Assassination Games by Zach Franz

Author:Zach Franz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2022-08-29T16:25:06+00:00

29

The rain was moving out. Stubborn drops still danced upon the Chevy Tahoe’s expansive windshield, but the rising sun claimed a growing swath down the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. Gray and purple shadows tested the edges of an intense, orange center. It shone like a rare, two-toned rainbow.

McCoy was too nervous to notice. He’d met the President on two prior occasions, but both had been within social settings and lasted a grand total of about thirty seconds. “Hello, sir. Have you tried the punch? Yes, I think I saw your wife talking to the French Ambassador.”

Today was different. He was here in an official capacity, summoned for his expertise, discussing a threat that had the power to spread fear and death to nearly every corner of the globe. Never mind that only a handful of people knew about it; that only made each man’s slice of burden greater to bear.

The SUV slowed at a stoplight and McCoy stole a glance at the man beside him: five-foot-eight, pale, one-hundred forty pounds soaking wet. Thomas Vanning hardly looked like the director of a rotary club, much less the CIA. But he wasn’t nervous. And it wasn’t the first time. The man never seemed rattled in situations like these. McCoy often wondered whether such calm came from experience or a rare, innate confidence. Vanning did have an amazing intellect. If only they could think their way out of this one.

They passed 17th Street and flashed identification at the police barricade. Since the Oklahoma City bombing the stretch of Pennsylvania directly in front of the White House had been restricted to authorized vehicles. The Tahoe went from its confines of rush-hour traffic to the almost pampered isolation of an open road. It was too early for tourists; a few joggers were their only company.

They reached the north entry gate and turned right, once again providing ID. Then it was up the driveway, veering away from the actual House and toward the West Wing. Their driver swung the SUV around a circle of asphalt and eased to a halt on the far side of the entry portico. McCoy saw the Marine doorman as they passed; POTUS was already here.

The driver, and the additional guard beside him, stayed put as both of their passengers alighted. McCoy concealed a grin; no CIA officer would ever have a car door held open for him. It was one of Vanning’s pet directives, a subtle bulwark against the continual threat of political entitlement. “Never forget: you’re more cop than congressman.”

There was nothing they could do about the front door. Upon approach, the white-gloved Marine—no eye-contact, no wasted motion—turned and pulled the partition open. They hardly had to break stride.

The tiled vestibule was probably the most ornate space in the entire complex. Most of the West Wing was merely functional, sporting the same drywall and carpet found in typical mid-level office buildings.

Ahead lay the lobby, a modest eight-hundred square feet since the Nixon administration but currently highlighted by an ornament-laden Douglas fir.

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