Page 117 of Cross Down
Ned Mahoney slowlyopens the door and nods to the two police officers, both heavyset fellows who look like they’ve been on the force for twenty years and never advanced up the ranks but don’t really mind.
“Guys,” he asks. “What’s up? I need to get back to the Hoover Building as soon as possible. Can’t this wait?”
The one on the left shakes his head. “No, sir. A while ago we received a BOLO for a dark blue Mercedes sedan with Virginia license plates involved in a mass shooting over at Crystal City.”
He stops talking, and his partner picks up the story. “Thing is, we just located that Mercedes, parked down the street. One flat tire, rear window blown out, bullet holes in the rear and trunk, and fresh blood on the upholstery.”
Ned says, “That’s awful, but I didn’t hear or see anything that can help.”
“Are you certain?” the cop on the left says. “Are you certain you can’t help us?”
Too late, Ned realizes he’s stepped into a trap, and he keeps his mouth shut as the same cop says, “Well, that’s odd to hear, Agent Mahoney, because there’s a trail of blood going from that shot-up Mercedes through your side gate and right up to your side steps. See?” The cop taps a black shoe near a smear of blood.
Ned says, “Officers, really, I don’t have time and I need to—”
“Sir.” The man’s voice is cold and no longer so polite. “We’re going to need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
“That’s not necessary,” he says, wondering what they would say if he told them he had less than half an hour to stop a coup d’état.
“Sir, move,” the other cop says, “or we’ll have to secure you by force.”
Ned says, “Please, this can all be explained.”
The first cop steps back, removes a yellow pistol-shaped weapon from his utility belt, and says, “You have ten seconds to submit, sir, or you will be tasered.”
Chapter
146
As his assistantpromised, the traffic does clear and soon they’re making good time on I-395, approaching the Potomac River and the Fourteenth Street Bridge. Earlier, Grissom had told his staff that he didn’t want any sirens for his trip to the White House, just an escort, which he would need only in the unlikely event that something went wrong.
Everything is to be done right.
To Kendricks he says, “You know where I was born and raised?”
She’s focused on her iPhone but instantly answers, “Massachusetts.”
“That’s right,” he says. “A town just outside of Boston. My parents were active in politics back when the average voter could make a difference. This was before the lobbyists, focus groups, and pollsters came along and took it all away from the people.” He folds his arms, looks down at the slow-moving Potomac River, then up at the barely visible Jefferson Memorial.
What is that Jefferson quote? That’s right: “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
Grissom thinks,Not bad, Long Tom, not bad.
Aloud he says, “There was an election for governor when I was a kid, a Democratic primary between a liberal candidate and a conservative candidate back when the Democrats actually had conservatives. To everyone’s surprise, the conservative candidate won. And later, one of his campaign consultants said the key to victory was taking all of the hate groups and stirring them into one pot.”
The way ahead is still clear.
“That’s what we’ve done,” he says, “and I make no apologies for it. Eventually they were going to tear this nation apart. I just took them under my wing, and in twenty-four hours, I’m going to crush them all.”
Kendricks doesn’t answer.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“No, sir,” she says. “Everything’s on schedule. The president is still in the underground bunker and all three power sources to the elevators are offline. Communications were cut just as the president was in the middle of a phone call.”
“Do we know who he was talking to?” Grissom asks.
“The DC mayor,” Kendricks says.
