“Of course I am. I’m not trying to take options off the table, Mitch. I’m just trying to manage them.”
“And?”
“What I’m seeing isn’t encouraging. There are three potential sites, all heavily secured. The audience will be brought in on buses, but which venue is being used will only be known less than an hour before.”
“But he’s actually going to be at one of them personally. He’s leaving the White House.”
“Yes. But we don’t know when or how or where exactly. Also—and I’m not exaggerating when I say it—this could literally be the most secure event in history. What we need to do here is sit back, watch, and get some insight into where their security protocols are headed.”
“You said you don’t know exactly where he’s going to appear. That there are three possible venues.”
“Correct.”
“Are all of them in the DC area?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me that all our guys are being watched.”
“Physical, electronic, drone… They’re completely locked down. Why?”
He smiled. “No reason.”
CHAPTER 33
BEBE Kincaid looked down sadly at the towel in her hand, knowing it was the last dry one in the house. The night before, a nicked pipe had given way and by the time they’d woken, a minor disaster was in the offing. Mitch had shut off the water and cleared most of it using a huge squeegee attached to a rake handle. After he’d left for the plumbing supply store, she’d attacked the problem with rags and now the floor was dry. The problem was that the grout was coated with a pasty haze of plaster.
The haphazard staining thwarted her every effort at cleaning and distorted the perfect grid effect created by the tile. Nothing lined up anymore. Nothing was consistent. What if it was permanent? What would they do then?
She knelt and began scrubbing again, ignoring the arthritis in her shoulder until it became intense enough to overshadow her panic about the floor. Finally, she sat back on her heels and counted the way her therapist had taught her.
One, two, three… It doesn’t matter. Four, five, six. It’s just a floor. Seven, eight, nine. I could buy grout cleaner and a stiffer brush. Ten, eleven, twelve. That would do it. That would fix it.
It was 10:44 a.m., sixteen minutes before her scheduled departure time. She went back to her room and cleaned up, changing into newly pressed clothing and then walking back down the stairs on rubber-soled shoes. Grocery bags were hung by the front door, making it possible for her to escape without having to go anywhere near Sadie’s kitchen.
At eleven sharp, she was behind the wheel of Claudia’s armored SUV, engine started and bags folded neatly in the passenger seat. The sense of relief she felt once outside the gate was always welcome. The house became more oppressive every day. More hopeless. She wondered if this was what it had been like centuries ago when a castle came under siege. Knowing that time was on your opponent’s side and that eventually yours would run out.
She glanced at the speedometer, confirming that she was traveling at exactly forty kilometers per hour, before squinting into the rearview mirror. Instead of the house’s perimeter wall receding into the distance, though, she saw someone rising from the SUV’s cargo area. Panic seized her and she slammed a foot on the brake pedal, causing the vehicle to fishtail despite its sophisticated antilock system.
“It’s me!” she heard the woman shout. Her French accent was unmistakable.
Bebe lifted her foot off the brake and regained control, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Sadie tossed a straw hat onto the dashboard and then rolled gracefully over the seat. A moment later she was settling onto the bags in the front passenger side.
“What… What are you doing?” Bebe stammered.
“Coming shopping with you,” Sadie replied, pulling the seat belt across her and clicking it into place. “I thought you might need some help.”
“Mitch said you have to stay at the house.”
“I haven’t set foot outside those walls in a week. I feel like a prisoner and it’s going to start looking suspicious to anyone watching. I can’t stay in there forever.”
Bebe examined the woman in her peripheral vision, taking in the constantly improving package. Her weight had stabilized at a point that exactly mimicked Claudia’s and she now filled out her clothes almost perfectly. Today she’d selected a pair of jeans, a printed tunic, and oversize sunglasses that were currently in fashion.