Transfer of Power

Washington, D.C.

THE WHITE KNIGHT linen truck pulled up to the cobblestone entrance of the underground parking garage at the Treasury Building. A uniformed Secret Service agent stepped out from his guard booth and smiled at the driver saying, “How are ya. Vinney?”

Good’ Tony The driver stepped down from the cab. “You staying awake this morning?”

“Just barely.” The officer handed him a clipboard and asked, “Did you watch the game last night?”

“Of course. I hate those stinking Yankees I think I hate the Yankees more than the Red Sox.” Abu Hasan took the clipboard and signed his fake name ‘Vinney. Vitelli. Hasan had been working for the White Knight Linen Service for almost eight months. White Knight was in the middle of its four-year contract with the Treasury Department. Getting a job with the company had been easy, and passing the FBI background check had proved even easier. The only hard part was getting rid of the previous driver.

The old driver had come down with an incapacitating case of food poisoning the day after he had dined with Hasan about five months ago.

Hasan had conveniently stepped in and covered the man’s route until he was better. Two weeks after that, when the man was killed in an attempted robbery near his apartment, Hasan was right there to step in and take over the dead man’s route.

Hasan handed the clipboard back to the Secret Service officer.

“I have two extra tickets to the Indians-Orioles game on Saturday if you want them.”

The officer grabbed the clipboard.

“That would be great.

My kid would love it.”

Hasan smiled.

“Good.” He had worked hard to get to know as many of the uniformed officers as he could. It was crucial to the mission. If they couldn’t get the truck into the garage without being inspected, the entire plan would fail.

“Are you working tomorrow afternoon?” asked Hasan as he turned to go back to the truck.

“Yep”

“Good, I’ll bring them by.”

“Thanks Vinney. I appreciate it. “The guard tugged on the brim of his cap.

Hasan climbed back up into the cab and released the emergency brake. As the heavy steel gates opened, the terrorist looked to his left at the fence that separated the White House from the Treasury Department. He grinned and bit down hard on his tongue, fighting back the urge to smile as he looked beyond the gate at the most famous house in the world.

Hasan put the truck in gear, drove through the gate and down the ramp.