Project Maigo(65)

He had spent the previous two nights inside the mouth of his smallest child. Under his guidance, the pair slipped slowly upriver, until they were within striking distance. His other children waited in the deeper water of Chesapeake Bay, clinging to the bottom. The bay, at its deepest, was 208 feet down. As soon as the children stood up, they’d be revealed.

And that was the plan. Create an unavoidable threat to which all military units would respond. In the chaos that followed, he would move in quickly, before Beck could evacuate, and then...he’d kill two birds with one stone. Or one fist as the case may be.

He knew Hudson was here as well. He didn’t understand how, but he knew. He could sense the man’s presence. At first, he believed his plan would be undone. But neither Hudson nor Beck had left the area, a fact he’d confirmed the previous night when he’d done some recon. He found moving across the city’s dark rooftops quite easy, and with his new found strength, speed and agility, he’d had no trouble avoiding detection from the local population or from the Secret Service. He could have killed Beck in his sleep, but then Hudson would have fled.

Better to let two targets become one, he had decided. And when the two men he loathed most were dead, his vengeance wouldn’t be complete, it would have only just begun. He was drawn to these men on a personal level, the way Maigo’s personality drew Nemesis toward Alexander Tilley. But when they were dead, he would focus his attention on the rest of the world. He could feel their corruption. It screamed at him, in his Nemesis heart. The world was begging to be purified through violence.

He would start with Washington, D.C., a city he knew to be corrupt to its core, despite the lofty promises and plastic smiles. Then he would move south. To Fort Bragg, his one-time home and the location of the only fighting force on Earth he believed posed a threat. And once they were out of the way...

Gordon smiled. He’d always wanted to see the country, state by state. But now he wasn’t just going to see the country, he was going to reshape it. He was going to remake the world, measuring his progress in tons of ash and blood.

But first, he had to wait for darkness to return again. Then he would light up the night.





34



Our sixth tour through the White House is a little different from the previous five. The most noticeable difference is the absence of Mindy. I can’t picture Agent Dunne as a jabberjaw know-it-all, but with the neural implant embedded in his temple, he’s like a sedated introvert. This concerns me at first because he’s just silently leading the way. But no one gives him a second look. I wouldn’t be surprised if part of his job description is silently escorting visitors through the halls. The one agent that does look our way simply glances at Endo and me, and then nods at Dunne. All in all, it’s a short walk back to the stairs, up one flight and down the hall toward the most famous office in the world.

“Let’s avoid the secretary,” Endo says, his voice quiet, but easily heard by Dunne. While he can hear Endo’s voice, he’s also influenced by Endo’s will. I want to apologize to the man. He’s just doing his job. But it’s led to a violation of his freedom. I remember what if felt like to have no control, and Endo just had me sit down. Dunne is breaking every Secret Service rule, oath and precaution. For all he knows, we are here to kill Beck and he’s helping.

“This way,” Dunne says, motioning for us to follow through the wide corridor separating the Oval Office and the Roosevelt Room. We slip through a door and into the less formal West Wing, where several offices are located, including the Vice President’s and the Chief of Staff’s. Conversations leak out of open doorways. A set of fingers type too hard on a computer keyboard. Distant laughter. The West Wing is busy, though the hall is empty.

Just as I am sure we are going to be caught, Dunne opens a door to our left and motions us through. We enter a small dining room, elegantly decorated, but also functional. This is where the President eats his less prestigious meals between writing speeches, working on policy and making shitastic decisions that put me and the people I care about—not to mention millions of Americans—in danger.

But not today.

Today he’ll get the chance to do the right thing.

Or not.

The outcome will be the same, either way.

I’m surprised when Dunne opens another door and motions us through, this time with a polite smile and a nod.

“Laying it on a little thick,” I whisper to Endo. “When this is done, he’s going to hunt you down.”

“I’m no longer controlling him,” Endo says.

On the inside, I’m thinking something close to, whhhaaaaa? But I manage to ask a slightly more intelligent question. “But...how?”