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?”
Dunne walks past us, through the study, which I’ve barely noticed. He pauses at a second door, listening.
“His memory of today’s events are...skewed,” Endo says. “He is simply doing his job.”
“You didn’t...” I point to my head, wiggling my finger.
He nods. “Subtle changes. In his mind, we’ll always be good guys. Don’t worry, it takes more time and focus to alter a mind permanently than it does to make someone sit in a puddle. You’re still you.”
The memory makes me frown. “That was a really dirty puddle.”
“Sorry,” Endo says, wearing a smile that says he’s not.
I look to Dunne and decide to test Endo’s claim. “What’s the hold up?”
“Sorry, sir,” Dunne says. “President Beck is speaking to someone. Since your meeting is private and unscheduled, I believed it best to wait.”
Well holy guacamole, it worked.
“How?” I ask Endo. “You should have told me about this sooner.”
Endo must know I’m right, but he’s not apologetic. “Keep your thoughts simple. A key phrase that encompasses everything you want, works best. Think it over and over until it becomes their thought. Their belief.”
“Their reality,” I say.
“Exactly. The more complex the control, the longer it takes.”
The sound of a distant door closing catches my attention. Dunne turns around, oblivious to our conversation. “Sounds like the room is clear. Let me take a look.”
Without knocking, Dunne opens the door to the Oval Office.
“Agent Dunne?” It’s Beck. He’s confused by the sudden interruption. I detect a trace of fear as well, probably because the Secret Service would only enter the room unannounced if there was some kind of danger.
Dunne ignores the leader of the free world and waves us in, “You guys are clear.”
Walking past Dunne’s open arms and big smile is surreal. This is the guy who wanted to kick me shitless and fugly. Now he’s like my Aunt Gertrude at Thanksgiving. These neural implants are dangerous. So much so that I’m rethinking our plan.
“What’s going on?” Beck stands behind the Resolute desk. He’s dressed in black slacks and a blue button-up shirt. His jacket hangs over the back of the desk chair. His red tie is loose. He wasn’t expecting company. He’s more angry than afraid now, glaring at Endo and then at me with his piercing light blue eyes that can look both intimidating and manic. “Hudson, I’m going to have your job for this.”
I nearly smile at the way his double chin—the chubbiest part of the man’s body—jiggles when he speaks. “You could probably do a lot worse than that.”
“You’re damn right!” He picks up the phone. “You’re in the shitter too, Dunne.”