Chapter Eleven
We ride through DC streets, and it even fuckinglookshot outside. It’s been an unseasonably hot May. Thank god this is an indoor event. My office set it up to be a little bit of a photo opp, people can get pictures of me walking from the motorcade into the front door.
“By the way, saw that comment you made to Bill Graham atWaPoin that article on your dad’sbill,” I tell him, unable to hold back my grin. “Bet your old man is steamed.” The article actually came out last week, but I didn’t see it until this morning when I was playing catch-up on the toilet with my phone.
Kev smiles, but it’s the smile of Prophet, the successful political operative. “Well, he’s the one trying to cut VA benefits. If he didn’t want me to call him out on his shitty bill,he shouldn’t have put his name on it as a co-sponsor.”
I grin. The bill has zero hope of making it out of committee, it’s more some play to a base he thinks he has, but Kev slammed him damned good on it.
When we arrive in front of the venue, there’s a large crowd, larger than I expected. “Uh, wow. Lots of kids.” In fact, there’s a lot of school-aged kids here today, which is great.
Includinga group not much older than Hudson right up on the barricades, cheering as the cars pull up.
As I get out, I start to follow my detail, but those kids, man. They look happy to be here, happy to see me.
“Rope line,” I call out to John, who’s now about ten steps ahead of me. I veer off at a ninety and ignore the swears from my detail. I know Kev’s right behind me, shadowing me, keeping an eyeon the time and he can be my bulldog to get me into the building if this takes too long.
I start to shake hands, take selfies with the kids, working my way through the group of kids. I’m trying to say hi to them, focus on them, ignoring the angry buzzing around me of agents trying to reconfigure themselves with my last-minute plan change.
I mean, I know better, don’t leave your detail behind,but also I drilled into these same agents rule one is you keep your eye on the protectee and expect them to veer off.
Ha. Training refresher. I know I put at least half my guys through this same exact scenario when I was still in and working with them.
I’m about two-thirds through the rope line when I notice a man push his way forward. But before I can really process what’s going on, Kev haslaunched himself in front of me and shoving me back, making himself big in front of me—he’s got good form—and screaming as I hear threepops.
Time doesn’t really slow down.
Adrenaline dumps into your system and it’s sort of the body’s natural time warp for fight-or-flight instincts to kick in. Senses are heightened, your world shrinks into a tight ball right where you need the focus.
Kev hitsthe ground as Jack, one of my agents, gets his hand on the man’s gun, between the hammer and frame, and wrenches it from him.
I dive on top of Kev and have time to see the blood, see his glasses, where they landed in front of him with blood on them, and—
Time snaps back into focus.
“Gun! Gun! Gun! Prophet down! Prophet down!” agents yell as the crowd stampedes and my detail tries to form acordon around me and Kev.
I feel agents pulling at me, trying to evac me from the scene, and they actually have me back on my feet until I realize Kev’s eyes are closed and he’s not moving. I fight my agents off and once again drop next to Kev, where three agents are already tending to him.
“Sir, we have to get you out of here!” John yells.
I turn on him. “We’re riding with Kev.” I’m alreadymoving, grabbing his glasses from where they fell, now broken and smeared with his blood.
DCMP officers have swarmed the shooter, and he’s face down, yelling something incoherent as about six officers in full tac gear are sitting on top of him, handcuffing him.
Fortunately, there’s an ambulance in the motorcade. Medics are already rushing this way with a stretcher as agents grab Kev and carryhim toward them. Someone grabbed Kev’s portfolio and shoved it at me. The only thing keeping me out of the ambulance is that the two paramedics in back need room to work.
Instead of The Beast, I dive into the motorcade vehicle right behind the ambulance, where I point out the windshield. “Follow that fucking ambulance to the hospital!”
Two of my agents jumped in with me, and the driver triesto argue with me. “Sir, we need to get you—”
“To thefucking hospital! That’s a goddamned directorderand don’t make me fucking call Eisenthal!”
Because I fucking will.
The agent punches it, pulling out behind the ambulance and riding about three feet off its rear bumper.
Behind us, agents are scrambling to follow.
