“A squash head?” Bennett said. “Why’s he using outdated weapons tech?”
“The hypothesis we’re working with is that he wanted to shatter the ballistic windows to clear the way.”
“For what?”
“A shot at you. But the protective convoy did its job, got you away safely.”
An aide entered with a silver tray holding a fresh shirt and a replacement pair of eyeglasses. Bennett tore off his tie and changed his shirt in full view of everyone. Propriety had been washed aside by the exigencies of the situation.
“A job well done, is that what you’re telling me?” He polished the lenses carefully before donning the new glasses. “Convenient how that hypothesis lets the Service off the hook.”
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, Mr. President, I’m not feeling particularly off the hook at the moment.”
“Okay,” Bennett said. “So he wanted to break the glass to get at me. The rear compartment of Cadillac One is a closed container, which means he had to pull off a balancing act between concussing it enough to shatter the windows and producing too much overpressure, which would kill everyone inside. Hence the question: Why not just do the latter and kill everyone inside?”
“I have a feeling…”
“What?”
“I have a feeling that he didn’t want to kill the rest of us.”
Bennett’s eyes crinkled at the edges with amusement. “You think Orphan X cares about collateral damage?”
“He was cornered by cops in that café two weeks ago—”
“I recall.”
“Well,” she said, “a man who throws matcha tea and salt when confronted with armed police officers doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t care about collateral damage. A man who uses rubber bullets to affect his escape doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t care about killing innocents.”
“According to Director Gonzalez, Orphan X killed two Secret Service agents today.”
“About that…” Naomi shot a glance at the iconic lunette window, realized her breath was held. She took the plunge. “We’ve discovered that the two emergency-response-team members who were killed were actually impostor agents.”
Bennett stared at her with incredulity. “You allowed outsiders to penetrate the Secret Service? Along my motorcade route?”
Though chagrined to the bone, she found herself wondering whether Bennett was feigning his reaction. “Agent Demme remembers clearing them during the advance sweep.” She nodded to Demme, who was waiting nervously across the room, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t heard his name spoken. “He double-checked their creds, said they checked out in the databases. But now any record of them is gone.”
“You’re telling me you’ve got moles in your agency, Templeton?”
“I’m worried we have moles outside the Service, people with clearance high enough to alter top-secret databases. Someone authorized inside State, NSA, DoD.”
Bennett’s gaze was steady, but in her peripheral vision Naomi saw Wong’s face swivel to him. Naomi had no idea what that was about, but she felt paranoia squirm to life in her belly, the sense that there were vast mechanisms at work beneath the surface so well cloaked that she’d never comprehend them.
She focused on the job at hand, which was itself big enough to drown in. “It seems these impostors were targeting Orphan X, and he targeted them—and only them—right back.”
“No,” Bennett said. “No, no, no. Nothing with X is a direct line. Not the men he killed, not his reason for shattering the limousine. It’s all part of a more complex strategy. We’re missing something. What are we missing?” He ran his thumb back and forth across his fingertips repetitively.
Bennett’s shift in affect was upsetting. Naomi was accustomed to seeing him completely in control, never a tremor in his voice or a sheen of sweat across his brow. Now he looked disheveled in his rumpled clothes.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, hoping a conciliatory tone might take his agitation down a notch. “Perhaps he miscalculated the charge.”
“The man penetrated an impenetrable security zone, sent a mortar round a half block in moderate wind conditions toward a target moving fifty-five miles per hour and hit the nail on the head.” Bennett clenched his hands together. “That doesn’t sound like someone who miscalculated .”
“No,” she said.
“So we need to figure out what the hell he’s up to. You’re not thinking hard enough.”
Before Naomi could respond, the physician approached, orange bottle in hand. “Mr. President, after the strain of the day, I think it’s imperative that you take a low dose of Buspar—”
Bennett said, “I don’t need an antianxiety. I never take that crap, Frank. You know this. Don’t want to get in the habit.”
The physician kept his voice calm and steady. “It’s not every day that you’re nearly assassinated.”
Bennett tensed, his stare locked on the bottle. “Where was this prescription filled?”
“The usual pharmacy.”
Bennett knocked the bottle out of the physician’s hands, sending it tumbling across the carpet. The doctor drew upright, taken aback.
“Nothing is usual anymore,” Bennett said. “Have those pills been tested?”
The physician said, “I assure you—”
Bennett’s glare found Naomi. “Have them tested. This is a perfect ploy, see? The attack gets my heart rate up, after which my doc will likely recommend I take a med. Pills can be contaminated. That’s how he thinks. Every single thing is strategic.” He got up, snatched the bottle off the carpet, and held it before Naomi’s face. “I would have thought that after what you just witnessed, you might understand what we’re up against.”
She gestured Demme over and handed him the bottle. “Can you get Tech Security in here, please?”
“What other logical actions can be predicted in the wake of an explosion like that?” Bennett said, loud enough now to address the entire room. “I give a speech. So. Where’s my speech?”
A wiry man in the far corner held up a notepad and a sheaf of papers. “Not quite there yet, Mr. President.”
Bennett pointed. “Those papers. The notepad. Take them to the lab. They need to be checked.” He rubbed his wrist. “Where’s my watch?”
Across the room the assistant secretary was on her feet. “Already en route to Geneva to be fixed, Mr. President.”
“No, no . I want it fixed here in the U.S. Orphan X could intercept it, apply contact poison to the band.” Abruptly, he removed his new pair of wire-frame eyeglasses and regarded them. His other hand worked the top of his shirt, unbuttoning it. “And these. Did someone check these for toxins?”
Naomi said, “Every item that goes on your body is acquired from a security-cleared vendor and is double-checked before it enters the White House.”
“Were they checked again for toxins and poisons? After the attack but before they were brought to me on a silver tray?”
Demme cleared his throat. “They were, Mr. President, right before they were brought in.”
Reluctantly, Bennett slid his glasses back on and released his shirt, which gapped open at the throat.
Demme continued nervously, “After an AOP, we take nothing for granted. Every conceivable measure is—”
“How about my other clothes? The bedsheets? He could sneak a contaminant into the detergent.”
“I have two agents down at laundry operations right now, Mr. President,” Naomi said. “One from Protective Intelligence and Assessment, the other from the Technical Security Division. We understand the level of this threat, and we are tightening operations to an unprecedented level. We’ll even be adding more panic buttons through the residential areas of the White House. They’ll be disguised as Presidential Seals embedded in surfaces and on the walls—”
The double doors opened, and a team of agents entered with cameras. They began systematically photographing the room.
“Who are they?” Bennett said.
“I’m having our advance-team techs sweep all the rooms in the White House,” Naomi said. “They’ll photograph everything so we can make sure nothing has been touched or moved. This is the baseline series.”
“Do you personally recognize these men?”
“I do.”
“I want those cameras taken apart,” Bennett said. “Orphan X, he would have predicted this measure in the wake of the limo attack. He could have planted a charge inside the cameras. You need to start thinking like him.”
The agents stopped taking pictures and stood awkwardly, the offending cameras in hand. Demme started over to them.
“Not while I’m here,” Bennett said. “Templeton, come with me.”
He exited the sitting room swiftly.