from the papers on her
desk. She no longer saw them; they were merely an excuse—a decoy, to make it
look as if she were busy. While she and the Vice President hadn't been close
friends, they respected one another. The VP's loss was a terrible blow—to her
and to the country.
"I've had word from Britain," Hal Prentice said. "Ten
Downing has been attacked. They're pulling bodies out of the building—it was
hit three times by rockets and partially burned. There's no word on the
Secretary of State or the Prime Minister. It's all over the media, in addition
to the Vice President's death. The Joint Chiefs and your cabinet are on the
way."
"Dear God." The President dropped her face in her
hands.
* * *
Corinne
At least the vent was large enough to crawl through, and I was
grateful the PM and the Secretary were still limber enough to do so. August and
Ken made sure the vent cover was closed behind us—I didn't want our pursuers to
guess right away where we'd gone.
"Corinne," Maye hissed, "How long is this
fucking vent?"
"Probably half as long as a fucking football field,"
I said.
"What's your beef?" Dalton asked—he was crawling
behind her.
"I don't have enough room to protect anyone in this tight
space," she complained.
"I hope you won't have to," I said, ignoring the
panicky timbre of her voice. It told me she was slightly claustrophobic. I
wasn't about to yell at her about that. "I hate crawling anywhere in an
evening dress," I added. "It sort of sucks."
"This isn't the time for chitchat," August reminded
us. We shut up and kept crawling. Somewhere, far behind us, I heard the clang
of the vent cover being ripped away. We crawled faster.
* * *
Ignoring the cramps in my back and legs, I lay flat on my belly
while Rafe crawled over me to punch the vent cover off. I cringed at the sound
it made as the metal clattered against tile. Rafe somersaulted out of the vent gracefully,
while I crawled out like a wounded lizard dressed in an evening gown.
I moved aside so Rafe could help the PM and the others out of
the ventilation shaft, while I leaned against the wall and attempted to even my
breathing.
"They're coming," August said when he dropped out of
the vent last. That's when Rafe and the PM's guards took stock of the hallway
around us—there wasn't any furniture or anything heavy to shove against the
vent and slow our pursuers.
"Which way, cabbage?" Rafe asked softly. I peeled
myself away from the wall, lifted the skirts of my evening dress and took off
at a run. The others ran behind me.
* * *
President Sanders blinked in disbelief. Another news report
interrupted the one she and her cabinet watched concerning the Secretary of
State and the British Prime Minister.
"It is now confirmed that the Tower of London was
breached during the confusion after the attack on 10 Downing Street, and an
anonymous source reports that the Imperial State Crown and other valuables have
been taken. It is not known as yet whether the two incidents are
connected."
"Holy fucking hell," the Secretary of Homeland
Security cursed.
* * *
Corinne
The Pindar Citadel beneath the Ministry of Defence might have
been worth the enormous price paid when it was finished in the '90s. The
facility housed a huge warren of rooms, bomb shelters, sleeping quarters and
everything else one might require in the event of a siege. We didn't have time
to stop and appreciate it—our pursuers were catching up.
I hoped the door we ran toward would hold them back for a few
minutes; it was nearly a foot thick and surrounded by concrete. The problem? It
wasn't meant to hold off a direct attack—it was meant to keep government
officials safe in a bombing crisis.
We raced through it, and August and one of the PM's bodyguards
manned the spokes of the locking mechanism, turning them as quickly as they
could.
"Go on," August snapped while he and the guard
worked. "We'll catch up."
I took off again, while Rafe and the others followed. They
probably weren't going
desk. She no longer saw them; they were merely an excuse—a decoy, to make it
look as if she were busy. While she and the Vice President hadn't been close
friends, they respected one another. The VP's loss was a terrible blow—to her
and to the country.
"I've had word from Britain," Hal Prentice said. "Ten
Downing has been attacked. They're pulling bodies out of the building—it was
hit three times by rockets and partially burned. There's no word on the
Secretary of State or the Prime Minister. It's all over the media, in addition
to the Vice President's death. The Joint Chiefs and your cabinet are on the
way."
"Dear God." The President dropped her face in her
hands.
* * *
Corinne
At least the vent was large enough to crawl through, and I was
grateful the PM and the Secretary were still limber enough to do so. August and
Ken made sure the vent cover was closed behind us—I didn't want our pursuers to
guess right away where we'd gone.
"Corinne," Maye hissed, "How long is this
fucking vent?"
"Probably half as long as a fucking football field,"
I said.
"What's your beef?" Dalton asked—he was crawling
behind her.
"I don't have enough room to protect anyone in this tight
space," she complained.
"I hope you won't have to," I said, ignoring the
panicky timbre of her voice. It told me she was slightly claustrophobic. I
wasn't about to yell at her about that. "I hate crawling anywhere in an
evening dress," I added. "It sort of sucks."
"This isn't the time for chitchat," August reminded
us. We shut up and kept crawling. Somewhere, far behind us, I heard the clang
of the vent cover being ripped away. We crawled faster.
* * *
Ignoring the cramps in my back and legs, I lay flat on my belly
while Rafe crawled over me to punch the vent cover off. I cringed at the sound
it made as the metal clattered against tile. Rafe somersaulted out of the vent gracefully,
while I crawled out like a wounded lizard dressed in an evening gown.
I moved aside so Rafe could help the PM and the others out of
the ventilation shaft, while I leaned against the wall and attempted to even my
breathing.
"They're coming," August said when he dropped out of
the vent last. That's when Rafe and the PM's guards took stock of the hallway
around us—there wasn't any furniture or anything heavy to shove against the
vent and slow our pursuers.
"Which way, cabbage?" Rafe asked softly. I peeled
myself away from the wall, lifted the skirts of my evening dress and took off
at a run. The others ran behind me.
* * *
President Sanders blinked in disbelief. Another news report
interrupted the one she and her cabinet watched concerning the Secretary of
State and the British Prime Minister.
"It is now confirmed that the Tower of London was
breached during the confusion after the attack on 10 Downing Street, and an
anonymous source reports that the Imperial State Crown and other valuables have
been taken. It is not known as yet whether the two incidents are
connected."
"Holy fucking hell," the Secretary of Homeland
Security cursed.
* * *
Corinne
The Pindar Citadel beneath the Ministry of Defence might have
been worth the enormous price paid when it was finished in the '90s. The
facility housed a huge warren of rooms, bomb shelters, sleeping quarters and
everything else one might require in the event of a siege. We didn't have time
to stop and appreciate it—our pursuers were catching up.
I hoped the door we ran toward would hold them back for a few
minutes; it was nearly a foot thick and surrounded by concrete. The problem? It
wasn't meant to hold off a direct attack—it was meant to keep government
officials safe in a bombing crisis.
We raced through it, and August and one of the PM's bodyguards
manned the spokes of the locking mechanism, turning them as quickly as they
could.
"Go on," August snapped while he and the guard
worked. "We'll catch up."
I took off again, while Rafe and the others followed. They
probably weren't going
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