Sigma Division

Chapter 31

Spicer had been in her position before so he was able to anticipate it. The moment her arm moved, he jumped over the empty couch next to her. His hands found his wooly gun case and as he rolled onto his back he kicked her in the chest.

“Ugh!”

She was thrown back and crashed to the floor. While she was still struggling to get her bearings, Ned pounced on her and removed the weapon that was now in her hand.

“Don’t move!” he barked at Michaels and Ford, pointing the pistol at them.

Spicer got up, now holding his own gun though he didn’t feel the need to aim it at anyone except Clara.

“I used to kill people for a living, Mr. Ford. I could kill all of you and this conversation would be unnecessary. But you’re in luck, I don’t kill anymore. I’d rather let the media destroy you. And I’m gonna enjoy watching that too.”

“You son of a bitch…”

Spicer’s eyes hardened. “If you become President, I will personally make sure the public gets brainwashed into thinking you’re a genuine ogre. And I can guarantee you Congress will steamroll Sigma.”

He pulled it down and headed for the exit. In a flash, Weller, Esther, and Ned were following him.

The Grand Ballroom was packed. There was a sea of people with Styrofoam hats and small American flags and colorful banners. They were loud and enthusiastic as they partied and watched the Fox News returns projected on a wall-sized screen. Things were looking good, very good. The United States was about to make history by electing a third-party candidate to the White House.

Spicer was confident he could blend in adequately but he remained on the outskirts, near the door. His heart skipped a beat when Esther took his hand into hers and he smiled to her. Nothing needed to be said.

All the while, Spicer kept his eyes on the stage. Curtains had been put up and in the corner Michaels was arguing with party officials. A woman burst into tears. Another one shook her head. After several minutes of back and forth, Michaels walked past the curtains and went to the podium.

The crowd went wild. They were cheering as much for him as for the reporter on TV who announced that they’d just won New York.

“Excuse me, excuse me!”

It took all of a minute for people to quiet down.

“There’s been a terrible tragedy.” This time everybody shut up and a technician turned down the volume of the news broadcast. “A few minutes ago, Regis Ford was taken to the hospital, they think it was a heart attack.”

Incredulous, people started chattering. Michaels himself looked despondent. He was a good actor, Spicer had to give him that.

“It’s bad, really bad. I’ll keep you folks posted as we get news of his condition.”

He disappeared back where he’d come from and Spicer smirked, relief washing over him. They had seen reason. What was the alternative? Kill them? Have them ship away to Guantanamo Bay or some black site in the Middle East? And then what?

The Federal Election Commission had indeed been contacted, and Ned and Weller had each given instructions to friends to release information they had gathered in the event of their vanishing. Spicer had survived for so long because he’d worked alone. This time having friends is what had saved him.

He chuckled while imagining Houseman and Clara sneaking a very healthy Regis Ford out of the hotel. Abandoning the presidency — he would probably fake his death — had to be worse than death itself for him. The poetic justice was sublime.

They walked out of the hotel and across the street to the parking garage. For the first time in a long time they weren’t in a hurry.

“You think that’ll be enough, Spicer?” Weller asked.

“Right after we get back to my place, we’ll mail copies of our notes. We’ll send them to the New York Times, USA Today, some newspapers in Europe, Wikileaks, and to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. Then we’ll really be safe, they won’t be able to touch us.”

Ned started laughing. “Good thing they fired me first, uh?”

They joined in the laughter. It was over at last.