Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [135]
Jack didn’t explain. Not yet. “What’s the FBI doing here?” he asked.
“Everyone’s a little touchy after what happened downtown, Jack. You understand. And since the President refused to cancel this trip, the Secret Service asked us to lend a hand. So here we are.” He paused. “But the real question is, why are you here?”
Jack studied him carefully. He hadn’t liked Forsyth from the minute he met him at the bomb site nearly two weeks ago. He was an arrogant SOB, and after that press conference Jack knew the guy had participated in a cover-up. The question was, how deep did his involvement go?
Jack glanced at one of the security monitors and saw the President shaking hands with guests in the courtyard.
Time was running out.
“Nothing to tell me?” Forsyth asked.
“Not yet,” Jack said. He was still trying to decide if he could trust this man and, if so, what he should tell him. Tony and the others were still out there and he didn’t want to compromise what they were doing.
Forsyth shook his head. “I keep racking my brain, trying to figure you out. Considering your affection for Muslims, it makes some kind of crazy sense that you’re here to disrupt the evening’s proceedings. But I can’t imagine exactly what you were hoping to accomplish.”
“What do you think?”
“I honestly don’t know, Jack.”
Jack had been studying him closely. The man truly did seem confused. Jack decided to test him.
“You know why I’m here,” he said. “You know what’s going on. Hell, you’re part of it.”
Forsyth frowned. “Am I? That’s news to me. What am I a part of?”
“You’re working with Soren, Swain, and the others—”
The frown deepened. “What?”
Jack had one more stone to throw.
“And you’ve got Sara. What did you do with her?”
Now the frown turned into a look of complete incredulity. “Sara? Who the hell is Sara? You’re talking like a crazy man, Hatfield. Are you nuts? Has that been your problem from the get-go?”
Jack was beginning to think that maybe Forsyth was clean. Back at the press conference, he seemed to know—or at least, not want to know—that they were scapegoating the Constitutional Defense Brigade. He had to play along with that one, let the justice system work its magic.
But killing a President?
Jack glanced at the security monitors and saw that the President was moving toward a podium on a small stage as the guests applauded enthusiastically.
Returning his gaze to Forsyth, Jack studied him carefully, studied his eyes, then decided to take a leap of faith.
“All right,” Jack said, “listen to me very carefully. The President and everyone in this place is in danger.”
Forsyth’s expression went cold as he leaned forward in his chair. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“A group called the Hand of Allah is smuggling a bomb into the building. It may already be here. I think they’re planning to set it off in the middle of the President’s speech.”
“In here. With all the security.”
“The security’s been compromised. You can thank Senator Wickham for that.”
Forsyth sat back as he considered what Jack had told him.
“You know,” the agent said thoughtfully, “I was right about you. You are crazy.”
* * *
Doc, Goldman, and Abernathy worked their way through the dark tunnel with quiet deliberation, staying low to the ground, using their flashlight beams sparingly.
Doc continued on point and allowed his memory to guide them. It had killed him to leave that woman lying naked in the bunk room, but there was no helping her now. He had vowed to her that he would return, and he would. Right now, they had other business to take care of.
Moving close to the wall, Doc remembered a right turn up ahead. He flashed his Mini Maglite, indicating the turn, then led the team around the corner.
The floor began to slant upward, getting steeper with every step. As they crested the rise, they saw faint light spilling out from another bunk room up ahead, voices echoing faintly—
—Arab voices.
Doc motioned the others to stop then