpoint was clogged with kids and their parents and chaperones trying to get out of the arena. Bree spotted Secret Service Agent Lance Reamer, who looked beyond agitated.

“Anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They cut the—”

“Please, coming through!” a woman called out.

Bree looked up to see two paramedics flanking a man on a rolling gurney who had bloody bandages all over his head and face. A DC SWAT officer trailed them.

Several of the children got upset at the sight of the wounded man.

The paramedics pushed the gurney through. Bree walked with them toward a waiting ambulance. “What happened?”

The SWAT officer said, “We found him in the basement in a pool of blood from four different head wounds. Name’s Kent Leonard. Works here. Lost some teeth, probably some broken bones in his face. Looks like he was hit with a piece of iron. They destroyed his hearing aids too. Guy’s stone-deaf without them.”

“Hearing aids?” said a Secret Service agent coming their way.

Another agent came over too. “We know this guy.”

They introduced themselves as Agents Crane and Lewis, then Agent Crane went to the wounded man’s side, made eye contact, and nodded.

Leonard looked at him fuzzily, then reached his hand up to the side of his head and said in a duck-like voice. “Where are my hearing aids?”

Bree tugged out a notebook, scribbled: They’re broken. Do you sign?

He shook his head no.

“Can we do this later?” the EMT said. “He could have a skull fracture.”

“And the president’s been shot,” Bree said to him, scribbling again. “I just want him to answer one question.”

She flipped the pad around. What happened?

He gazed at the question a moment before coughing and saying in that nasal quacking voice, “I was down getting paper towels from storage when the lights went out. I used the light on my watch to go to the room with the big electrical panels. I got there and started to open the door. Someone hit me from behind. I bounced off the door, and then fell to the ground, and he just kept hitting me until I blacked out.”

He? Bree wrote. You saw him?

He nodded. “In the watch light. Blond guy. Weird blue eyes. I...” His eyes fluttered, and he moaned. “My head hurts.”

The EMT said, “I need to get him to a level-one trauma center.”

Bree wanted to ask him more questions, but Reamer said, “Go ahead.”

She looked at the man’s face, which was swollen and an angry purplish color.