Credible Threat Read online

  Someone in Keller’s administration was involved after all. Only it was Gibson, not Billings.

  But what was Gibson up to? Was Donovan lying or did Gibson really plan a bombing to take out Keller and his administration? And if he did, where was the bomb?

  I stared out onto the road as I continued to drive and listen to the voices coming from the radio.

  They were discussing the agenda for the day. One of the radio personalities said how unusual it was for Keller to go to a prayer service the morning of his inauguration and to do so without the media present. “It’s just not traditional,” he said. “The prayer service is always the day following the inauguration.”

  Another voice disagreed. “Keller is a man of faith, so it makes sense that he’d want to have the prayer service prior to standing before the American people and being sworn into office. Duty to God before man,” she said. “And Keller probably doesn’t want the media there because prayer is a personal thing to him. He’s invited his staff as well and we’re told that he’ll be speaking with them following the service.”

  “Whatever the reason,” the first voice continued, “the president-elect will be at the National Cathedral for the next forty-five minutes before heading over to Capitol Hill where the U.S. Marine Band will be performing, followed by a fifth-grade chorus from Public School 22 in Staten Island. I’ll bet–”

  I turned the radio off and drove in silence.

  What they had said was true – Keller was a man of faith. And it didn’t surprise me that he was attending a prayer service before he was set to be sworn into office. Then a terrible thought occurred to me.

  They said on the radio that he’d be speaking to his staff following the service. Was the attack going to take place at the National Cathedral? After all, it’d be a lot easier to get a bomb in there than the Capitol Building.

  I realized that I needed to call Keller but remembered that I had thrown my phone down into the underground so I couldn’t be tracked by Shapiro and Landry. But I did have Donovan’s phone with me.

  Feeling inside my pocket, I pulled it out and scrolled through the contacts looking for the number for Mike Billings. When I found it, I placed the call.

  I got his voicemail.

  “Mike, it’s Blake. Keller may be in danger. I need you to get him out of the National Cathedral now.”

  After disconnecting the call, I realized that Billings may have seen the call, but thought it was Donovan. Unless he was in the middle of the church service. If he got the voicemail, he’d call back. I pulled off to the side of the road so I could give him a few minutes to listen to the message and get back to me.

  I sat in the car scrolling through the contacts in Max Donovan’s phone, looking for someone else I could call – Emma Ross, Gary Wallace – anybody. But I didn’t recognize any of the other names that were programmed into the phone. Mike Billings never called me back and I decided that he had likely silenced his phone when the prayer service started. So I searched around the car’s dashboard looking for a GPS.

  It didn’t have one. But Donovan’s phone had a maps application, so I typed in National Cathedral and it said that I was headed in the right direction. It was just two miles north.

  Staying on Massachusetts Avenue, I arrived five minutes later and slowed down after pulling onto Wisconsin. I looked to my right and saw the National Cathedral appear. I drove past a group of kids walking with a teacher as I pulled onto South Road which took me directly in front of the cathedral’s entrance.

  Seeing those kids reminded me of a story that my mother had told me growing up about the day that President Kennedy had been assassinated. She was in high school at the time and remembered her teacher leaving the room and coming back a few minutes later crying, accompanied by the principal.

  They explained to the class that the President of the United States had just been shot.

  As I drove toward the cathedral, I thought about those kids. I didn’t want their teacher having to explain to them that president-elect James Keller and other leaders had been assassinated. I didn’t want those kids to grow up with the same kind of memory that my mom carried with her all her life.

  I got closer to the entrance, surprised I had made it this far without being stopped by MPD who I could see up ahead on the other side of the cathedral. To my left, I finally noticed a Secret Service agent walking the perimeter of the cathedral and then I spotted two more agents by the entranceway.

  To my right, children were playing on the church’s playground inside a small courtyard. A group of parents were gathered, having a lively discussion as their kids chased each other and went down a slide.

  I hit the brakes when an agent appeared in front of me.

  “Sir, I need you to turn around. This area is restricted for the next hour.”

  I put the car in park, stepped out, and showed the agent my hands. “My name is Blake Jordan. I’m an advisor to president-elect James Keller. I need to see him right now.”

  “Nobody’s getting inside this building.”

  “Keller is in danger. If I can’t talk to him, then get me Mike Billings. Please.”

  “Sir, I’ve been on Keller’s detail for months now and I don’t recognize you. Now turn the vehicle around.”

  He was right. I hadn’t seen much of Keller over the last several months. The agent didn’t know me.

  “I’m not going to tell you again. Turn this vehicle around right now and vacate the premises,” he yelled.

  I thought for a second and leaned inside the car door that was still open. I popped the trunk and walked to the back of the car. “Get up,” I said and helped Max Donovan climb out onto the pavement.

  The agent put a hand on his weapon and cautiously followed me around to the back of the car to see what I was doing. He looked at the roughed up aide to Billings that the Secret Service had been looking for.

  I stood in between the two men and turned to the agent. “Do you recognize him?”

  FORTY-NINE

  THE AGENT REACHED for his radio and called for assistance. I watched as another agent started running in our direction from the front of the cathedral. When he arrived, the agent grabbed Donovan and walked him through the parking lot, placed him in the back of an SUV, and drove him away. I couldn’t help but wonder which side of the law that agent was on as he left.

  “Follow me,” the agent said after patting me down and taking my gun away from me.

  As we walked toward the front of the cathedral, I told him about the terror plot. I explained that I thought there might be a bomb inside and told him where to look. He said he knew that other agents had been made aware of a possible bomb on the west front of the Capitol but said that they didn’t find anything.

  The agent started speaking into his radio, alerting the other men inside.

  I looked up at the great cathedral as we started to pick up speed and our walk turned into a run. The building had medieval architecture influences and had been used in many different ways over the years, from weekly church services to presidential funerals and memorial services.

  As we passed a large American flag in front of the entrance, the agent spoke into his radio again. A response came, but I didn’t understand it. “What did he say?” I asked as we entered through a large door.

  The agent ignored me and instead pressed on.

  When we entered the sanctuary, I could see Keller, Billings, and a number of other staffers from his administration standing up from the pews where they had been sitting. They started to run our way.

  The man who had brought me inside made eye contact with another agent adjacent from us down another hallway and directed the president-elect and his staff to go in the direction of the other agent.

  “Blake?” Keller said as he approached.

  I ran alongside him, Mike Billings, and Emma Ross. The other staffers followed behind us.

  One of the agents was holding onto Keller’s arm, leading him outside as we got to the back of the cathedral.
When we stepped outside, a car was waiting. Keller was pushed inside, followed by Billings.

  The door was slammed shut and the car started to move, then I watched it come to an abrupt stop and I was asked to jump inside. I noticed that the agent who had taken my gun was in the passenger seat.

  After the door shut, the driver started moving again. I looked at the staffers who remained behind. Chief of Staff Emma Ross and others were standing outside what looked like a tunnel for busses that went underground. I watched as one-by-one, the staffers slowly started to disappear into the tunnel.

  The car pulled away from the cathedral and stopped at the end of the property, just before Woodley Road.

  “What’s going on?” asked Keller as word came from one of the agents still inside the cathedral, confirming with the driver that there was in fact an explosive device found inside the podium.

  We started to move again and, this time, we picked up speed to leave the area.

  I looked out the window as we left, watching the countless houses with roofs covered with snow pass us. None of us spoke for those first few minutes. Finally, Keller glanced at me and offered a smile.

  I thought about the words he had spoken to me twenty-four hours earlier. About talent. And how it can’t be taught but can be awakened. I thought about how, days before my father passed away, he had asked me to keep James Keller, his best friend, safe. And how I promised myself every day since then that I would.

  Then my thoughts drifted to something else. Something more sinister that needed to be addressed.

  “Sir,” I said, breaking the silence. “I need to bring you up to speed on something.”

  “What is it, Blake?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the man responsible for this is Defense Secretary Ron Gibson.”

  “Gibson? What makes you think that?”

  “After I spoke with you a short while ago, Max Donovan’s phone rang. It was him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked Donovan why he wasn’t with Claudia, wife of Aasaal Nazir, who I’m confident helped fund Marco Lopez when he kidnapped you last year. Max told Gibson that he didn’t know where Claudia was.”

  “Where’s Claudia Nazir?”

  “She escaped. But I killed Aasaal, who I believe was working under orders from Gibson.”

  “Where’s Max Donovan now?”

  “I just released him to one of the agents in your detail when I arrived at the cathedral. Sir, you also need to know that some in the Secret Service are loyal to Gibson. I don’t know who to trust. Some of them–”

  “Say no more,” said Keller as he looked past me at the two agents in the front seat of our vehicle. “Why would Gibson want to do this?”

  “Yesterday, you said that Gibson was the only one to come from Rouse’s administration and stay onboard for yours. He’s not loyal to you, sir. And based on the last twenty-four hours, he’s not the only one.”

  We again sat in silence, listening to the sound of the road noise coming from outside the car as the agent driving us waited for instructions from Keller on where he wanted to be taken.

  There was only one thing left to do, and one place we needed to go. “Do you know where the defense secretary is right now?” I asked. Billings raised his eyebrows and stared at me. I turned to Keller.

  “He’s spending the day at the vice president’s residence at the Naval Observatory.”

  I turned around and looked at the driver. “Take us to the observatory.”

  The agent looked in the rearview mirror, waiting for Keller’s approval. When I turned around, Keller was looking at me. His gaze became intense and a determined look came across his face as he decided what he wanted to do. Finally, Keller’s eyes shifted to the driver and he nodded in agreement. “Take us there now.”

  FIFTY

  AS SOON AS Agent Hastings had driven away from the vice president’s residence, he stopped the SUV. Keeping his firearm at his side, Hastings walked around the front of the vehicle, opened the passenger door, and then opened the door to the backseat. “Move to the front,” he said and Jami obeyed.

  Hastings kept his eyes on Jami as he moved the gun to his left hand after he reentered the vehicle.

  The agent sat down. Pointing the firearm to his right, he put the SUV in gear, and began exiting the Naval Observatory. He slowed down as he approached the exit. “Say a word and you’re dead,” he said to Jami as he lowered the weapon and nodded to the guard who opened the gate for his vehicle to pass through.

  When Hastings crossed over Massachusetts Avenue, he flashed his interior police lights and chirped the siren twice, causing traffic on the crossroad to stop and allowing him to get onto 34th Street to drive north.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Jami, but the agent ignored her at first.

  Finally, he turned to look at Jami. “Agent Davis, you shouldn’t have gotten involved in any of this.”

  Jami’s eyes searched her surroundings, desperately looking for a safe place where she could execute the plan she had come up with. The timing wasn’t right. She needed to stall and buy herself a little more time.

  “Why are you doing this, Agent Hastings? What do you think you’re going to accomplish?”

  He smiled. “A continuation of government without a President Keller, that’s what.”

  “And how are you planning on doing that? If you take Keller out, Billings takes over.” Hastings laughed. “Is Billings involved, too?”

  “You’re not getting it, Davis. We don’t want Keller or anyone associated with Keller in power.”

  “Where’s your honor? If you disagree with Keller’s ideology and direction for this country, then resign.”

  As Jami finished saying those words, an MPD patrol car turned a corner up ahead. She looked to her right and saw a series of cars parked along the side of the street.

  Hastings slowed down and Jami felt her heart start to race. As soon as the MPD officer passed, Hastings looked in the mirror to watch the officer drive away.

  Jami grabbed his gun with her left hand and reached for the steering wheel with the other hand.

  Hastings reflexively pulled the trigger and a shot was fired as Jami jerked the wheel as hard as she could.

  The truck caught the back of one of the cars parked on the side of the road and Jami felt the vehicle lift. Hastings’s SUV rolled. Jami braced herself, holding onto the steering wheel as hard as she could. The next thing she knew, she was on top of Hastings, still holding onto the barrel of the gun with her left hand.

  With the vehicle upside down, she tried to reorient herself. Jami looked at Hastings. He was still breathing but had hit his head on the driver’s side window. She reached over his body and unlocked the truck, but Hastings was blocking her.

  Jami shoved the gun inside the small of her back and started to climb out. She heard sirens.

  Then she heard the squeak of the MPD officer’s brakes as he parked behind them and got out of the car.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said and reached into a back pocket, finding her DDC badge and flashing it at the officer.

  “Is there anyone else in the car?”

  Jami thought about Hastings. “Yes, he’s badly hurt and needs medical attention.”

  “Come with me,” the officer said and walked Jami to his car and opened the passenger door.

  “One-thirty-six to dispatch, I have an eleven-eighty on 34th Street just north of Klingle.”

  The officer waited for the response. “One-thirty-six to dispatch, do you copy?” No response.

  “All units, ten seventy-nine at Woodley and Wisconsin.”

  “Bomb threat? What’s at Woodley and Wisconsin?” asked Jami.

  “The National Cathedral,” the officer responded.

  “Where?”

  The officer turned to his left and pointed west. “Right through there.”

  Jami ran across the street and jumped the black wrought iron fence. W
hen she got to the other side, she saw the officer running after her. “Stop!” he yelled, but Jami kept going. When she turned around, she saw the officer go back to the overturned vehicle.

  She cut through a basketball court on the cathedral premises and found her way to the parking lot.

  Black SUVs were lined up just outside the cathedral as Jami continued to walk toward the entrance. She saw a number of Secret Service agents standing outside the door and her thoughts returned to Hastings.

  How many of them were like him?

  Jami walked around the back of the cathedral and saw a group of people walking into a tunnel. Agents were surrounding them as they were walking away from the building. Jami recognized one of them.

  “Emma Ross?” asked Jami as she approached, recognizing the woman she had met the day before.

  “Agent Davis? What are you doing here?”

  “I just heard about the bomb threat. Did they find it? Where’s Keller?”

  “They did find something and Keller’s been taken away. Blake went with him.”

  Jami was relieved to know that Blake and James Keller were okay. But where had they gone?

  FIFTY-ONE

  MIKE BILLINGS WAS visibly shaken at the thought of Gibson being the one behind the terror plot against Keller and his administration. “What are you going to do to him?” he asked as he stared at me, his expression telling me that he felt betrayed and wanted justice served. I think we all felt the same way.

  “I don’t know, yet,” I admitted and turned to the driver. “How far out are we from the observatory?”

  “Less than a mile, but we have a problem,” he said before pausing to put a hand up to his ear to listen to an incoming transmission. “The outgoing VP hasn’t left the residence yet. He should be heading out soon before making his way to the Capitol for the inauguration ceremony. We need to wait.”

  “Can we circle the residence until we know that he’s left?” asked Keller. The driver nodded.

  Keller looked at Billings and then turned back to me. “Blake, what do you want to do here?”