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“I never realized you were that ruthless, Aunt Harriett,” Marin said with a surprised grin.
“Not ruthless; just protective of those people I love. Sleep well, honey.”
Marin doubted she would sleep at all tonight, but she didn’t bother worrying her godmother with that information. Otto fell into step beside her as they made their way to the elevator.
“The media are camped on the North Lawn awaiting an announcement about the president’s jobs bill, so you’ll be exiting via the south entrance,” the Secret Service agent explained as they exited the elevator on the ground floor.
Heavily armed officers from the Uniformed Division seemed to be around every corner. There was a frenzy of activity within the Secret Service office, as well. As they passed by, Marin risked a glance to see if she could spot Griffin, but he was nowhere in sight. Most of her was glad to not have distracted him while he was preparing to take on the murderous art thief in the next few minutes; but a small part of her—the part that always seemed to want to jump his bones—was bereft at not seeing him again.
They passed through the Diplomatic Reception Room with its striking wallpaper featuring panoramic views of early North American life. A lump formed in Marin’s throat as she thought of Wes, the curator. He’d confided to Marin that he worried about the preservation of wallpaper, first installed in 1961. Wes’s passion about the artifacts within the White House most probably got him killed. Marin said a silent prayer that no one else would die at the hands of this mad man.
The agent led her out onto the driveway. The night air was balmier than it had been the night before. Otto scurried toward the Kennedy garden and the bushes beyond it. The agent glanced down the driveway toward where the armored vehicle was parked.
“Agent Todd must be inside the house,” he said. “I’ll go get him and we can be on our way.”
“That’s fine,” she told him. “I think Otto needs to take care of some business before we leave. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Marin meandered toward the decoy vehicle while Otto relieved himself on three of the four trees lining the drive. When she and the dog reached the black SUV, the door to the back was already open for them. Otto jumped in and made himself at home on the bench seat.
“Save some room for me,” Marin said as she climbed in behind the dog.
A moment later, her door was closed from the outside and the agent took his place in the driver’s seat. Marin closed her eyes and rested her head against the seatback as the car pulled away from the White House. She willed herself not to think about the danger Griffin and his team would be jumping into shortly. It was easier said than done, however. Reaching over, Marin went to bury her fingers in the comfort of Otto’s soft fur. The dog growled menacingly, startling Marin. Her eyes snapped open. Otto was sitting at attention, his focus on the driver. A chill ran up her spine as Marin realized there was only one agent in the car. Her breath froze when she met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They were the same eerie ones she’d encountered on the spiral staircase the week before.
CHAPTER18
“Pillsbury has left the building.”
Griffin breathed a huge sigh of relief after glancing at the incoming text message from Agent Slade. The team had barely thirty minutes until the meeting time and he needed to concentrate on the scene around him. Now that Marin was out of the White House and would soon be safe at Fort McNair for the evening, he could focus on nabbing Salenko and finally having his link to The Artist.
The president’s residence was heavily guarded with a double contingent of Uniformed Division staff surveilling the grounds and Sam’s Counter Assault Team on duty inside the White House, so it was unlikely that even a rogue squirrel could enter the estate uninvited. But Salenko was a skilled mercenary with deadly intent. Griffin believed there could never be too many safeguards where the Ukrainian was concerned. And this whole evening had him on edge.
The FBI was assigned the lead in tonight’s op, making Griffin feel a bit superfluous. He was once again second in command to Leslie. They were both overseeing the operation from a remote command post inside a van parked in Georgetown, two blocks from the designated meeting place. A light rain had just begun to fall, stirring up an eerie cloud of fog that was floating up to their location from the Potomac River a block away.
“This doesn’t make sense to me,” Griffin said. “Why here? There are restaurants and bars all up and down the street. Salenko has to know we’ll be staking the place out. He also has to know we won’t just give him Marin. What’s his game?”
“He’s getting desperate?” Leslie proposed with a shrug. She took a sip from her coffee. “This is the same guy who seriously blundered his attempt at Marin earlier this week. If Salenko is anything like those buffoons who tried to kill you both the other night, he’s not very clever. He knows we’re on to him and he’s scared, so he’s taking crazy risks.”
“No.” Griffin shook his head as the sense of unease began to swell through his body. “This guy is too well trained to take risks. And everything he’s done thus far has been highly calculated.” He slammed his fist into the side of the van. “We’re missing something here. I feel it.”
Leslie eyed him cautiously. “Okay. Talk to me. You have the best gut instincts of anyone in this business. What’s yours telling you right now?”
“That we are being set up.” He jumped from his chair and opened the back door. “I’m headed back to the White House. You stay here and see this through just in case I’m wrong.”
Except Griffin didn’t feel wrong at all.
He commandeered one of the SUVs and raced back down K Street, through Foggy Bottom and along Pennsylvania Avenue. Unfortunately, there was a logjam of people celebrating the passage of the president’s jobs bill blocking the northeast gate. Griffin swore.Of all the nights to have extra civilians camped out around the White House.He weaved around the crowds and drove around the block, coming up Seventeenth Street to the West Wing staff entrance.
“You’re not authorized to park in this lot,” the Uniformed Division officer manning the southeast gate shouted at Griffin.
“Take it up with the director,” Griffin said as he drove into the parking area.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if every employee of the West Wing was working late. He ended up ditching the car in the communications director’s vacant spot. Entering the West Wing, Griffin chucked the keys to the guard just in case the communications director returned. Then, he sprinted down the hall to the Secret Service overflow area and lounge. He checked the electronic status board to see that the president was currently in the residence, which meant Adam would be there, too.
Griffin stormed up the stairs, coming to a halt at the crowd assembled outside the cabinet room. An impromptu party was happening among the staff and they were blocking Griffin’s progress. He huffed in frustration, trying to circumvent the people lining up for glasses of champagne, while not bringing attention to himself. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful.
“Agent Keller!” the president’s chief of staff called out just as Griffin was rounding the corner to the west colonnade that would take him to the residence.
“Damn.” Griffin swore under his breath as he stopped in his tracks to wait for the chief of staff to catch up.
