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Perfect timing.
Chapter 90
Because of its heavy armor plating, capable of repelling high-powered rifle fire and rocket-propelled grenades, the rear seat of the presidential Cadillac limo, known as the Beast, is smaller than one would think.
President Buckland thought it was even smaller than usual as he sat directly across from the governor of New York’s pushy wife, Janet Haber.
“I loved your wife’s shoes at the inauguration ceremony, Mr. President. Were they Louboutins? Zanottis?” she asked as Buckland signed the third of the seven inaugural invites she had brought with her.
“I don’t actually know, Janet,” Buckland said, smiling. “I’ll have her send you a note.”
Right away, too, Buckland thought. It’s not like I’m in the midst of some of the testiest international relations in world history or anything.
Buckland glanced over at the woman’s husband, the smug Governor Martin Haber himself, sitting beside her. His big legs crossed. His long, haughty face glued to his smartphone.
He was feeling right at home in Cadillac One, wasn’t he? Buckland thought. He was an even bigger jerk than the wife, it seemed. But Haber had, after all, helped them win New York for the first time since Reagan. This UN General Assembly appearance at the president’s side was the least—and hopefully last thing—they could do for him.
There were actually six people in the vehicle in total. Beside President Buckland was his adviser, Ellen Huxley-Laffer, with the Habers facing them. Beyond the Habers, in the front seat, past the open glass partition, was his driver, Secret Service vet Vince Kellett, along with Secret Service ASAC Luke Foldager.
The Secret Service head, John Levitin, had wanted to come to New York as well, but Buckland wouldn’t let him. The entire group of tireless agents had enough pressure on this stress-filled important trip without having their famously meticulous big boss busting their chops.
“We’re right on schedule, Mr. President. We’ll be rolling in five,” Foldager called out as Buckland signed the last invite. He looked up as Vince gave him a wink in the rearview.
Though they were great at hiding it 99 percent of the time, today the agents’ faces revealed their stress, their hope, their doubt, the president noted. Most of them had kids. Saw where the country was at. A crossroads. Maybe the most important one in its history. They knew how big the stakes here were.
Please, God, help me to not let them down, Buckland prayed.
He was putting away his pen when he felt the index card in his inside jacket pocket. He pulled it out. On the card, there was a marker drawing of an Evel Knievel–looking guy on a USA motorcycle jumping a bald eagle, with the following message.
Dear Dad, You’re my hero. Putin is a zero. Ha-ha. Love, your son, Terrence
Buckland laughed.
“What is it?” Huxley-Laffer said.
He showed her the card.
Huxley-Laffer chuckled. “What am I doing here? You already have an excellent adviser, sir.”
I hope the rest of the world agrees with you, Terrence, Buckland thought, tapping the card against the bulletproof window as the car began to roll.
Chapter 91
At exactly 11:50 a.m., a thirty-two-year-old UPS driver named Howard Navarro was standing on the street at the back of his brown box truck, double-parked on the avenue side of the southeast corner of 72nd and Lexington Avenue.
Loading packages on his hand truck, he suddenly heard a shriek of air brakes and jumped back as a massive, grumbling blue dump truck passed by on his right so close that it knocked his passenger side mirror askew.
“You stupid frickin’ meathead! Are you kidding me?” said Navarro as he hurried for
ward toward the dump truck, stopped now at the red light.
Navarro squinted as he noticed right away that there was something off about the driver. Up there behind the closed window, the guy just sat there, expressionless and unmoving. It was some strange-looking black dude with dreads and aviator sunglasses under a light-blue hard hat.
“Yo. What are you, stoned?” Navarro said as he banged on the guy’s door. “I’m talking to you!”
As if in response, the truck pulled immediately forward through the intersection, almost running over Navarro’s feet, as the light turned green.
Lexington Avenue rolled by smoothly outside the truck’s windshield. Taxis went past on both sides. Parked cars and city buses. Pedestrians on the sidewalk. A Gristedes on the left. A Sbarro on the right.
