68
Vice President Gordon’s eyes opened at the soft knock at his bedroom door. Slipping silently from bed to avoid waking his wife, the vice president donned his bathrobe and opened the door. Sam Tally, the chief of his personal secret service detail, awaited, his square jaw clenched tighter than normal.
In a voice that carried only to the vice president’s ears, the secret service agent spoke. “Mr. Vice President. The director of the FBI has been found murdered in his home.”
“I understand,” Vice President Gordon said, instantly assuming the commanding demeanor for which he was famous. Closing the bedroom door behind him, he nodded his head toward his personal office. “Let’s take this conversation down the hall.”
“Is there any connection to the hit on the FBI agent in North Dakota last week?”
“We don’t know for sure yet, Mr. Vice President, but the MO looks the same.” Tally’s voice held an unusual edge.
“How so, Sam?”
“You remember that there was a name written on Agent Freeman’s head out in North Dakota?”
“Raymond Bronson.”
“Right. It was the name of one of the dead members of Jack Gregory’s team. Tonight, when they found the FBI director’s body, there was another name written on his forehead in red. Bobby Daniels.”
“Another of Gregory’s boys?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I just can’t believe Bill Hammond is dead.”
“It gets worse. Both special agents assigned to ensure his protection were found dead outside the house. I’m afraid that Mrs. Hammond is dead too.”
“Marjorie? Jesus Christ.”
“She must have stumbled on the killer as he exited the house. He cut her throat so violently her head almost came off. The house was a god-awful mess. The president wants you at the White House ASAP. He’s gathering the whole cabinet for an emergency meeting.”
“My driver?”
“He and the rest of your security team are already waiting outside.”
“Okay, Sam. Let the president’s people know, I’ll be on my way as soon as I throw on some clothes.”
The secret service man nodded, then turned and exited the room. Vice President Gordon waited until he was gone, then turned and picked up the encrypted Secure Telephone Unit, more commonly called a STU.
The STU secured call was answered by an odd-sounding voice, the slight delay and echo indicative of the heavy encryption on the line.
“Yes?”
The vice president spoke softly. “Is the cigar ready?”
“The Columbian, just as you requested.”
Vice President Gordon paused for just an instant, the code words that would change his life forever rising to his lips of their own accord.
“Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”