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It had taken out half the south façade of the West Wing.
“Where was the President?” asked Reuben. He was talking to himself, but by now the lieutenant, who had climbed the hill with them, was talking over a military wavelength.
“At least twenty,” the lieutenant repeated. “Including the President, SecDef, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”
How strange. For the death of a village wise man, Reuben had been able to keen and wail in grief. For the death of a President he respected and admired, he didn’t have a tear or even a word. Maybe because he knew the old man in that village, and he didn’t know the President, not personally.
Or maybe because Reuben hadn’t drawn up the plans that killed the old man in the village.
Not that Reuben didn’t feel anything. He felt so much that he was almost gasping. But it wasn’t grief. It was resolve. Gnawing at him. He would do something. There must be something he could do.
The lieutenant turned to them with a face like death. “They got the Vice President, too.”
“He was in the same meeting?” said Reuben, incredulous. “They’re never supposed to be in the same place.”
“His car was broadsided by a dump truck and pushed into a wall. He was crushed.”
“Let me guess,” said Coleman. “The Secret Service killed the truck driver.”
“The truck driver blew himself up.”
Reuben turned to Coleman. “They’ve got a source inside the White House,” he said. “How else would they know what room the President would be in?”
Coleman touched his elbow and Reuben allowed him to lead them away from the lieutenant. “At least you know it wasn’t timed solely to coincide with your being at Hain’s Point,” said Coleman. “That was just a bonus for them.”
“The question is, do I go public about the plans I submitted, so the FBI can start trying to trace the leak?”
“Love those headlines: ‘Presidential Assassination Planned in Pentagon,’ ” said Coleman.
“Or do I sit tight and let the Pentagon quietly set me up as the scapegoat?”
“Either way, your career is over,” said Coleman. “Sir.”
“You sure lucked out with this assignment,” said Reuben.
“Hell of a first day on the job, sir,” said Coleman.
Then it was time to stop pretending this wasn’t tearing them up.
“We’ve been under fire together,” said Reuben. “My friends call m
e Rube.” He knew that Coleman probably wouldn’t be able to bring himself to use the nickname. Not with a superior officer.
“My friends call me Cole.”
The lieutenant coughed. “Sirs, I’m being asked to bring you in for debriefing. I believe those are your bullets in the bodies down there, right?”
“Well, technically not our bullets,” said Reuben. “They were borrowed weapons.” He was still in the black humor of combat.
So was Cole. “We did aim the weapons from which they were fired, and we did pull the triggers.”
“Are they all dead?” asked Reuben. “We were under pressure and moving, and I’m afraid we probably shot to kill.”
“They were strung with grenades,” said the lieutenant. “They weren’t going to be taken alive.”
“Lucky thing we didn’t hit any of the grenades,” said Cole, “or there’d be no body left to identify.”
There was the unmistakable sound of several grenades going off in series down by the Tidal Pool.
