Page 122 of Cross Down
“Any more communications from POTUS?”
“Not for at least twenty minutes,” she says. “All of the secure comms are offline, phone lines are disabled, and cell phones won’t work with all this steel and concrete overhead.”
The head of the protective detail says, “One way or another, we’re going to get POTUS out of there.”
“Why?” she asks. “He’s safe, he’s secure, and we don’t know what the hell is going on up top.”
He says, “Procedure and policy. The White House is secure but it might be breached at any moment. We get him out and on Marine One and then to Air Force One.”
“What if he falls climbing up? He could get killed if the harness broke.”
“Not open for discussion, DeVos,” he says, voice sharp. “We’re exfiling POTUS soonest.”
Eliza nods in agreement. She leans over and says, “Hold on, I think I see someone down there flashing a light.”
“Really?” Woodson says. “Where?”
“At the bottom, at your six o’clock.”
Woodson leans over to take a look, and with both hands, Eliza gives him a sharp shove. He tumbles down instantly and she hears a yell and then a series of thuds as he hits the ladder on the way down. He lands on the metal and concrete at the bottom with a sharp cry.
She steps back, straightens up, dusts off her hands.
For the past few years, she’s wanted to head the president’s protective detail, and now the job is hers.
Chapter
152
For brief seconds,Sylvester and Casey and their huge Mack tow truck are almost two minutes ahead of schedule. They’re closing in on Seventeenth Street NW and the White House when Sylvester says, “Damn, damn, damn.”
Ahead of them is a black and yellow Diamond Cab crushed between a Lexus and a Camry, steam rising up from the cab’s crumpled hood.
All three vehicles are blocking the road.
Lots of folks are standing on the sidewalks, coming out from the office buildings on both sides of the wide street.
Casey says, “Well, this sucks.”
A woman in black yoga pants and a gray sweatshirt holding a bloody handkerchief to her head runs at them. She calls, “Can you help? The taxi driver and his two passengers are trapped, they can’t get out. A mother and a little girl. Can you tow the vehicles so the EMTs can get to the injured?”
Sylvester says, “Lady, I don’t see any ambulances around.”
“They’re coming, honest,” she says. “And I’m a nurse. I can give them first aid before the EMTs get here.”
Next to him Casey murmurs, “Time…”
“I’ll take care of it,” Sylvester says.
The woman says, “Oh, bless you.”
Casey says something but Sylvester ignores him; he puts the Mack into reverse, backs up on Pennsylvania Avenue NW, then puts the big truck in drive and pushes down the accelerator.
Sylvester says, “Hold on to your shorts.”
“Oh, man,” Casey says.
Sylvester stares straight at the mess of three vehicles, gauging where the weak point is, and he shifts again and the truck picks up speed. Sylvester barely sees the shocked faces of the folks standing by when the truck strikes hard.
