In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) (31 page)

Half a dozen blocks from the White House, Attorney General Kiplinger was sitting behind his desk at the Justice Department when he heard a commotion in the outer office.  He stood as three men barged into his office. 

“Sir?  FBI.  I’m Special Agent Wayne Elms.  You need to come with us immediately, sir.  We have a national security incident.”

Kiplinger stepped back.  “What the hell is…?”

“Sir, we don’t have time.” 

The agents grabbed Kiplinger by the elbows and led him towards the door.  He was hustled to the elevator and, one minute later, they exited into the parking garage where he climbed into the waiting Suburban.  The doors were slammed and the Suburban drove off, raced up the exit ramp and out onto the street.

Fifteen minutes later, they drove through the gates of Washington Executive Airport and drove directly up to the waiting helicopter.  Kiplinger, still protesting, was manhandled onto the chopper.  As an agent secured his four-point harness, he looked up into the confused faces of the Secretary of Treasury and the Secretary of Education.

They arrived at the Virginia country estate shortly after 9:00 a.m. and were hustled into the library under the watchful eyes of a dozen agents.  Elms followed them in.  “Gentlemen, I’ll need your cell phones, your Blackberries, and any other communication devices.  Right now.”

The three Cabinet members loudly protested, but Elms was adamant.

By 10:00 a.m., they were joined by the Secretaries of Defense, Energy, Labor, Agriculture and Veterans Affairs.  Used to barking orders and not being barked at, the assembled officials were angry, especially as their numbers grew.  By 11:20 p.m., the majority of the President’s Cabinet and the President Pro Tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House were sitting in the library.  A screen showing six separate video connections with the remaining Cabinet members, all of whom were currently traveling, stood against one wall.  The agents-turned-guards ignored the threats and demands for information. 

The door opened and the room quieted as everyone watched Monahan walk to the center of the room. 

“Ladies, gentlemen.  Most of you know me.  I’m FBI Deputy Director Patrick Monahan.  I’m sorry for abruptly pulling you away from your schedules.  And I apologize for taking your cell phones.  You’ll understand why in a moment.  What I can tell you right now is that we have a national security incident, and your presence here is absolutely critical.”

There were several shouted questions. 

“Where the hell are we?”

“You can’t detain us like this!”

“Is Director Broder aware of this?”

Monahan held up his hands until the room quieted.  “Please bear with me, folks.  Director Broder is on his way.  So is Henry Amalu.”

Richter felt all eyes on him as he entered the room.  He scanned the faces, spotting several that he knew, including the Director of the Secret Service, Gerry Kroger, whose eyes had gone wide. 

“Ladies and gentlemen.  My name is Matthew Richter.  I’m a Secret Service agent assigned to the president’s protective detail.”  He paused and looked around the room.  There wasn’t a sound.  Richter took a breath and continued.        

“What I’m going to share with you is highly sensitive information.  You will not discuss this with anyone outside this room.  Are we clear on that?”

There was a flicker of comprehension and a mixture of hope in some faces, while others seemed confused.  Heads slowly nodded.

“Two weeks ago, I was on duty, guarding President Kendall as he flew on Air Force One back from Seattle.”

There was a collective gasp in the room.  Richter held up his hand.

“As I believe you all know or suspect, there was a bomb onboard the plane.  President Kendall and I managed to escape before the bomb was detonated.”  The room erupted, but Richter held up his hands until there was silence.  “Because this is an ongoing criminal investigation, I cannot provide any details.  But I will say this.  Based upon the nature of information that we had at the time, we were forced into hiding.  We were finally able to make it back here with help from Deputy Director Monahan and the FBI.”    

The room again filled with shouts and demands. 

“Where is the president now?” 

“Is he okay?”

Richter held up both hands again.  “Please hold your questions for a moment.”  He turned and nodded to Monahan.

Monahan stepped forward.  “Agent Richter and President Kendall have provided blood and tissue samples that the FBI lab has analyzed and compared to known samples for these two men.  That is, we compared them to samples taken before the crash.”  Monahan paused a second.  “I have a certified statement by the FBI lab that the DNA matches.”  There was a stunned silence as Monahan handed copies of the statement to Harry Bolsh, the Speaker of the House, and to Joyce Pankin, the President Pro Tempore of the Senate.  “I point this out only because I don’t want any doubt whatsoever about their identities.”  Monahan waited for this to sink in, then turned again and nodded to the agents at the door.

As if on cue, the room stood and turned.  The doors opened and a collective gasp escaped as President David Kendall, flanked by six FBI agents, stepped into the room.  The room erupted in applause as Kendall, dressed in a suit, limped to the center.  He stopped and scanned the faces around him before breaking into a smile. 

“You don’t know how good it is to see you all again.  Obviously, these last two weeks have been a huge challenge for our country and a huge challenge for me personally.”  His voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear.  “I would not be here before you today if it were not for some truly remarkable people, who, at some point I will make sure you all get a chance to meet.”  He took a deep breath and, in a much stronger voice, continued.  “We have some urgent business that we need to address immediately.  I understand that twelve days ago, under the provisions of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, you, as members of my Cabinet and as leaders for our legislative bodies, temporarily transferred presidential powers to Vice President Rumson.”  The president turned to Representative Bolsh and Senator Pankin.  “I understand that powers were transferred because I was presumed dead, or at the very least, severely injured and therefore unable to discharge the powers and duties vested in me as president.  I understand and respect that decision.”  The president held his arms out, much like a preacher before his flock.  “But I stand before you now to assure you that I am both mentally and physically able to discharge the powers and duties of the office of President of the United States.”

The president pulled an envelope from his suit coat.  “Mr. Speaker, Madam President.  Under the provisions of the Twenty-fifth amendment, I am now submitting to you a written declaration stating that no inability exists and therefore I am now able to reassume the powers and duties of the office of the president.”  Kendall walked over and handed each a copy and then another copy to the attorney general.

Joyce Pankin looked up from the letter and turned to Harry Bolsh, who gave her a nod.  She stood up; there were tears in her eyes.  “Welcome back, Mr. President.”   The Cabinet members jumped to their feet and the room was filled with cheers and thunderous applause. 

As the president exchanged hugs and reunited with his Cabinet, Richter noticed Broder, his eyes dark, making a beeline toward Monahan.  Four FBI agents stepped forward, blocking him. 

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Broder hissed.

Instinctively, Richter stepped beside the president as Kendall’s voice boomed, and the room went silent.

“Mr. Broder.”  The president signaled with his index finger.  “Come here.”

Broder, red-faced, complied.

“Mr. Kroger.  You too, please.”

Kendall glared at Broder for a moment.  “I want to make this crystal clear.  Agent Richter is in charge and both the FBI and the Secret Service are now effectively under his command.”  He paused.  “Mr. Broder, is this going to be a problem for you?”

Broder turned even redder.  “Sir, with all due respect, Agent Richter does not understand the bigger picture nor does he have the breadth of experience to deal with this.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” the president snapped back.  “If you can’t live with my decision, you’ll be relieved of your duties immediately.” 

Broder, his eyes smoldering, shot Richter a look, then nodded.

The president turned.  “Mr. Kroger, the same goes for you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, a tight-lipped Kroger nodded as well.  “Yes, sir.” 

The president stepped back.  “Agent Richter?”

Richter stepped forward.  “For now, I’m satisfied with the security arrangements that Mr. Monahan has put in place.  Mr. Kroger, at this point, I do not want anyone in the Secret Service to be informed of the president’s status.  No one, Mr. Kroger.  Is that clear?” 

Kroger glanced at the president and then glared at Richter.  “Very clear, Agent Richter.”

Richter studied him a moment before speaking.  “Director, I need you to find out where the vice president is right now and what his schedule is for the rest of the day.  Discreetly, please.”

When the fire alarm sounded and the lights flashed, most people in the West Wing looked up for a second or two in annoyance before turning back to their work. 
A fire at the White House?  Be serious!

It took the Secret Service twenty-five minutes to clear the offices.  The staffers were hustled out to the South Lawn, complaining all the way.  They joined a growing group of people: chefs and cooks in their white aprons, Marine guards in full dress uniform, gardeners and maintenance personnel in coveralls, ushers and staff from the residence, and hundreds of annoyed people in business suits, arms folded across their chests.  Only the press was happy.

Agent C.J. Timmons gathered Rumson’s detail outside the Oval Office. 

“I want all of you stationed outside on the South Portico.  Wolf will remain in the Oval Office.  I want all entrances manned.  No one is allowed back in until the ‘all clear’ is given.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Once the Uniformed Division gets a complete headcount to make sure everyone is accounted for, they’ll let us know.”  He handed a note to one of the agents.  “Give that to the uniformed boys.  The only ones inside are three in the command center, myself by the Oval Office guarding Wolf, and Agent Winston in the East Wing.”  Timmons scowled.  “Fucking fire drills.” 

His men walked outside.  When he was alone, he felt a moment of doubt, but shook his head.  He trusted Kroger, and if the man wanted the building cleared, then so be it. 

He raised his hand to his mouth.  “Wolf is in the Double O.  Crown is clear.”      

With Kroger in the lead, more than twenty FBI agents escorted the two men through the tunnel that connected the Treasury Building to the White House.  Attorney General Ben Kiplinger and Monahan brought up the rear.  Originally constructed as a bomb shelter for Franklin Delano Roosevelt during World War II, the tunnel saw many uses over the ensuing years, including, it was rumored, as a covert means for sneaking Marilyn Monroe into the White House for late night trysts with President Kennedy.

Despite the fact that they were indoors, the two men wore dark sunglasses, hats and bulky coats.  When they reached the vault door that opened into the East Wing of the White House, Director Kroger signaled for the group to stop.  After a quick radio call, the heavy vault door was opened by a single Secret Service agent.  His eyes went wide. 

“Not a word, Agent Winston.”  The young agent nodded, stepping out of the way as Kroger led the group into the vacant hallway.

Ten minutes later, after a somewhat circuitous trip through the White House, the group was escorted into the president’s private dining room, adjacent to the Oval Office.  Agent Timmons was waiting.  He looked from one to the other in confusion and then surprise as the room filled.   

Kroger nodded towards the door.  “Is Wolf still in there by himself?”

“Yes, sir.”

An FBI agent helped the president take off his coat; then the president took off his hat and sunglasses.  He straightened his tie, smoothed the sleeves of his suit coat, then nodded to Monahan.  “Okay, let’s do it.”

Kroger led Kiplinger and Monahan into the Oval Office. 

Rumson, sitting behind the desk, staring at the phone in his hand, was startled. 

“Kroger!  What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging in here?”  Seeing the men behind Kroger, he stood and leaned over the desk, his eyes menacing.  “What the hell is going on?”

Monahan stepped forward.  “Mr. Rumson.  Sit down please.”

Ignoring Rumson’s glower, Monahan placed the digital recorder on the desk and pressed the play button. 

What’s the status?

“What the hell kind of stunt is this?”  Rumson thundered. 

Monahan rewound the recording and hit the play button again.

What’s the status?

What was that?

I said I can’t reach either of my men.

Are you referring to the first team?

Yes.  The first team.

Well?  Do you know what happened?

No.  The second team is in Durango now.  So far they haven’t picked up any leads.

Put every resource you have on this
.  A pause.
  You need to find him pretty damn quick.  And you need to end this!

Monahan pressed the stop button. 

Rumson looked at all three men in turn before his eyes settled back on Monahan.  “What the hell is that?” he said dismissively, pointing to the recorder.

“Mr. Rumson,” Monahan said.  “I am placing you under arrest for murder, for conspiracy to commit murder, and for treason.”

Rumson stared at him, unblinking.  “I didn’t hear anything on that recording about murder or treason.” 

Rumson’s eyes went wide for a second as David Kendall and Matthew Richter stepped into the room.

Kendall stepped up to his desk.  He stared at Rumson, feeling nothing but disgust and loathing for the man before him.  Rumson, his face clouded, his surprise gone and his eyes defiant once again, stared back at him.  There were no signs of remorse, Kendall noted. 
How many people did you kill?
  He wanted to scream. 
You corrupt, power-hungry bastard!
   Instead, he shook his head then turned to Monahan. 

“Get this asshole out of my office.”

Monahan, holding a pair of handcuffs, stepped around the desk.  Instinctively, Richter stepped forward next to Kendall.  Rumson sat frozen.  His eyes dark, he looked up at Kendall and shook his head.

“You son of a bitch,” he said quietly.  Then he lunged out of the chair, grabbed the letter opener and launched himself across the desk.