Executive orders - Tom Clancy [581]
The Director and I have something to brief the Boss about. Gotta shower first, though.
Shower?
Disinfec-oh, you haven't been here. A White House staff member is sick with this virus thing. Everybody has to shower and disinfect on the way in now. Come on, O'Day said, carrying a briefcase. Both men went through the West Entrance. Both buzzed the metal detectors, but since both were sworn federal officers, nothing was made of the fact that both were carrying side arms. The inspector pointed to the left.
This is a treat, showing you something in the place, he joked to Raman.
Been in a lot lately? The Secret Service agent saw that two offices had been converted into something. One marked MEN and the other WOMEN. Andrea Price came out of one just then, her hair wet, and, he noted as she passed him, smelling of chemicals.
Hey, Jeff, how was the drive? Pat, how's the hero? she inquired.
Hey, no big deal, Price. Just two rag-heads, O'Day said with a grin. He opened the MEN door and went in, and set his briefcase down.
It had clearly been a rush job, Raman saw. Some minor functionary had had the office, but all the furniture was gone and the floor covered with plastic. A hanging rack was there for clothing. O'Day stripped down and headed into the canvas-enclosed shower.
These damn chemicals at least wake you up, the FBI inspector reported as the water started. He emerged two minutes later and started toweling off vigorously. Your turn, Raman.
Great, the Service agent griped, removing his clothing and showing some of the lingering body modesty of his parent society. O'Day didn't look at him and didn't look away. Didn't do anything except dry off, until Raman was behind the canvas. The agent's service pistol, a Sig-Sauer, had been set atop the clothing rack. O'Day opened his briefcase first. Then he pulled Raman's automatic, ejected the magazine, and quietly worked the action to remove the chambered round.
How are the roads? O'Day called.
Clear, made great time-damn, this water stinks!
Ain't that the truth! Raman kept two spare magazines for his pistol. O'Day saw. He put all three in the lid-pocket before unwrapping the four he'd prepared. One he slid into the butt of the Sig. He worked the action one more time to load a round, then replaced it with a new, full magazine, and two more for the agent's belt holder. Finished, he hefted the gun. Weight and balance were exactly the same as before. Everything went back in place as O'Day returned to dressing. He needn't have rushed. Raman evidently needed a shower. Maybe he was purifying himself, the inspector thought coldly.
Here. O'Day tossed over a towel as he put his shirt on.
Glad I brought a change. Raman pulled new underwear and socks from his two-suiter.
I guess it's a rule you have to be all spiffy when you work in with the President, eh? The FBI agent bent down to tie his shoes. He looked up. Morning, Director.
I don't know why I bothered at home, Murray grumped. Got the paperwork, Pat?
Yes, sir. This is something to show him.
Damned right it is. And Murray doffed his jacket and tie. White House locker room, he noted. Morning, Raman.
Both agents completed dressing, made sure their personal weapons were tucked in the right place, then stepped outside.
Murray and I are going right in, Pat told the other in the corridor. They didn't have to wait long for Murray, and then Price showed up again, just as the FBI Director reemerged. O'Day rubbed his nose to tell her all was done. She nodded back.
Jeff, want to take these gentlemen into the office? I have to head to the command post. The Boss is waiting.
Sure, Andrea. This way, Raman said, leading O'Day. Behind them, Price waited and did not head toward the command post.
In the next level up, Raman saw TV equipment being prepared for installation in the Oval Office. Arnie van Damm buzzed out the corridor entrance, trailed by Callie Weston. President Ryan was at his desk in the usual shirtsleeves, going through a folder. CIA Director Ed Foley was in there, too.