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  “Okay, come with me,” he finally said and guided us past the PEOC and took us down another hallway.

  “Agent Rivera, what’s happening?” I asked.

  “The White House is under attack,” he said as we entered through a doorway and found ourselves inside a long, narrow tunnel with flickering fluorescent lights overhead. “I’m taking you to the Treasury Building.”

  EIGHT

  TOM PARKER RAN through the long tunnel with two agents at his side. It had a musty smell to it. He could barely see anything from the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, which needed replacing. Parker figured the tunnel hadn’t been used in a very long time. The three men followed the zigzag pattern of the passageway meant to protect its occupants, specifically a president, from any fallout from a nuclear blast.

  “How much farther?” asked Parker, out of breath.

  “Right up here, sir,” answered the agent on his right.

  The direction of the tunnel changed two more times, then straightened out. Parker looked ahead and saw light in the distance. A door to access the Treasury Building was being held open for them. The agents at his side slowed and let Parker step through. A man at the door moved with him, leaving the others behind.

  “Is the president okay?” asked Parker.

  The man nodded, but gave no specifics. Just put a hand on Parker’s back and pointed with his free hand. “Sir, I’m going to need you to wait out here for us,” he said; then the man turned back to rejoin the others.

  Parker stepped across the tiled floor. It had a black and white checkered pattern to it. His footsteps echoed as he moved. Antique light fixtures lit the large space inside the historic building. Parker found a conference room. He glanced back and saw more people were being brought out of the tunnel.

  He checked the conference room and saw no one inside, so Parker stood in the doorway for a minute, watching as White House staffers and employees spilled out of the tunnel and into the large open area. They had confused looks to them, and loud discussions echoed all around as more people were brought out. Parker was still breathing hard. Sweat formed on his brow and he used his sleeve to wipe it dry. Then he decided it was too damn hot to be wearing a suit jacket, so he removed it and draped it over one of the conference room chairs and reached for his cell. He tried to place a call, but it wouldn’t go through.

  Parker dropped his phone back into his pocket. Ran a hand across his face and his graying mustache as he thought. Looked around the room and found a landline and went to it. He picked it up and heard a dial tone and started to call the number he’d just tried on his cell. He immediately heard a tone indicating he’d done it wrong. Parker cursed under his breath and thought for a second, then he dialed a prefix to get an outside line, and he tried it again. There was a brief period of silence; then the line started to ring.

  “Simon Harris,” his analyst at Homeland said as he answered.

  “Are you on top of this?” barked Parker as he took the receiver and moved so he could see out of the room.

  Simon hesitated. “We know of an incident at the White House, but the Secret Service isn’t being—”

  “It was an explosion,” he said. “Three explosions. I was leaving right when it happened. Get me Curt now .”

  Parker kept staring out of the conference room as he heard Simon put the receiver down on his desk. From where he stood, Parker could see agents at the tunnel entrance speaking urgently to each other. He turned back and began pacing the room as far as he could go with the cord as he waited for Curt Willis, the man he’d made head of field operations of the team the president had him put together at Homeland. Willis hadn’t been Parker’s first choice, but had the experience and qualifications he was looking for. A man in his mid-thirties, Willis had previously been the special agent in charge of the FBI’s New York City field office. He’d heard about the unit Parker was putting together and, through an acquaintance, got in contact with him. Parker agreed to meet for lunch and, afterwards, decided Curt Willis was the right man for the job.

  Thirty seconds later, he heard a rustling sound as the phone was picked up. “Tom?” said Willis cautiously.

  “Tell me you’re on top of this,” said Parker.

  “We’re monitoring the interagency feed,” said Willis. “I spoke with Mulvaney for a minute. He told me the Secret Service has agents getting onto the roof right now to check things out. What the hell happened?”

  “There were explosions,” said Parker. “Three of them, right above the East Wing of the White House.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Willis. “The feed doesn’t have those kinds of details. Even Mulvaney—”

  “Because I was there, Curt,” said Parker. “I was meeting with Keller about the drones.”

  “You think they sent more drones? You think that’s what caused the explosions?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Parker. “Got to be.”

  Silence on the line. “What about the president? Is he okay?”

  Parker took a deep breath and let it out as he loosened his tie. “As far as I know, everybody is okay.”

  “Where’s the president now?” asked Willis.

  “Not sure,” he said. “Best guess, they’re taking him to Marine One and getting him the hell out of Dodge.”

  He heard Willis relay the update to Simon; then he came back on the line. “Okay, where are you now?”

  “Treasury Building,” said Parker. “They just brought me out through the tunnel. Can you get down here?”

  There was a pause on the line. “On my way,” said Willis.

  “I’m in a conference room on the first floor, back of the building. If they move me, I’ll let you know.”

  Willis took a breath. “We have a problem, Tom,” he said. “The Secret Service is refusing to work with us. Mulvaney asked them to loop us in since his team is thin right now, but they’re completely unresponsive.”

  “They’re a little busy, Curt.”

  “It’s more than that,” said Willis. “I think we’re being left out of this intentionally for some reason.”

  Parker sighed. Said nothing for a long moment. Just stared out at the open space, thinking. “I’ll talk to them,” he finally said. “Better yet, we’ll talk to them together. Just get down here and we’ll figure it out.”

  Willis said he had to wrap something up with Simon and he’d head out. Parker walked over and set the phone back down on the receiver. He stood there for a spell, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Keller thirty minutes earlier and wishing the president would’ve taken the threat more seriously. Parker needed to get to Keller and get him to ask his lead agent to work with him and his team. But the president had already dismissed him. So had Ethan Meyer. Parker went to the door and stared out into the crowd and saw a familiar face emerging from the tunnel. A friend. Someone who might be able to help.

  NINE

  CURT WILLIS PACED behind Simon’s workstation. They were inside one of the many buildings making up the large campus at the Department of Homeland Security’s thirty-eight-acre Nebraska Avenue Complex. Located just four miles northwest of the White House, the NAC had been used by the Navy for several years before Homeland took it over and made the building their main department headquarters.

  The two-story red-brick building was set on a spacious lawn far from the road and tucked behind a black wrought-iron fence. The setting made the complex a stark contrast to the concrete jungle of other government buildings found closer to downtown. Contracted security monitored the grounds like the FBI and the Department of Domestic Counterterrorism. But the Nebraska Avenue Complex was different. Hired security guards often joked with each other that nothing ever happened at the NAC—good or bad.

  “Parker’s not happy,” Willis said to his analyst as he paced behind the workstation with his arms crossed. “I need you to hurry up and access the drone manufacturer’s database. How much longer is it gonna be?”

  “I just got i
n,” said Simon as he typed and paused to take a sip of Mountain Dew and turned to face him. “But you need to understand, this is going to take a while.” He paused again. “What we should do is—”

  “And we can’t get anything from the drone the Bureau recovered from the White House lawn last night?”

  Simon stared at him. “No,” he said. “The serial numbers were scratched off with a file or something.”

  “Then you need to keep working the database angle,” said Willis. “Only option we really have right now.”

  Simon made a face like he didn’t agree with that. Then he pointed at an image of the drone on his screen. “They don’t sell these online. They use distributors. Only a few places in the city where you can buy these. Problem is, I called them earlier and they’ve been out of stock for weeks. The drones are very popular. Guess they’ve been on backorder. The stores I called are all waiting on new shipments to arrive. Long waiting list. The drones they used in the attack weren’t bought any time recently. At least, not in DC.”

  “This isn’t good enough,” said Willis. “When Parker gets back, we can’t tell him we’ve been looking at databases and making phone calls all night. Three drones just hit the White House, and this time they exploded, Simon. I need you to step up and figure out a way to find these people. Start with the database, use it to find the buyer.” A moment later, there was an update on the interagency feed displayed on one of Simon’s monitors. Both men noticed it and leaned in to read the update. “Secret Service says they’ve recovered wreckage from outside the East Wing of the White House,” said Willis. “White plastic material.”

  “It’s the drones,” said Simon. “Sounds like the same make and model as the one recovered last night.”

  Willis looked away, thinking through the next steps. “So you’re using the drone manufacturer’s sales database to find the businesses the manufacturer ships to; then you’ll use that to try to find the buyer?”

  “Yes,” said Simon as he stopped typing and turned around. “But it’s not going to get us anywhere.”

  Willis said nothing. Just stared at him.

  “I don’t think I’ll find anything that’s going to help us. This is all preventative stuff. The kind of thing you should’ve had me doing before today. We should be doing other things now to find the people involved.”

  Willis stepped closer and stared down at the analyst. He studied him carefully and narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side. “You got a better idea?” he asked in a low voice, trying to keep his cool.

  Simon glanced away and went quiet. “I think we should be using satellites,” he finally said cautiously.

  Willis crossed his arms again. “We’re not doing anything with satellites,” he said. “DHS doesn’t have any.”

  “I can call my old boss at DDC,” said Simon. “Lynne May—she can let us use theirs. I’ll ask for a favor.”

  “No,” said Willis.

  “Why not?”

  “Too dark,” he said. “That’s why they fly the drones at night. They know they’re completely undetectable.”

  “I think there’s one with infrared,” said Simon. “It’d be like looking at footage in the daylight.”

  “No,” Willis said again, clenching his fists and feeling his blood pressure rise.

  “Why not?”

  Willis grabbed Simon’s shoulder and leaned in close. Saw fear in the man’s eyes. He enjoyed it. “Simon, I can’t be any more clear—forget the satellites. I want you to work the database and find the buyer for me.”

  Simon said nothing. Just stared up at him. Willis let go of the analyst and took a step back. He blinked several times and looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that Parker has expectations of me. Expectations of both of us. We’re a team of three. If we want our unit to survive, we have to get results.”

  Simon nodded. Turned back to his computer and started typing again. Said nothing.

  A long moment passed as Willis stood there watching from behind. “I’ll call Lynne May,” he finally said. “It’ll be better if the request comes from me, anyway. I’ll ask about the satellite and see what I can do.”

  Simon stopped typing for a brief moment, then continued working.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” said Willis.

  Simon nodded again, but made no reply.

  Willis turned and headed back to his office on the other side of the floor. He stepped through and closed the door behind him once he entered, and dropped into his chair behind his desk. He sat there in silence, thinking through what he needed to do next. Picked up the phone and cradled the receiver against an ear with his shoulder as he reached for the keypad and let his fingers hover over it. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dialed the number for Peter Mulvaney at the Bureau across town and said all the right words he needed to say. Gave him hell for not pushing back harder on the Secret Service. Told Mulvaney to set up a conference call between the two of them, plus the lead agent in charge of Keller’s detail unit, plus Parker. Said he was headed to the Treasury Building to meet up with his boss, and they’d call him once he arrived. Mulvaney explained it was the Secret Service not being cooperative, but Willis didn’t care.

  After he was through, Willis placed a call to Lynne May, special agent in charge of DDC’s Washington field office. Asked her if the agency would allow DHS to use one of their satellites to try to find the people responsible for the drone attack at the White House. He explained in detail why DHS needed to use it. Said they wanted to see the recorded footage. But Lynne May explained that the satellite wouldn’t be much help. Too dark. Willis didn’t bother to ask about any satellites with infrared. Then he dropped his desk phone back onto the receiver. Leaned back in his chair and smiled, pleased with himself, before getting up and leaving his office and heading to Simon’s cubicle on his way out to give him the bad news.

  TEN

  I EXITED THE tunnel with an arm around Matthew. Secret Service agents were at the doorway and directed us out into a lobby area inside the Treasury Building. Matthew looked up at me as we moved. White House staffers were spread out around the large room, and I knew more were in the tunnel behind us. There were loud shouts and controlled chaos as confusion set in. Voices echoed all around us as I guided Matthew through the crowd and over to a spot where there weren’t many people huddled together. Chef Gregory exited with us, but went to go find his kitchen staff to make sure they were all accounted for.

  “You okay?” I asked Matthew.

  He nodded.

  I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled him in close. Turned back to the door leading to the tunnel, looking for Jami and Kate, but didn’t see either of them. Turned again and scanned the room until I saw a conference room door open opposite the tunnel door. Tom Parker was standing inside it. He was staring in my direction and motioned for me to go to him.

  I pointed at the room and told Matthew to walk with me. We pushed through a group of people. Parker gestured for us to come in as we approached the door. He crouched slightly to get eye level with Matthew.

  “Where’s your mom?” asked Parker.

  Matthew said nothing. Just shrugged a little and looked up at me so I could answer for him.

  “Still inside,” I said and glanced out the doorway, past the White House staff and over to the tunnel exit.

  I turned back. Parker stood up straight and told Matthew they were okay and to take a seat at the table. Matthew pulled out a chair and sat, but kept staring into the lobby area, looking for his mom and aunt. Parker started pacing anxiously. He put a hand on his neck and massaged it as he moved around the table.

  “What do you know about this, Parker?” I asked.

  He glanced across at me, then dropped his gaze to the floor. Said nothing.

  “Does this have anything to do with the drones you were telling me about? The threat against the president?”

  He nodded vaguely. “My team’s struggling, Jordan. The FBI’s struggling even mor
e because of Keller, and they’re the only ones the Secret Service will talk to. Hard as hell trying to get them to cooperate with us.”

  Matthew glanced at Parker, who seemed to realize he needed to watch what he said and how he said it.

  “Just spoke with my team,” he continued. “I believe three drones were just detonated over the White House. The kind I was telling you about with explosives in their payloads. Only thing that makes sense.”

  I thought about it. My heart was still pounding hard. “Why the East Wing?”

  Parker furrowed his brow, but said nothing.

  “The President would most likely be in the West Wing or the main residence at this time of night. He wouldn’t be in the East Wing.” I paused as I tried to think the whole thing through.

  “They’re trying to send a message,” he said. “That they’re serious. That they have the power here, Jordan.”

  Matthew sat up straight. He leaned forward and moved in his chair, like he was trying to look over the heads of the people out in the main lobby. I moved to the doorway. “Do you see them, buddy?” I asked.

  “I thought I did,” he said and slouched back in his chair, anxious to be reunited with his mom and aunt.

  “They’ll be here,” said Parker. “Don’t worry, okay?”

  I saw Matthew nod to himself, still looking worried.

  I turned and scanned the open space from the doorway. Didn’t see Jami or Kate yet. Reached into my back pocket for my cell and tried to call Jami, but there was no signal in the room. I looked around and found a landline and went to it. I tried Jami again, but it went straight to voicemail. I left her a message anyway. Used my phone to get the number for Kate and dialed it on the landline, too. But the same thing happened. No answer. I set the phone back onto its cradle and dropped my phone back into my pocket. Turned and saw Parker behind me, arms crossed tight. He stared. Looked determined about something.