Page 128 of Cross Down
When he seestwo desert-tan army Humvees coming to a halt behind the parked Impala and the vendor truck, Grissom thinks,This isn’t part of the plan. They’re not supposed to be deployed until this evening to enforce the curfew.
The doors open, and eight National Guardsmen are walking his way, seven of them armed with M4s, the eighth one an officer leading them. He’s a slim Black man, uniform crisp and clean, wearing body armor, a utility belt, a holstered pistol, and a soft utility cap. As the man passes the Impala and steps closer, Grissom spots his colonel insignia and his last name,TOUSSANT.
The colonel salutes and Grissom salutes back. The man says, “General, I’m Colonel Lionel Toussant, Two Hundred Seventy-Sixth Military Police Company, Three Hundred Seventy-Second Military Police Battalion, District of Columbia, Army National Guard.”
Grissom smiles, shakes the man’s hand. “Colonel Toussant, General Wayne Grissom.”
With a grin in return, Toussant says, “I know who you are, sir.”
“Good,” Grissom says. “Glad to see you here. Colonel, I need you to place those two men over by the Impala under arrest, get that car out of the way, and then—”
Colonel Toussant’s smile disappears. “I’m sorry, sir, those aren’t my orders.”
Two more Humvees hauling trailers come to a stop. Other National Guardsmen go to the trailers, undo the canvas coverings, and start removing large coils of barbed wire and wooden sawhorses. They quickly set up the sawhorses, and the rolls of barbed wire are undone and pulled apart.
“Colonel,” Grissom says, voice strained, “what are your orders?”
The colonel says, “My orders are to secure the streets and grounds around the White House. No vehicle and no persons are allowed into the area under our control.”
Grissom says, “I’m countermanding those orders right now. I want this street cleared and access provided to my party and me.”
Toussant says, “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do it. I have my orders.”
Grissom says sharply, “And I’m overriding those orders. Do it now, Colonel Toussant!”
The colonel shakes his head. “With all due respect, General Grissom, you’re not in my chain of command. I’m sure you’ll recall, General, that we are the only National Guard unit that reports directly to the president. He is our commander in chief, and he has activated us and ordered us to place the White House under a cordon sanitaire.”
Grissom clenches his fists. “It’s my understanding that the president can no longer communicate with the outside.”
“We’re working on that, sir,” the colonel says. “But before he lost those communications, he talked to our mayor, and she requested the National Guard’s activation to protect the White House against a possible insurrection.”
Grissom stares in anger at the cocky and confident colonel standing in front of him. This colonel reminds him of those rules-based JAG officers back in Afghanistan. When his artillery units received a target designation, the lawyers from JAG had to verify the target to ensure no civilian or collateral damage occurred. A normal fire mission that should have taken only three minutes could stretch out for half an hour before JAG and other higher-ups signed off on it.
Hell of a way to run a fire mission, run an army, run an operation to save this nation.
More Humvees pull up and discharge National Guard soldiers. In his mind’s eye, Grissom can see similar detachments going to other intersections around the White House and occupying Lafayette Park and the Ellipse.
“General,” Colonel Kendricks whispers to him, “what are we going to do?”
He’s starting to taste the bitterness of defeat in his mouth, and he sees Colonel Toussant and the FBI man deep in conversation. One of the Guardsmen is holding the FBI man’s shotgun, and Colonel Toussant nods and takes three steps to Grissom and his aide.
“General,” Toussant says. “Again, my apologies, but FBI supervising special agent Ned Mahoney has informed me that he intends to place you under arrest. That is not in my jurisdiction, so I’m going to allow him to proceed while my unit deploys.”
The FBI agent is close enough that Grissom can see the light reflecting off the bright handcuffs, and for the first time in a very long while, he is at a loss for words.
But someone else is not.
His wrist is seized by Colonel Kendricks, and she yells, “Everybody freeze, right now!”
In her other hand is her nine-millimeter pistol.
Chapter
160
Sylvester is concernedbecause when he reaches the White House grounds, his two contacts—a man and a woman, both dressed in Park Service uniforms—are not at their preplanned locations by a certain lamppost.
Either they’re late or they’re not coming.
