“You know, my mother always dreamed I’d wind up here someday,” said Becks. “Pretty sure she wanted me to be First Lady, not a semi-hostage journalist on the run from a global conspiracy, but hey. At least I’m in the White House.”
I laughed and started for the doors. They slid open at our approach, and, once again, there was no blood test required to get inside.
“Getting into the White House through any of the public entrances requires six blood tests and a retinal scan,” said Rick as we walked. “If you’re unable to successfully complete a retinal scan for any reason, you have to submit to whatever further testing security deems necessary. Refusal to be tested will result in your being removed from the premises.”
“And shot,” said George. “Correct?”
Rick looked uncomfortable. “It generally doesn’t come to that.”
“Mm-hmm.” She had stepped through the doors a few feet ahead of me. She stopped there, waiting until we could walk on side by side. “What are we doing here, Rick?”
“You’re here because… it was time for you to be brought up to speed.” He kept walking, trusting the rest of us to follow. I’m sure the presence of three enormous Secret Service agents had nothing to do with his degree of confidence.
No, really.
The four of us stuck close together as we walked along the hall, George and me in the lead, right behind Rick, with Becks and Alaric behind us. Steve and the two unnamed agents brought up the rear. The driver of our SUV stayed in the vehicle when we went inside. Presumably, he or she had been left in order to park the car. This was all very well organized. I stepped a little closer to George, whose face was set in the grim mask that meant she was as uncomfortable as I was. That was good. I didn’t want to be the only one who knew we were walking into a trap.
We stopped at an apparently blank wall midway down the hall. Rick gave the rest of us an apologetic look as he said, “This is where we have to take your weapons away. I’m sorry. It’s just that we’re about to go into some very secure areas, and I don’t have the clearance to authorize you to go armed.”
“You’re the Vice President of the United States,” said George. “If you don’t have the clearance, who does?”
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.
“Right.” George sighed and removed the gun from her belt. Steve stepped up with a large plastic bin; she put the gun inside.
That was the cue for the rest of us to begin shedding our weapons. Alaric and George were clean in a matter of minutes. Becks and I took longer. The bin in Steve’s hands was dangerously full by the time we finished.
“Can we get a claim check for those?” asked Alaric.
Steve snorted, expression darkly amused. “Unlikely.”
“Just checking,” said Alaric, unruffled.
“Thank you,” said Rick. He pressed his hand against the wall. A light came on behind his palm, and the wall turned transparent—a trick I’d only seen once before, in the Portland offices of the CDC. There was an elevator on the other side.
Alaric whistled. “Where can I get me one of those?”
“First, get a six-billion-dollar security budget. After that, I’ll put you in touch with the DOD,” said Rick. The transparent patch of wall slid to the side as the elevator doors swished open, revealing a surprisingly industrial-looking metal box. This elevator could have been located in any dock or warehouse in the world, and yet here it was, in the White House. Rick beckoned us forward again. “After you.”
“If this is a trap, someone’s getting a very stern talking to,” I said blithely, and stepped into the elevator. George was barely half a step behind me.
Of the three Secret Service agents, only Steve got into the elevator with us, leaving the other two behind after handing one of them the bin containing our weapons. The doors swished shut again as soon as Steve was through, and Rick opened a metal panel on the wall, revealing, for the first time since our arrival, a blood testing array. It had eight distinct panels, one for each of us, with two to spare.
“I thought you didn’t do security theater,” said George.
“This is just a precaution. We’re going into a highly secured area,” said Rick. “We all have to test clean before the elevator will move.”
“Oh, great,” said Alaric. “I wanted to hang out in a death trap today.”
Becks elbowed him in the side as she pressed her thumb against the first testing square. The white plastic turned red behind her finger, remaining that color for a count of five before turning green. Rick did the same with the next square, cycling it from white to red to green. Then he stepped back, looking at the rest of us.
“You’re up,” he said.
None of us were infected. The elevator chimed softly and began sliding downward, moving with a smooth efficiency that bordered on unnerving. I realized that the four of us were standing clustered together on one side of the elevator, leaving Rick and Steve on the other. Steve was watching the wall. Rick was watching us, a deep longing in his eyes.