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I turn just in time to see a man slashing Deb’s throat, two other men holding her arms. One of them rips off her respirator and another one goes for her weapon.

Fuck.

My training takes over. I shoot the one going for her weapon first, hitting him in the forehead. Then I take out the one who has her respirator in his hands, his head exploding when the bullet hits.

“No ... please.” The third man puts his hands in the air.

I put two bullets in his chest and he falls. I put another one in his head.

The intern is standing off to the side, giving me a murderous glare. I don’t look away from her as I say, “Get out. If you’re still here in five seconds, I’ll shoot.”

She runs from the room. I turn back to the secretary.

Her eyes are half closed and she’s fighting for every inhale.

“Who?” she rasps.

“Petty Officer First Class Evander Holt, Naval Special Warfare, ma’am. My team was sent to extract you. I’m the only one left.”

She loosens her hold on the metal briefcase. When she coughs, it slides to the floor beside her.

“Take it,” she says through coughs.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take this with me. I assume it contains something related to national security?”

She coughs harder, blood splattering onto her face and shirt. I hate that I’m the last person she’ll ever see. She probably has a partner and children who should be with her, but this virus is merciless.

“Thought,” she sputters.

“Madam Secretary, it’s okay. I’ll get this to the successor.”

She shakes her head slightly, wincing from the movement.

“How can I help?” I ask. “Can I get you into a more comfortable position?”

She reaches out a shaking hand, setting it on the briefcase. “Thought. He could.”

Every word is a struggle for her. I wish I knew what she’s trying to tell me. She coughs, the wet sputter racking her whole body and bringing up more blood.

“Beat ... Apollo.” She slumps, her eyes imploring me to understand.

I don’t think I do, though.

“Thought he could beat Apollo?” I ask. “Is that what you’re saying?”

The lines on her forehead disappear as she relaxes slightly, relieved. She must be delirious. But if she’s satisfied that I understand her, that’s good enough.

“I understand,” I say.

It takes more than fifteen seconds for her chest to rise with the next breath, her eyelids closed. I lock my hand around the handle of the briefcase, my thin gloves not providing much protection from the virus that’s probably all over it.

This isn’t about me, though. It’s not about any one person, or successor, or SEAL squad.

The secretary’s chest doesn’t rise again. I take the box, stopping to say goodbye to Deb and close her eyes.

I can’t think about her death. There’s no one left but me to get this box, whatever it is, to the next successor to the presidency.

I’ll either do it or die trying.