Part 17 (1/2)
Robert motioned to the agents and showed them the note. They frantically yelled into microphones hidden in their lapel pins and sleeves.
”Abort! Abort!” one agent called into his sleeve, ordering the President back to the White House.
Thorne ran onto the stage.
”Fiona, did you see anything?” asked Robert.
”No, Nothing! A waiter put the tray down only a few minutes ago.”
”What waiter?”
”He was just standing over...”
Fiona, shocked and bewildered, pointed towards the camouflaged kitchen door.
Robert told Thorne to take Fiona home. Surrounded by agents, they left the stage.
Robert ran through the kitchen, several agents on his heels. The banquet staff, some handcuffed, others spread eagle on the floor, mumbled and screamed in terror.
”He ran out the door! We're innocent,” a waiter screamed, his face pressed against a freezer door.
”Which way?” shouted Robert.
”The back door to the s.h.i.+pping dock,” whimpered the waiter, now handcuffed and on his knees.
Robert burst into the receiving area, gun drawn. The two agents with him covered each side of the small warehouse, guns pointing up and down and side to side.
They ran into the alley behind the dock. At the far end, Robert saw only agents and flas.h.i.+ng lights making their way toward him, searching every inch.
They sprinted back to the dock. Robert signaled each agent to cover opposite sides of the small warehouse, while he covered the center aisle.
Robert crept down the center aisle. At the end of the row, he spotted a foot to the left of the shelves. He slowly, carefully, turned the corner and pointed his gun down at a man sprawled out on the floor. Agent Sams, throat slashed, sat lifeless on the floor in a pool of blood.
”My G.o.d!” one of the agents gasped, walking up.
”Code blue! Code blue!” one of the agents shouted into his sleeve.
”Agent down in the warehouse off the dock area! We need immediate medical a.s.sistance! Code blue!” More agents ran inside, each shaken by the sight.
Almost immediately, an FBI forensic team arrived, complete with black bag laboratories, and enough photo equipment to shoot the Super Bowl.
Robert answered a few questions then hung back out of the way, wondering why the Bear allowed Fiona to live.
”This guy just doesn't know when to quit,” said a female voice.
Marilyn London, in a short, cla.s.sy, midnight blue dress, stood a few clicks short of vampish, with one hand on her hip, the other clutching a black alligator handbag. He recognized her perfume, Paloma Pica.s.so.
”That seems to be the case,” said Robert, agitated. ”I hope we catch him soon. This was way too close.”
”I agree. The bra.s.s and White House are furious.”
”I never should've left the room, not even for a few minutes. She's my responsibility.”
”Don't think the fellas up top won't let you know it. They never allow outsiders this much lat.i.tude in our operations to begin with. So for this to happen with you around...well, let's be kind and say you're the perfect scapegoat. Why'd you leave the room anyway?”
”I needed a private word with my partner.”
”Oh, so she was also out of the room. You two make quite a pair.”
”Look, there was a room full of agents, including several around the stage. I don't think we should shoulder all the blame.”
”I don't think you deserve all of it either, but this is Was.h.i.+ngton.
Somebody has to take the blame. I'm simply pointing out the obvious.”
”Didn't your people run background checks on all the workers?”
”Yes,” said Marilyn. ”But other than the usual illegal immigrants and petty infractions, they found nothing. I'm sure our Russian friend used a phony set-up.”
Robert felt stupid for asking. ”Of course.”
”Mind sharing what you and Thorne were discussing? If it's important or pertained to the a.s.signment, maybe we can keep the sharks at bay.”
Robert thought about Edward, Julie Rice, and the evidence. Having another hand on the plow didn't seem like such a bad idea, but he decided against it. ”It wasn't that important.”
”But important enough to leave your Supreme Court nominee unprotected.”
”Then let's just say it's confidential. ”
”No need to get abrupt with me, I'm on your side. You need to be ready when the big boys needle you. Was it another case you're working on?”
”Are you here to grill me, or investigate Agent Sams' murder?” Marilyn smiled. ”So how well did you know Agent Sams?” she asked.
”As you know, we didn't get along that well,” said Robert. ”You do remember the incident back at the Weiss murder scene?”
”Ah yes, the slap from your partner. I remember.”
”But we seemed to put all that aside to watch out for Fiona...Judge Patrick.”
Marilyn's smile grew. ”I see. Interesting.” She pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse, and brushed by him on her way to the corpse. He followed, kicking himself for the slip of tongue.
They bent under the yellow tape. Robert examined the body again, while Marilyn had a members only conversation with her colleagues.
The throat wound looked smooth, no jagged edges. Why did Sams follow without backup? It doesn't make sense.
”Strange isn't it?” said Marilyn, standing next to him.