The Ajax Protocol

CHAPTER 7

Elizabeth was working late. Everyone else had gone home.

She was debating with herself about working for a few more hours and spending the night downstairs. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the picture of her father she kept on her desk. She missed her father, his stable presence, his ability to see to the heart of any situation. More importantly, his ability to see to the heart of whatever situation was troubling her.

Her father had been a judge in western Colorado, in an era when judges still had wide discretion over their decisions. That had changed during his last years on the bench, as more and more political interference crept into the court system. The growing rigidity of the sentencing structure and the turnstile approach to sentencing and release was one of the few things she'd ever heard him complain about.

When her direct phone line signaled a call, she knew it was bad news. No one called at this time of night unless the news was bad.

"Harker," she answered.

"Director, this is Agent Price of the President's Secret Service detail. I'm calling you from Walter Reed. President Rice has had a heart attack. He's asking for you."

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew he'd been giving a major speech that night but she decided to watch it at home later. The voice on the other end of the line continued. "A helicopter is on the way. It will be there in 10 minutes. Please be ready."

"How is he?"

"Not good. Ten minutes, Director."

Elizabeth stood and put her phone in her purse. If they were sending a helicopter, it meant Rice was probably dying. She prayed it wouldn't happen. Rice was one of the very few people Elizabeth had ever admired. If he died, the world would become a more dangerous place.

She turned out the lights in her office, went outside and walked over by the helipad to wait. After a few moments she heard the distinctive whop, whop of rotors beating against the humid air. She watched the helicopter descend in a wide, sweeping turn. The pilot brought it in over the landing area and hovered before setting the craft down. The rotors continued to turn. The chopper was all black and unmarked.

Funny, she thought, I don't think I've ever seen a model quite like that before. Usually they send a Marine unit.

A man in a dark suit descended from the craft. He was about six feet tall, with a dark complexion and longish hair. He needed a shave. For some reason Elizabeth felt uneasy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

"Director Harker? I'm Agent Williams. Let me help you in."

He started toward her. Elizabeth noticed an earpiece with a cord trailing behind it, something every Secret Service agent seemed to have. He wore the traditional garb of the service, a dark suit and tie. If it'd been daylight, he probably would've had sunglasses. All that was standard issue. She noticed his shoes. He was wearing brown loafers.

Her intuition sounded an alarm. No agent would have been caught dead with loafers, brown or any other color, especially someone from the White House detail. His hair was too long, and she had never seen a Secret Service agent who needed a shave.

Something in her face gave must have given her away. The man's expression hardened. He reached under his suit jacket. Behind the glass canopy of the helicopter the pilot watched the two of them.

Elizabeth had not gotten where she was by being stupid. Even as he moved, her mind had processed the details it was taking in. The hair, the need for a shave, the shoes. It all added up to trouble. She made a decision. Her pistol came out of the quick draw holster at her waist as Williams drew a gun from under his jacket. She fired three, fast rounds. He fired into the ground, the round ricocheting off the cement, and fell back onto the hard surface of the pad.

With a full throttle roar, the helicopter lifted off the pad and started to rise, turning as it climbed.

Elizabeth was angry. She raised her gun in both hands and emptied the rest of the magazine at the chopper. Sparks flew from the metal fuselage. Some of her hollow point bullets found the engine intake. The slide locked back on her empty pistol. The helicopter rose steadily away from her.

A sudden, strident sound of shrieking metal filled the night as the engine seized in mid-air. A thick plume of black, oily smoke poured from the rear of the bird. The helicopter tipped sideways and veered toward her. She could see the terrified face of the pilot through the canopy as the machine plummeted out of control. Elizabeth ran off the pad and dove onto the lawn. The helicopter passed over her and flew straight into the ground. The spinning rotors hit the dirt. The machine cart wheeled and exploded in a blossom of orange flame. The sound rolled across the Virginia countryside like thunder and faded away.

Elizabeth raised her head and looked at the burning wreckage. Then she looked over at the man she had killed. He lay on his back. Blood soaked his shirt and oozed under his body. The toes of his brown loafers pointed into the air. She got to her feet. Her hands were shaking.

She inserted a fresh magazine into her pistol, released the slide and de-cocked the hammer. She holstered the weapon.

The crash would have been noticed by someone. She couldn't afford to have the local cops and the NTSB and everyone else poking around the crash scene, not until she knew who had sent the helicopter. Not until she had more information. She would have to call in favors and invoke National Security. It would be messy, but she could keep things under wraps long enough to find out what the hell had just happened. She didn't have a choice, if she wanted to keep control of the situation.

She took out her phone and called Clarence Hood on his private, secure line. Hood was the current Director of Central Intelligence and an ally Elizabeth could rely on. There were good reasons for that. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth and her team, Hood would be in a federal prison instead of on the seventh floor of Langley.

"Clarence, it's Elizabeth. I need your help."

"Elizabeth. You've heard about the President?"

"Yes. What's his status?"

"Uncertain. He's in the ICU at Walter Reed."

"Something has happened here," Elizabeth said. She told him about the phone call and the helicopter. She looked over at the wreckage as she spoke.

"It still burning," she said. "Someone must've noticed. The state police and everyone else are going to be here in a few minutes. I need your help to head them off."

"The man who identified himself as a Secret Service agent said the President had sent him?"

"Yes. I'm wondering if somehow it's related to what happened to Rice."

"You think it may have been an assassination attempt?"

The only thing that gave away Hood's stress was a slight increase in his soft, southern accent.

"It seems like too much of a coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences," Elizabeth said. "I think you should boost Rice's security."

"I'll have a team there in 15 minutes," Hood said. "If anyone shows up, stall them until they get there. Call me tomorrow. We'll talk. "

"I'll do that," Elizabeth said. She ended the call.

The flames from the burning helicopter lit up the night. Over on the patio by her office, she saw the cat watching the fire.