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And fired.
She heard a crackle of glass breaking.
Apparently he’d found what he was after.
She nodded at Rick, and he agreed.
Do it.
She called out, “I’m a United States Justice Department agent. I need you to toss out your weapon and stay where you are.”
Her target turned toward her, seemed to consider the command for an instant, then fired two rounds her way.
* * *
Grant retreated, until he was no longer visible from down the corridor.
“We have the building sealed,” a female voice said. “There’s nowhere to go. Toss your weapon down the hall.”
He clenched his teeth and all restraint vanished from his composure.
This big risk had turned treacherous.
Justice Department?
He retrieved what he’d come for, then stepped back to peer down the hall, toward where the voice seemed centered, and caught a quick glimpse of a face disappearing around the edge of the far doorway.
He sent two more bullets to that spot.
* * *
Stephanie whirled back and slammed herself and Rick to the carpet. Rounds found the Sheetrock where she’d just been standing, piercing the wall and whizzing into the gallery beyond.
“Stay here,” she told Rick. “On the floor.”
He nodded his understanding and she sprang to her knees, risking a low-level look back down the corridor.
No one in sight.
She came to her feet and headed toward the rotunda. More open doors to dark offices on either side of the corridor offered her a refuge, if need be. Ten more feet and she’d be there. She cursed herself again for allowing this to go as far as it had. She came to the end of the corridor and saw no one in the rotunda. A glass-fronted display case stood shattered against the wall, a bullet hole in its rear panel.
Multiple doorways led out of the octagonal-shaped space.
“No argument this time,” she yelled back to Rick. “Alert security and call the police. I assume the double doors I’m looking at are the only way out of here.”
“That’s right. All of the other exits go to offices or meeting rooms.”
“You stay put.”
She rushed after the killer, following the only route the man could have taken, finding a vestibule with white walls, a checkerboard floor, and a staircase leading down. She descended quickly and quietly, staying close to the iron railing, finding the ground floor where everything was enveloped in a spooky semi-darkness. To her right was the building’s Mall entrance. Across the way on the far side was the street entrance. He hadn’t fled through either set of doors—fire alarms would have sounded. So she turned left and, with her gaze, searched the ground floor, main hall.
Movement caught her attention.
She focused through the shadows and caught sight of her man as he swung into view and leveled his weapon.
* * *
Grant had heard a woman’s voice tell someone to alert security and call the police. Then he’d spotted his pursuer. Older. Silver-blondish hair. Armed, taking cover behind a half wall, in the foyer at the bottom of the staircase, near the building’s Mall-side exit.
He was huddled in the Great Hall, among a line of faux-marble columns that held up the second floor, three tall windows behind him, which offered no escape as they were locked and barred. He knew every inch of the building’s geography. The only escape would come to his left, through an arched doorway, down a short connecting corridor into Schermer Hall.
His pursuer had assumed a position fifty feet away, and he would have to navigate thirty feet from where he stood behind the column to the beginning of the corridor. Once there, he’d be safe. Getting there was the problem. Lots of open space, plenty of opportunity to be shot. He heard the bleating wail of a siren in the distance and assumed the worst.
He leveled his gun and sent two rounds in her direction, the bullets whizzing past an arched half wall, ricocheting in all directions.
Then he rushed toward his escape.
* * *
Stephanie kept down, using the thick masonry for protection as bullets came her way. The rounds raced by overhead through an archway that opened into the main gallery, lead pinging off the iron railing of the staircase behind her. She hoped she had this guy contained, or at least occupied enough until help arrived. Sirens in the distance offered hope. A quick look and she saw the man vanish through a set of double doors marked TO SCHERMER HALL & THE COMMONS.
She fled her position and ran.
An enclosed corridor led to the Gothic-like Schermer Hall.
A klaxon filled the air.
Fire alarm?
Not good.
To her left a lighted sign identified a fire exit and a cocked-open door signaled a route. She rushed over and saw a metal staircase leading one flight down to an outside door.
He was gone.
Luckily, she’d caught a look. Mid-thirties. Straight nose, square chin, wide jaw, same curly hair. She returned to the main hall. To her right doors opened and Smithsonian security guards burst inside.
The fire alarm stopped.
She told them what had happened and men fanned out, several heading for the street side of the building and the gardens, others back toward the Mall. But she knew there was little chance of finding their target. He’d known from the start what he wanted and how to get away.
She climbed the stairs, back to where Rick waited in the rotunda.
Two security guards joined them.
She again noticed the display case, a huge gold monstrosity, its glass front in pieces scattered on the floor.
“Do you know what he was after?” she asked.
Rick nodded.
“I see exactly what he came for.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Diane remained irritated at her brother, who greeted Lucius Vance as if they were long-lost cousins. His pandering sickened her. Vance was just an elected official, susceptible to the polls and owned by big-money contributors. Any grasp on power he possessed was tenuous, at best. How many Speakers of the House had fallen to scandal? A lot. Nearly half served little more than a year in the job. One for only a few hours. They were, as her father used to say, “comers and goers.” She had little respect for politicians. Especially the 21st-century variety, who seemed more concerned with their own survival than making any kind of difference. In theory Vance was no better than the others, but there was definitely something attractive about his raw ambition, a quality Alex had never much coveted.
“Have a seat,” her brother said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Vance had requested the meeting, once he realized he would be attending the funeral, and she’d agreed. The clock on the far wall read 11:20 P.M. The help was gone, the house restored to order. Only she and Kenneth were here, along with Vance and his two security people, who both now waited outside.
“I want to say again, Diane, that I offer my sincere condolences. Though we were never friends, Alex and I weren’t enemies, either. He served this state for a long time, and will surely be missed. I really hate that this happened.”
Vance was ensconced comfortably in one of the club chairs. She and Kenneth sat in their own facing him. He had a habit of barely moving his lips when he spoke, like some ventriloquist with his dummy.
“I’m also glad we have this chance to speak privately,” Vance said. “I have good news. We’re moving forward. Immediately.”
She was surprised. “You’re ready?”
“I’ve studied this from every angle. I even had some lawyers I trust look at it. They see no problem. The House parliamentarian also says the concept is constitutional.”
“You discussed this with him?” she asked.
“Nothing is going to get out of the Rules Committee unless the parliamentarian stamps his okay. Not to worry, he’s my guy, loyal to a fault, and I’ve been working with him quietly for nearly a month now. I have the votes to make this hap
pen.”
Magical words, for sure.
She imagined the many times throughout American history meetings just like this had been held in nondescript places, outside the public eye where momentous decisions were made. One that came to mind was the famous 1790 dinner among Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton where Hamilton convinced two political rivals to support his plan for debt reduction in return for Virginia being the location of the proposed new capital city. Another was the meeting in 1861 when Francis Blair conveyed to Robert E. Lee Lincoln’s request that Lee assume command of the Union army. Lee refused, instead resigning his commission and standing with his native Virginia.
