Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(41)

Chapter 10

"Corinne, hold your head up. We're here with you," Rafe soothed as we walked toward the limousine carrying the President. "We'll know something soon."

I wanted to drop to my knees and weep. Yes, most of those inside the Mansion still held me in contempt, but that didn't mean I wanted them to die.

"We need you near the President," August said on my other side. "For the same reason. Cori, you saved a lot of people who would have died. We'll talk about that later. Dr. Shaw has already called in—he's on the scene and helping those who need it."

"James?" My voice quavered.

"He's fine, but got banged up saving some files. He's all right, Cori."

I'd been too afraid to use what I had to check on him. I almost wept in relief.

*

"Corinne, I realize this is difficult for you, but we need you. I need you," the President said as we loaded into her limousine. She was flanked by two Secret Service agents, who wore communication devices and looked tougher than chainsaws.

Rafe could take both of them easily.

"Will you do something for me, then?" I asked, blinking at the President and working to keep the quiver from my voice.

"Anything—within reason."

"I know this is disrespectful, but will you have someone—preferably a bomb squad—go over every inch of the Vice President's casket? I have a terrible feeling they're not done with us, yet."

"Oh, dear God," August muttered.

"See to it," the President nodded at one of her agents. We listened as he gave the order and the vehicle began to move. Twenty minutes later, we received a message that the bomb had been located and disarmed.

"How in the name of Hades did it get there?" The President's anger erupted.

She was in her sixties and looked every bit of it, her once-dark hair showing much gray. Her eyes were still a clear blue, indicating the intelligence behind them, however. I could read the level of her anger easily.

"We don't have that information yet, Madam President, but we're working on it," her agent replied before barking orders into his communicator.

"You can be assured the ones responsible are long gone," Rafe sighed.

*

The funeral was uneventful.

The ride back to the White House was anything but.

Rafe heard the missile approaching the limo the moment the images hit my brain. Both of us shouted at the driver to stop, but he ignored us and hit the gas.

Sure, the limo was bulletproof. It might have been rocket-proof, too, for all I know. What I remember is this—the vehicle sailing through the air as the blast lifted it and flung it forward. Both Secret Service agents were shielding Madam President as we tumbled end over end along the street.

Rafe kept me safe, somehow, inside the shield he created. My head snapped twice as we bounced along, but his arms kept me from being jolted too much.

The problems came when we came to a metal-scraping halt after what seemed forever. Six men surrounded the vehicle, their weapons drawn.

A firefight with more Secret Service ensued, while we cringed inside the vehicle. Bullets pinged and whizzed against every part of the car as assassins attempted to shoot their way inside. I shuddered when one of our attackers slid down the side, the bloody wound in his head creating a sickening squeak against glass and metal as he dropped.

Capitol Police were on their way; Madam President's agents in the car called for backup the moment we'd settled on the road in one piece, but we'd already lost six Secret Service agents outside the car.

One of our attackers hit the windshield with the butt of his gun, pounding in a hard, regular rhythm while attempting to break reinforced glass to get to us. He died, dropping where he stood as Capitol Police arrived and began shooting.

Once the immediate threat was eliminated, Rafe loosened his grip on me. It wasn't until then I realized I'd been holding my breath during most of the ordeal. "We're all right," he whispered against my ear when things looked to return to normal. I offered a silent nod of agreement.

It took an hour of checking the streets and nearby neighborhoods before we were allowed outside the car and escorted back to the White House in a second vehicle by more Secret Service. I was a wreck by that time, but we still had a meeting with the President about the destruction of the Mansion, the bomb in the casket and the attack on her vehicle.

I sat on a sofa in a room near the Oval Office, listening while August and the President were updated on the Mansion's casualties.

The luxury of our surroundings felt like decorative punctuation marks at the end of a poorly worded and awkward sentence. It didn't fit. Shouldn't have been. I wanted to deny it when August read names off a list he'd received on his cell phone.

Kevin and Ken, plus their handlers—dead.

"You won't find Becker or Gene," I said flatly, my lips numbed and unfeeling as I spoke. "Tell the crew to stop looking for them."

"Why?" August turned to me.

"Because they brought the bomb inside the Mansion to begin with. I saw it, right there at the last. They didn't know Rafe, Maye, Nick and I were already gone. They dumped it in Dalton's empty suite."

"Why didn't you see this earlier?" The President asked.

"Because they couldn't make up their minds to do it until then," I said. Yes, I was giving the people present better insight into my talent, but it wasn't anything they couldn't already determine for themselves.