the corner. Her gun was still leveled at Butler’s head.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck it!” she screamed. “Put your fucking hands down,” she said, holstering her pistol and raising her FBI badge high in the air. She walked towards the siren and met the car in the road as it screamed around the corner.
“FBI, it’s fine! FBI!” she repeated over and over.
The police car drew to a stop, two officers exited and, with their hands on their holsters, walked carefully and slowly towards Swanson. She kept her hands in the air with her badge clearly showing.
“Were you involved with the shooting over at the Diner on 18 th as well?” asked the older of the two officers, taking her badge and checking it.
Swanson shook her head. “No but I thought I saw one of the suspects and fired a couple of warning shots.”
The officer was too long on the job to fall for such blatant bullshit. He eyed Butler closely over her shoulder.
“Who’s he?” He motioned with his chin towards Butler.
Swanson turned to look at Butler and wondered the exact same question.
“Is there a problem?” the officer asked when Swanson failed to answer. The officer once again placed his hand on his holster, focusing on Butler, while awaiting her response.
“No, sorry,” Swanson shook her head and turned back to face the officer. “Just a bit out of it, it’s not often I have to use my weapon,” she replied, sounding flustered.
The officers both smiled sarcastically. Swanson knew the reference to using her weapon infrequently would raise a reaction and divert their attention.
“I’m surprised she knew which end to use,” she heard one officer mumble to the other under his breath, before both burst into laughter.
God they were so predictable, she thought, eyeing them both with contempt while outwardly smiling. She turned and grabbed Butler by the arm, walking away from the highly amused and so easily distracted cops.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “Before they start asking questions we really can’t answer.”
Butler did not need to be asked twice and followed without complaint. His most pressing concern was getting access to the president before it was too late. As the last sounds of the helicopters faded into the distance, he grew increasingly concerned. What they had witnessed was the initiation of a mass exodus plan for the continuity of government. He caught sight of the TV as they walked past the diner. A swarm of helicopters filled the screen, a ticker underneath explaining ‘early morning emergency drill wakes thousands.’
“Drill, my ass!” scoffed Butler.
“For all we know that’s exactly what it was,” replied Swanson.
“How many drills do you know that stop partway through?” He looked her deep in the eyes. He could see she was struggling with his question. “What we just witnessed was a full-scale plan in action, being averted at the last minute.”
Swanson thought back to the sight of the helicopters. None had actually reached central DC. They had all simply turned back, as if on cue.
“We don’t know what the drill may have been,” she argued weakly.
“What were they checking? That fifty helicopters could fly in one direction and then turn away again?” Butler smiled cynically. There was no doubt in his mind that what they had witnessed was no drill, and only at the last second had it been cancelled. Something very serious had just happened and he couldn’t help but think it was linked to the American Airlines crash and the death of the ambassador.
He paused as the implications of a number of scenarios began to unfold in his mind. On a scale of bad to worst, all hovered around catastrophic.
“We really should get out of here,” advised Swanson, gently pushing Butler further down the sidewalk. The cops, she noticed, had begun to take a renewed interest in them.
“Yes, I need to get to my papers,” agreed Butler, disregarding the cops. In the bigger picture, killing two cops to save
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck it!” she screamed. “Put your fucking hands down,” she said, holstering her pistol and raising her FBI badge high in the air. She walked towards the siren and met the car in the road as it screamed around the corner.
“FBI, it’s fine! FBI!” she repeated over and over.
The police car drew to a stop, two officers exited and, with their hands on their holsters, walked carefully and slowly towards Swanson. She kept her hands in the air with her badge clearly showing.
“Were you involved with the shooting over at the Diner on 18 th as well?” asked the older of the two officers, taking her badge and checking it.
Swanson shook her head. “No but I thought I saw one of the suspects and fired a couple of warning shots.”
The officer was too long on the job to fall for such blatant bullshit. He eyed Butler closely over her shoulder.
“Who’s he?” He motioned with his chin towards Butler.
Swanson turned to look at Butler and wondered the exact same question.
“Is there a problem?” the officer asked when Swanson failed to answer. The officer once again placed his hand on his holster, focusing on Butler, while awaiting her response.
“No, sorry,” Swanson shook her head and turned back to face the officer. “Just a bit out of it, it’s not often I have to use my weapon,” she replied, sounding flustered.
The officers both smiled sarcastically. Swanson knew the reference to using her weapon infrequently would raise a reaction and divert their attention.
“I’m surprised she knew which end to use,” she heard one officer mumble to the other under his breath, before both burst into laughter.
God they were so predictable, she thought, eyeing them both with contempt while outwardly smiling. She turned and grabbed Butler by the arm, walking away from the highly amused and so easily distracted cops.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “Before they start asking questions we really can’t answer.”
Butler did not need to be asked twice and followed without complaint. His most pressing concern was getting access to the president before it was too late. As the last sounds of the helicopters faded into the distance, he grew increasingly concerned. What they had witnessed was the initiation of a mass exodus plan for the continuity of government. He caught sight of the TV as they walked past the diner. A swarm of helicopters filled the screen, a ticker underneath explaining ‘early morning emergency drill wakes thousands.’
“Drill, my ass!” scoffed Butler.
“For all we know that’s exactly what it was,” replied Swanson.
“How many drills do you know that stop partway through?” He looked her deep in the eyes. He could see she was struggling with his question. “What we just witnessed was a full-scale plan in action, being averted at the last minute.”
Swanson thought back to the sight of the helicopters. None had actually reached central DC. They had all simply turned back, as if on cue.
“We don’t know what the drill may have been,” she argued weakly.
“What were they checking? That fifty helicopters could fly in one direction and then turn away again?” Butler smiled cynically. There was no doubt in his mind that what they had witnessed was no drill, and only at the last second had it been cancelled. Something very serious had just happened and he couldn’t help but think it was linked to the American Airlines crash and the death of the ambassador.
He paused as the implications of a number of scenarios began to unfold in his mind. On a scale of bad to worst, all hovered around catastrophic.
“We really should get out of here,” advised Swanson, gently pushing Butler further down the sidewalk. The cops, she noticed, had begun to take a renewed interest in them.
“Yes, I need to get to my papers,” agreed Butler, disregarding the cops. In the bigger picture, killing two cops to save