Outside, the chop of approaching helicopter rotors mixed with the squeal of tires from the building’s front. Security and Woodstock would arrive at the same time. As bullets pinged off the metal door’s interior, Collins put down her case, took hold of the magnetic disk and dragged the deadbolt back in place.
The rotor chop grew suddenly louder as Betty emerged over the fence, angling down for a hasting landing. Alessi, holding her case at her side, with both hands, was already halfway there. When Betty touched down, Woodstock flung open his door, leapt out and opened the rear door for Alessi, who slid her case inside and climbed in after it.
Not waiting for Collins, Woodstock got back inside the chopper and the rotors began spinning faster, the skids lifting off the ground.
Collins was thirty feet from the waiting chopper when a black SUV tore around the side of the building and barreled toward her. She took aim and fired her last two rounds. The first shot sparked off the pavement, but the second found its mark, punching through the vehicle’s front left tire. The SUV’s driver crushed the brakes and all four doors flung open.
Collins reached the chopper quickly thanks to Woodstock, who glided Betty in close, just a foot off the ground. Ducking under the rotor wash, Collins passed her case to Alessi.
A gunshot ripped through the air.
Collins shouted in pain and fell forward. Alessi caught her and hauled her inside, shouting for Woodstock to go. Betty lifted quickly into the sky, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off her metal body.
As the bullets faded and the chopper rose, Alessi quickly checked Collins over.
“I’m okay,” Collins coughed.
Alessi stopped her search, finding the bullet embedded in the left side of Collins’s rear body armor. “Thank God,” Alessi said. Collins grinned at the woman’s concern. She hadn’t realize they’d become that friendly, but they’d spent a lot of down-time together while Hudson and Endo had lain in hospital beds.
Collins sat up with a groan, thinking the bullet must have bruised a few ribs. She tore off her black mask and put on a headset. “Get us someplace safe,” she said to Woodstock. “We need to load these up before Jon and Endo become Kaiju snack-food.”
38
Standing under the roof of the West Colonnade, we watch a bevy of cars and limos pull up and quickly whisk away some of Washington’s most important people. The driveway around the South Lawn is typically reserved for foot traffic, but they’re using all exits to evacuate. Not that the people in cars are going to make it very far. By now, the rest of the city is rushing to their cars, too. Within the hour, I suspect people will have given up on driving and will run on foot. The lucky ones are boarding one of five green-and-white Sikorsky SH-3 Sea King helicopters idling on the South Lawn. The choppers are normally reserved for the President, with the lead bird known as Marine One, when he boards it. But right now they’re taking away key staff, including the Vice President. Had we not intervened, President Beck would have been the first one out, leaving on a chopper just for him and his mob of Secret Service agents.
I’ve heard a few people enter and leave the Oval Office behind us, shouting for the President. Agents, aids, maybe even generals, none of them thinking to open the closed shades and look outside. Right now, the President is AWOL and not making decisions. The people who need his approval to act are probably freaking out, but that’s okay. He’s exactly where he needs to be.
I hope.
If I get the man killed, I’m fairly well screwed. Worse than that, so are all the people helping me tonight. As the last of the vehicles pulls away from the South Lawn drive and the helicopters thunder into the air, Agent Dunne returns from the Oval Office. The man looks like he’s going on vacation, carrying six black, hard cases of varying sizes.
I help him with the cases and open one of the three larger ones. “Is this everything?”
Dunne nods.
Inside the large case is a tactical uniform, complete with body armor. One like it came in handy against Gordon before, but we couldn’t wear the gear beneath our disguises. Knowing the Secret Service would have their own on hand, we decided it would be best to borrow theirs. And there’s the added bonus of looking like one of the gang. Hiding behind a row of thick bushes, Endo and I don the gear. As I cinch the last buckle, I feel much more prepared, though still fairly defenseless. To my surprise, Dunne changes into his own armor. He might be an automaton right now, but he’s still doing his job.