Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

“I don’t get to say good-bye,” she mumbled, as she zipped up the hoodie. She walked over to the adjoining door and placed her hand on it. “Good-bye, Harper,” she said, using Kennedy’s first name for the first time.

The knock she had been waiting for since she entered the White House came promptly. She unlocked the door and Ratman walked in, while Jason, her backup Secret Service agent, waited just outside.

“I’m ready,” she said immediately, wanting to avoid a private encounter with Ratman.

“Why so glum?” He smiled.

“Can we just…go?”

“Of course. Your father is in critical condition, after all.” Ratman turned to Jason. “Get Kennedy and join us downstairs.”

She could scarcely conceal her shock. “Are they both coming with us?”

“Of course,” Ratman replied. “They’re your guards, after all.”

“But they—”

Ratman pulled her out into the hall and shut the door. “We have to move. The cleaners have an hour to remove all traces of you.”

She walked behind him on unsteady legs. Kennedy’s going to be there. Escorting me. The knowledge of what would happen next made her sick to her stomach.

*

Shield opened her door and found Jason standing outside. She’d thrown a White House robe over her navy pajamas.

“I was about to knock,” he said.

“What’s going on?” She pretended she hadn’t heard the conversation from the other room. Moore had come to get Thomas; something apparently was wrong with her father.

“Beacon’s father had a stroke and is en route to Suburban Hospital in Bethesda,” he replied. “She’s being taken out via the tunnels to keep things quiet. We have to move.”

“Who’s we?”

“You and I and Advisor Moore.”

“I have to notify the Secret Service to get a detail and vehicles dispatched to whatever exit we’re using. Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“Moore called me. Don’t know why.” Jason rocked up on his heels impatiently. “Look, she has to move ASAP. Why don’t you get ready while I arrange that?”

“Where’s Beacon?” she asked.

“On her way to the tunnels. They’re waiting for us.”

“Call SS. Tell them to haul ass.” She left the door open to ensure he made the proper arrangements as she dressed—casually, in jeans, button-down shirt, and jacket, so she wouldn’t draw attention in the hospital. Poor Elizabeth, she thought. The last disaster she needed on top of everything else was a sick or dead father. First a murdered husband, and now this. The woman couldn’t catch a break.

Shield could hear Jason out in the hall, informing the Secret Service about Beacon and making arrangements for three decoy cars to follow the presidential vehicle.

“Covered,” he yelled when he hung up.

“Good. Let’s go.” Shield placed her Glock in its holster at her belt.

They were soon in the underbelly of the White House, heading down a long hallway. The president and Moore, engrossed in a whispered conversation, waited at the tunnel door at the end. Thomas was casually dressed for a change. She’d probably grabbed a comfortable outfit in case she needed to stay in the hospital with her father.

Suddenly, as they neared, Thomas rubbed her face and then kicked the wall. Shield had never seen her this upset. “We’re good to go, Madam President,” she said when she reached them. “We’ll get you to the hospital as fast as possible.”

Thomas nodded once and looked away. Moore put his arm around her shoulders. “He’ll pull through. I know he will,” he said comfortingly.

Shield unlocked the door to the tunnel. “Security is waiting at the exit.”

“Good,” Moore replied. “Let me know his condition,” he told Thomas as he released her, “and if there’s anything I can do for your family.”

So Moore wasn’t joining them for a change. She couldn’t be happier that it was strictly family; Thomas could do with some time away from the idiot. Shield entered the tunnel first, with Thomas right behind her. Jason covered them from the back.

The concrete-and-steel tunnel was well lit, but tomb quiet and barren except for a trio of golf carts parked off to one side. Massive steel doors, all closed, lined both sides for the first few hundred feet. From her briefing and tour when she’d become primary, Shield knew this section of tunnel under the East Wing was the rarely used side—full of storage rooms and bunkers, primarily—all survival-scenario stuff. The stretch under the West Wing was busy virtually twenty-four hours a day now as they worked to finish the adjacent new Deep Underground Command Center.

Shield headed toward one of the golf carts and got behind the wheel. Jason sat beside the president in the rear seat, and they sped toward the exit. Shield remembered from her briefing that this tunnel came out in a wooded field five miles northwest of the capital.

“Few more minutes and you’ll be on your way,” Shield said over her shoulder when the exit door came into view a short time later.

“I guess.”

What a strange answer. Shield parked the cart some yards from the exit and they got out. She led the way, with Thomas behind her and Jason covering the rear. “I’ll be with you for the duration of your stay at the hospital.”

“I…I figured,” Thomas replied shakily. “You don’t have to, though. I’m sure Jason is enough for now. Why don’t you go back to bed and join me in the morning? I’m sure I’ll be staying there way into tomorrow.”

Another strange thing to say. What was going on? Thomas knew she couldn’t go back, even if she wanted to. She was the primary.

“Looks like we’ll have to skip our planned tennis match for tomorrow,” the president said.

Shield stopped cold. No game was scheduled for tomorrow. She pulled her Glock and pivoted to face Thomas. They were two feet from the exit. “Jason, we’re turning around.”

Jason, still behind the president, yanked out his Sauer P229 pistol as he smoothly pulled Thomas into a headlock. He kept his face low, shielded by the president’s. “One move and she’s dead.” He pointed the gun under Thomas’s chin. “Now!” he yelled.

“What the—”

Before she could finish, the exit opened from the other side and three men in black ski masks rushed in, all with guns aimed at her and Thomas.

“Put your weapon down,” one of them said, and pressed the end of his automatic against Shield’s temple.

That son of a bitch Moore was behind this, or the tunnel would be swarming with security. He had to have made sure all the cameras were deactivated. How many in the White House were involved?

Shield hesitated. She was taught to never surrender her weapon. She turned slowly to Thomas, who stood stone still, fear evident in her eyes.

“Harper, put it down,” the president said.

“Look, bitch, I can take you out now. Same to me,” the guy beside her said in a thick accent. Probably Russian , she thought.

“Please. These people are crazy,” Thomas pleaded. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Shield said. “You know them?”

Thomas nodded.

“Bitch, somebody’s about to get their blood mopped,” another of the masked intruders said, and cocked his gun against Thomas’s head. He had the same accent as the other. “Our cleaners can take care of it when they’re done.”

“Cleaners…done with what?” Shield asked calmly, puzzled with this surreal conversation.

“Do it,” Thomas screamed.

Shield discharged the magazine. The clatter of it on the floor made Thomas jump.

“Let’s go, suka .” The guy beside Shield kicked the magazine to his associate and grabbed her by the arm. “Clear,” he shouted.