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A sickening thought comes to him.
Suppose all the upcoming trials reach the same conclusion,not guilty by reason of insanity?
He could spend the rest of his life at Saint Elizabeth’s in DC, past home to such luminaries as Charles Guiteau, the assassin of President James Garfield, the mad poet Ezra Pound, and John Hinckley Jr. There will be sanity hearings in his future, more stories, more coverage, until his name becomes a national and worldwide joke.
No.
He will not allow that to happen.
He starts going through the cardboard boxes of his personalbelongings and after fifteen minutes of frantic searching, he finally finds what he’s looking for.
Grandfather’s Colt .45 pistol, which he managed to smuggle out of the White House.
Keegan Barrett, former president of the United States of America, quickly realizes how cold and oily the muzzle of the pistol is as he puts it into his mouth.
CHAPTER 153
HE PULLS THE trigger, closing his eyes, steeling himself for what comes next.
Nothing.
The trigger won’t budge.
The door slams open and the room quickly fills with strong men and women in suits who crowd around him, tough hands taking the pistol away from his weak grip.
He stands there, not saying a word, until a familiar-looking woman strides in, wearing black slacks, jacket, and light-blue blouse.
“Mr. President?” she asks. “Edie Hicks, Deputy Director, FBI. Sorry for this reaction, but we’re under orders from President Hernandez to ensure your safety at all times. Both us and the Secret Service.”
“My pistol …”
“Disabled, of course. We couldn’t have a functioning weapon in your presence. But we also realize it’s a valued family heirloom and decided it would be best to leave it in your possession for now. Without the firing pin and other necessary parts.”
Barrett says, “But you’ve bugged my rooms …”
“Active only when your lawyer isn’t present,” she says, smiling. “This may be a concept you haven’t quite understood over the years,but laws are to be followed. And in your case, we intend to follow them to a T.”
Barrett snaps back. “Laws be damned. I was acting in the best interests of my country as president of the United States.”
She says, “With all due respect, sir, youwerethe president of the United States. You’re now a former president. And soon, you’ll be a criminal defendant. You should keep that in mind in the weeks and months ahead, as you prepare your defense, as you reflect as to how far you came, and how far you’ve fallen.”
The woman pauses, like she’s trying to choose the right words. She says, “Lucky for all of us, you fell at the right time. As for now, we’ll leave you alone, sir.”
The FBI deputy director leaves the suite, followed by FBI and Secret Service agents. The door closes and former president Keegan Barrett is finally and utterly alone, for the first time in his life.
He slumps down in a chair. The lifelong voice inside telling him that he was special, that his enemies would be defeated, that all of his dreams and desires would come true—that voice has fallen silent.
