Chapter 3: Two Sams?
Spoilers: Plenty, but I can't name them.
Disclaimer: Don't own any except for Sam Walters/ Hunter. You'll figure out the name thing as you go along. I think I made Sam because I wanted to see how they all would react to a really strong, somewhat uncouth, headstrong female character. And she is just really fun to write. Just some fun in the ATF/AU with the members of the WW. Look at previous chapter for more detail.
~~
"Hunter?" Sam Seaborn repeated again in disbelief.
"Hey Sam. It's been a long time. Last time I saw you was at Princeton. And it's Walters now."
"You're...?"
"Oh God no, not anymore. I kept the name to remind me never to do that again."
Josh cleared his throat. "I seem not to be the only one confused by all this. This is the evil terrorist I'm supposed to help protect you from? No offense, but I think I could take her."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Seaborn grinned.
"Could you please explain what the hell is going on?" No response. "Sam?"
"What?" Seaborn and Walters responded in tandem.
Josh sat in a nearby chair. "Oh no. This isn't confusing at all."
Sam Seaborn turned to his best friend. "Sorry. Josh, this is Samantha Hunt...Walters. We went to Princeton together for a few years. We met in..." his voice trailed off.
"Asian Civ." Samantha replied. "What a bore that class was. And as I remember, you sat right near the front, scratching down every little note that professor told us. You were the perfect little student."
"I got an 'A' in that class."
"So did I. And I didn't work half as hard as you did. I never even would have met you except that you had your head buried in a book and knocked me down a flight of stairs," Walters smiled, her eyes twinkling. Josh was laughing.
"You knocked her down a flight of stairs?" Josh chortled.
"It was a little flight," Sam responded weakly.
Butterfield cleared his throat and Josh and the two Sams glanced over at him. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think we're venturing off the subject. I still want to know why you were trying to kill the president and who you're working with. White pride, anti-establishment, what?"
Samantha shook her head. "Sorry to burst your bubble but I'm no terrorist. Neither are the three men you brought me in with."
"I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Not on my say so. Chris Larabee, do you remember him?"
Butterfield nodded. "Sure. Larabee is an agent in the ATF Special Agents division in Denver. I'm not sure why that applies."
"Well, Larabee isn't in Denver. He's here, in DC. Those three men you arrested are agents on his team. They and I came to stop an assassination attempt."
"Right."
"You don't believe me, fine. I'd wager Larabee will be calling you any minute. Even check our records. After I moved back here from Europe I moved to San Juan Capistrano, California. I'm a karate instructor. Honestly, take my prints and check my record."
"One more question before I go. Why are you being so cooperative while your friends are silent as mice?"
Samantha waved one hand in the air as she talked. "The young one is John Dunne. He's probably half way between terrified and awed. Tanner is the guy in the beat up leather jacket. He's not speaking because he was told to talk to no one. And Standish," she shook her head.
"What about Standish?"
"He'll screw with your head just to see you sweat. It would be easier getting information from a brick wall."
Butterfield grunted. "We'll see. Josh, Sam, can I see you outside?"
Seaborn glanced at Samantha. "I'll be right back. We have a lot to talk about." He strode out the door, leaving Samantha to stare after him.
"You have no idea old friend," she muttered. Then she noticed how close the Secret Service agent was standing to her. She raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"
Meanwhile Josh and Sam were conferring with Butterfield in the hall. "What do you think Sam?"
Seaborn shook his vehemently. "I haven't seen or even spoken to her in years. But I would never pin her as a terrorist, especially not against someone like Bartlett. I'd say she's telling you the truth."
Butterfield nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to put a call into the CIA. We should have all their files in an hour. I don't like this. If she is telling the truth then we have a mass terrorist group running around DC who came too damn close to the President. He'll have to go under massive supervision at all times."
"He won't do it."
"I know that Josh, but I have to try. Man is too damn stubborn for his own good. Thanks for your help Seaborn. I'll give you all a call when I get this sorted out." Butterfield stalked down the hall, whipping a cell out of his breast pocket.
"Look Sam, I'm going to head back. Leo and CJ are gonna need to know all this. CJ has to put a good spin on the bombing."
"You're going to put spin on an assassination attempt?"
"We're going to try."
"I'll stay here a while longer. Sam and I have some catching up to do."
"Yeah, you really need to work out a better system for referring to yourselves. Having to sort you two out is going to be a real pain."
"I'll meet you back at the office in a few hours." Josh turned to leave. "She's not an assassin Josh."
"I hope you're right Sam. I really do."
Sam rubbed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. His hand found the doorknob and he opened it. Samantha was waiting for him.
"So what's the deal Seaborn? Last I saw of you, you were studying for the bar. What ever happened to being a lawyer?"
"I realized that I wasn't comfortable being the money grubbing scum of the earth working for big business."
"So you became a politician? That's kind of a horizontal move, don't ya think?"
"Bartlett is a damn good man Sammy. As a politician they don't come any better. You might know that a little better, had you decided to stick around."
Sam stared at Samantha in silence for a long time. The person in front of him held the same glimmer of life that he had known in college. But her eyes, while still open and thoughtful, were jaded and dulled by time. Small lines crept at the corners of her mouth and eyes when she smiled. She wasn't the kid he remembered from class, but then, he was no longer a kid either. Both of them had been changed by time and circumstance. He wondered what circumstance could weigh so heavily on her that she actually seemed to shrink.
"We never did get that first date did we Seaborn?" Samantha broke the stillness.
Sam managed a weak half smile. "As I remember it, you stood me up."
Samantha motioned to a chair. "What else do you remember about me? Certainly that I'm no assassin, no terrorist."
"I remember you to be an opinionated, hard ass who liked her own way. I also remember that you were a rabid, liberal democrat, but people change."
"Not that much," she grinned. "Sam I never meant to leave you hanging at the restaurant. But the day before, my aunt in England died and I went running over to Europe. Our date completely slipped my mind. Then when I got there...I decided to stay a while. Then I met Tom. We got married about a year later. Etcetera, etcetera, we got divorced and I moved back, to California."
"Is that your standard story or one you made up just for me?"
Samantha stared at her hands. "Pretty much the standard."
"When are you planning to start telling me the truth?"
"One day, when my life is far less complicated. But believe that I had nothing to do with the bombing, and that, had I the choice, I never would have stood you up."
"How did you get involved with these guys? I mean Denver, San Juan, they're not exactly near to each other."
"That, is a long story. Let's just say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What about you? I haven't heard a thing about you. I've read plenty, but you know... Did you really hire a hooker?" Samantha shook with uncontrolled laughter. "I mean Sam, I know you don't get much but still, that's low."
Seaborn threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable! We haven't talked in years and the first thing you ask me about is my relationship with a call girl."
"A high priced call girl if I remember correctly." Samantha's eyes danced.
"Funny. Look, here's the whole story..."
--
Chris Larabee flashed his pass at a tall, muscular guy guarding the front of a hallway. It had been a long time since he'd been in the Pentagon. Not that it had changed much in all those years. The halls were still wide, gray and barren save the few people scurrying down them.
It had surprised him to hear that Butterfield had been expecting his call. He wasn't even sure that the man would remember him, right, not even he believed that. But at least his agents were in one piece, for the time being anyway. Buck would give him endless amounts of hell if JD came back with even a scratch.
"Is it just me," he asked to no one in particular, "or do Vin and Ezra make a habit out of getting into perilous situations? And damn if they don't drag the kid in there with them. How the hell did Standish get a gun?" He was still muttering to himself when he met up with the tall lean Butterfield.
"Hey Ron."
"Hey Chris. It's been a long time."
"Yep."
"Last time I saw you was at the funeral. I'm real sorry about Adam and Sarah. Sarah was so happy with you."
"You didn't seem to like me much at the time."
"Sarah was like a little sister to me. I was worried she would get hurt."
"You were right."
"Maybe, but not in the way I thought. You were a cocky little bastard Chris. I thought I would have to pick up the pieces after you got yourself killed. She was always happy though. Now," he changed the subject, sensing Chris was uncomfortable talking about his dead wife and son. "Why are you in DC?"
"It's a long story."
"We got time. Your boys aren't going anywhere until we sort this out."
"Fair enough. It all started with a botched undercover job, kinda got worse from there. You see..."
--
Sam and Sam were talking amiably some two hours later when Butterfield finally returned. Coming in just behind him walked Chris Larabee, looking less than pleased. "I leave you all alone for twenty minutes!" he exclaimed.
"Sorry, the bomb wouldn't wait. And you know, you can't really blame this on me. Ezra is the one who started the stampede with that little starter pistol of his. Does this mean I can leave now?"
Butterfield nodded. "Correct. Chris filled me in on everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything," Chris repeated. "It was the only way I could get you out. Now that Ron knows we're on his side, he's invited us to help."
"Chris and I go way back. His word, plus the fact that your files checked out, make me inclined to believe you. Our best people are working up the tattoo angle now."
"What about Vin, Ezra and JD?"
"We're going to release Vin and JD now, but Standish will take a bit longer. His having a gun creates a lot of red tape. Shouldn't be more than another hour though." Butterfield told her. "And it's not like his record is spotless to begin with."
"We'll stick around till he's set," Chris said gruffly. "Honestly, that man has to make everything difficult. I checked us in at a hotel. You can wait for us there or whatever. You have my cell number."
Seaborn frowned. "What do you say to a tour of the White House, up close and personal? I want to introduce you to some people you'll be corresponding with."
"Sounds perfect."
Butterfield nodded. "Fine. Let her out of the cuffs Browning." He and Chris promptly left the interrogation room.
Browning, the tall, beefy agent who had been hovering around her all day grunted. He glared at Samantha. "You have been hanging around all afternoon you know that? It's gets annoying quick." Browning ignored her, reaching for her bound wrist. Walters merely smiled sweetly and stood up. "That's okay. I'm good." She stretched her arms above her head, neither arm bound by the encumbering metal wristband.
She took in the look of surprise and started to hurry Sam out the door. Browning yelled incoherently when he realized that he was now bonded to the desk. He began to fish around his pockets. "Looking for these?" She dangled the cuff keys in front of her. "Don't worry, I'm sure someone will have a spare. You a have a pleasant afternoon now." She closed the door behind her, muffling the man's angry threats. "Jackass."
Sam and Sam walked out to Seaborn's car. They got in and the presidential speechwriter turned the key in the ignition. They pulled from the parking spot. "I'm sorry Sam," she blurted out.
"About what?"
"Everything. I'm sorry I can't tell you why I stood you up. I'm sorry that we met again under such circumstances, and I'm sorry that I couldn't do more today, to help."
"Samantha stop. You can't go around feeling guilty for things you never could have prevented in the first place."
"Of course I can feel guilty. I'm Catholic, it's a thing."
--
"Josh."
"Donna."
"Josh!" Donna inserted that extra little whine that always got Lyman's attention.
"Donna."
"You're ignoring me Josh."
"You're right, I am."
"But they're killers Josh!"
Lyman turned. "Do you think that saying my name after every sentence is going to make more of a point? Cause I gotta tell ya, it's just irritating."
"They're killers Josh. We're letting killers into the White House, do you realize how insane that is?" Moss failed to notice Sam and a tall, copper haired woman walking toward them.
"Probably less insane then me standing here listening to you right now."
"That's not funny. We're letting them in here, with guns, and God knows what else to help protect the President. Killers who just this afternoon nearly blew you all sky high. You know, with the bomb?"
"Yes Donna I know. I was there. But remember, they're on our side. And to be fair, from what Butterfield told me, he only fired the gun so they could get to the bomb."
"And you believed their story? Come on Josh, these whackos will say anything."
"Most of these whackos don't have the CIA back them up."
"As if that makes it any better. Tell me Joshua, have they ever killed anyone?"
"Probably."
"There, do you see now? I'm not going to be able to work around them. I'll get all tongue tied and nervous and I'll put my foot right in my mouth."
"Donna, you don't even know who these people are. And as for your foot, you do that every day anyway."
"Yes, but not in front of people who know thirty-six different ways to kill me with their bare hands. I'll be jumpy."
"That's caffeine Donna. Am I still having this conversation? Hey Sam. You're back."
Donna turned to see Sam, with a mildly horrified expression on his face. Next to him stood a woman, about 5'8", with hazel eyes and copper colored hair. One corner of her mouth tugged up in a small smile.
"Hi," she stuck out her hand. "I'm Donna Moss, assistant to Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman. That kind of makes me deputy, deputy huh?" She grinned.
Josh groaned. "Enough with that joke! It's not funny."
Donna ignored him. "And you are?"
Samantha grabbed Donna's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "No one important. Just one of those killers it's insanity to let into the White House."
"Eep." Donna squeaked and jumped behind Josh.
Lyman laughed. "What? You think I'm going to be able to stop her if she knows thirty-six different ways to kill me with her bare hands?"
"Not really, but I figure I can make a break for it while she's killing you."
Then Donna noticed that Samantha was laughing. It wasn't even a creepy laugh, the kind of laugh that sent shivers up your spine, but a nice, hearty laugh. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"I wasn't planning on it. The name's Samantha Walters. But give me a few days of following conversations like that and I might reconsider." Donna paled.
Seaborn jabbed her lightly with his elbow. "Don't do that to Donna. She scares easy. You always did have a twisted sense of humor."
"Like I said, some things never change." She and Sam said their farewells and moved off down the office. Samantha grabbed Seaborn's elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Are those two...?"
"Who? Josh and Donna?"
"Yeah."
"You mean like..."
"Yeah like, you know..."
"Together?"
"Yeah."
"No."
"Oh. Do they even know...?"
"That they're..."
"Yeah."
"No. They're oblivious."
"Too bad. They would be cute together."
"Everyone knows it but them."
"Look, as fun as this is, can we talk somewhere else? Somewhere more private."
"Sure. My office is just over here." The two college friends went inside and shut the door. "What's up?"
"The bomb set today was complicated, not just something that can be shipped and set on location. It's been bugging me all afternoon, and even Larabee was talking about it before we came out here."
"So?"
"What I'm trying to say is that it took time to set up. Whoever put it there did it after the sweep by Secret Service. And I would seriously doubt that after the sweep it was left unguarded. These terrorists have an in somewhere in your hierarchy."
"You can't think..." Sam trailed off.
"I do; we all do. The person that set that bomb was a member of the Secret Service."
--
McGarrey's office was noisier than usual. McGarrey, the entire senior staff, Butterfield, Samantha and the four Denver ATF agents were crammed inside. Ezra had managed to commandeer the one soft leather chair in the room. The others were left to stand or sit in rickety rolling chairs. Samantha placed herself strategically on the arm of Ezra's chair.
"I don't believe that." Butterfield finally announced to the group.
"Believe it," Chris, Samantha and Ezra said in unison.
"My agents have been hand picked for this detail. For some Bartlett is their second president to protect. All of them have proven themselves loyal and honest. They wouldn't be a part of a terrorist attack."
"Then how do you explain the bomb!" Samantha snapped.
"Excuse me Hunter is it?" Toby piped up.
"It's Walters."
"Well it's Hunter on your file, so it's Hunter now. I think that agent Butterfield has a point. You are asking a lot for us to trust you at all. You, up to this point have not done anything to prove yourselves worthy of that trust. You don't know these men either. We do."
Vin shot Samantha a questioning look. "Hunter?" he mouthed.
"I'll explain later," she mouthed back.
"Well a Poker player is only as good as his bluff," Ezra stated dryly. Most of the people in the room gave him an odd look. "I mean that this person, or persons would have to have a very good reputation in order to gain admittance into an area of such restriction." More blank stares. Only Ainsley and those who had been around the enigmatic southerner a great deal looked as though they knew what he had said.
"He was saying that since the standards are set so high for secret service members, then this person would have to be an incredible talent to get past the screening process." Ainsley supplied.
"Exactly. That you my dear, for putting my words into such an eloquently simple form." Ezra beamed at her.
"Do you have any new leads on the tattoo angle?" Leo queried.
"We're still working on it, but we should have it narrowed down soon. We'll need you to identify the tattoo," Butterfield nodded at Samantha.
"I hate to be the one bringing this up," CJ tapped her pen against a notepad, "but what are we going to tell the president. He has a lot of guest speaking appearances this week. HE won't want to cancel them."
That was Bartlett's greatest attribute, and greatest flaw in a nutshell. He hated to disappoint people he made promises to, a certain rarity in a politician. Unfortunately, it also meant that he rarely listened to anyone once his mind was made up.
"You can't exactly command the leader of the free world to stay home," Josh sighed.
"We could always tell him the damn things have been cancelled," Toby remarked dryly.
Leo snorted. "He's scatterbrained Toby, not stupid. What's on his plate this week anyway? Sam?"
"What?" Again, two voices responded. Samantha blushed; it was reflexive.
"Seaborn."
"He's doing the Sierra Club annual fundraiser tonight. And we rescheduled the forum for Friday. Little things other than that. A meeting with Hoynes tomorrow." Sam flipped his pocket organizer shut.
Butterfield sighed. Then he looked over at Chris and the others. "So, how do you all feel about black tie?"
--
Samantha, CJ, Ainsley and Donna shared a limo to the Sierra Club fundraiser. Behind them in another car was the president and Leo with Ron Butterfield. Ezra was in the limo behind them with Josh, Sam, Toby and Charlie, the president's aide. Chris and Vin were already stationed inside the building along with a dozen other Secret Service. JD, a computer and electronics whiz kid, stayed behind to work the search on the rogue agent.
Earlier that afternoon, both Samantha and JD had identified the eerie snake tattoo as belonging to a anti-government group out of Alabama. They believed that the democrats were slowly taking away all the rights of the people and that they needed to be stopped at all costs. Two bombings of government buildings were already associated with the group, although nothing had been proven. JD had his work cut out for him. The group, known as the Liberty Swords was extremely close knit and little was known about its members.
Samantha breathed deeply. She was about to step out of a limo into one of the fanciest ballrooms in all of DC. Not to mention that she was being associated with the President of the United States. She nervously smoothed the skirt of her long black dress.
"Nervous?" Donna asked.
"No more than you when you found out who I was, but yeah, a bit. I'm afraid I'll trip over these high heels. Not used to wearing 'em."
"You don't actually think these people will show up tonight do you?" Ainsley drawled in her peculiar southern drawl.
"I'm not really sure at this point. These guys haven't exactly been conservative when it comes to assassination attempts. They like to do things in front of a lot of people, preferably with media watching."
"There's a comforting thought. Lots of media types here tonight."
"Well, hopefully we'll get lucky."
Ainsley laughed nervously. "Hopefully they'll just bypass this little shindig and move on to some other venue of expression."
That wasn't really what Sam had meant, but she let it slide. 'More like hopefully these guys will be dumb enough to strike when there are more than a dozen Secret Service agents around,' she thought. 'Too bad we had to go around Butterfield, but his head wasn't on straight. Please let this go right.'
The limo drew to a stop, lurching Sam from her thoughts. She followed the other three women out of the stretch car, keeping her head down and walking quickly down the carpet. The one thing her new life had going for it was anonymity. She'd pissed off plenty of people in her time, and it wouldn't do for her face to be plastered across national television.
She stayed on CJ's left side, away from the cameras and let the willowy woman eclipse her smaller frame. She passed Vin on the way in and gave him a slight nod. The sharpshooter nodded back. 'Damn. That boy looks fine in a tux.' Sam thought to herself. Vin had donned a well fitting tux and pulled back his curly brown hair, revealing a perfectly square jaw. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anything remotely out of place.
The party was alive with people. Sam recognized wealthy WASP aristocrats, old money dating back to Cornelius Vanderbilt, as well as various celebrities dedicated to a good image. She wondered how many of the Hollywood types actually cared about the environment. There were also politicians and those dedicated to the preservation of the natural America.
CJ and Donna dispersed as more guests came in. CJ went off with some Senator Sam recognized from TV, but couldn't place. Donna ended up next to Lyman, talking his ear off about something. Samantha was left with Ainsley Hayes.
Together they watched the President come in and begin his meet and greet. Soon, Sam knew, he would be ushered up into a private room on the third floor of the hotel, where he would wait until the time for his speech.
"Have you ever met the president?" Sam asked. She figured it was an innocent enough question.
"No, well I mean yes, well not really but I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I mean technically I have met the man, but it wasn't an experience I want to remember."
"You don't want to remember meeting the president?"
"Well the thing is, it was kind of embarrassing. See I was just a little drunk at the time, well no not really drunk more like high." She saw Sam's bewildered expression and hurried on. "Not the bad kind of high, but I mean the adrenaline type. I had just been on national TV and did a fairly decent job if I do say so myself, which I suppose I do. And then there was the fact that I wasn't wearing any clothes, but then I didn't expect him to come to my office. Well, it's not really an office, it's actually the steam trunk distribution venue. But I mean how could I expect there to be wet paint, I mean honestly wet paint, so I was waiting for some new clothes, and I was dancing and Sam came in, and well the president came down right after him and I sort of threw my drink, and now you think I'm completely insane."
Samantha blinked. "Yes or no would have suited me just fine, but your way is good too."
"He called me a sex kitten."
"Excuse me?"
"The president. He said that most people thought I was hired because I'm blonde and republican and am often taken as a sex kitten, but that it obviously wasn't true. He said this while I'm wearing nothing but a terry cloth robe, am drinking, and dancing to 80's pop." Ainsley held up her hands and sort of squeaked. "I'm forever branded in his mind as a woman who doesn't wear clothes while working at the White House."
"It can't be that bad."
"You weren't there."
Luckily, Samantha was saved from having to respond. Someone from the press came over and whisked Ainsley away, leaving Samantha to stand by herself at one end of the ballroom. She stood there for a long time, watching people pass her by and nursing a glass of champagne. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder. The champagne spilled over her hand as she spun around. It was Sam, grinning softly.
"Dance Hunter?"
She smiled and took his hand. "God, it has been so long since anyone has called me that. I'll have to get used to it again."
"You finally about ready to tell me why you changed your name? The real reason."
"This is hardly less complicated."
"We probably won't get such a quiet time for the next few days."
"This is quiet?"
"No one is bothering us. So talk."
"I didn't choose this Seaborn, honest to God I didn't. Changing my name was one of those fundamental things when the CIA is involved in making a new identity for you."
Seaborn's eyes narrowed. "The CIA? Wha..."
"I wasn't completely straight with you in college either Sam. You know my parents are dead, but they didn't leave me the money I used to pay for Princeton. I had a very, lucrative occupation. I was a jewel thief Sam."
She plunged on, not wanting him to get a word in. "The reason I stood you up that night, was because the night before I was on a job, but my partner was a cad. He shot me and left me for dead. After the surgery and the hospital and the charges...I was being buried. The CIA offered me an out, and I wasn't stupid enough to turn that down. Do you hate me?"
They stopped dancing. "I don't hate you. I'm utterly confused, but I don't hate you."
"Good. I don't have enough friends left in the world to burn all my bridges. Now do me a favor."
"What?"
"Go dance with Ainsley."
Sam blushed. "You've seen me with her for all of twenty minutes. Is it that obvious?" Samantha nodded solemnly. "All right then. I'll see you later."
Ezra came up to her as soon as Sam left. He smiled pleasantly. "I assume that somewhere along the line you have learned the basic fundamentals of ballroom."
"I think I can handle a waltz if that's what you mean." Her eyes meandered away from the southerner's face. Those intense emerald eyes made her loose all sense of sanity. She noticed the fine cut of the man's suit and the flawless fit. She raised an eyebrow. "This suit looks great on you. Where did you rent it?"
"A Standish does not rent apparel."
"Ezra, is this your tux?"
"I believe it to be, yes."
"You packed a tux?"
"Never know when such a garment might be deemed necessary. Seems that my predisposition towards orderliness has come in handy in this case."
"You're anal," she teased.
In a rare lapse of decorum Ezra responded. "And you're a bitch, what's your point? Why do you feel that you must have such a coarse demeanor anyway?"
"Cause if I'm not such a bitch then people might realize that I have no idea what I'm doing. I like control. This furnishes me with the limited supply I have in my life. I think the best I ever had was one foot on the ground you know? It's been so long since I've been anything but someone's puppet." Ezra didn't say anything. He knew how she felt, alone in the world. He'd felt like that for most his life. It was only in the last few years that he had learned what a real family was like.
They danced for what seemed forever. They didn't talk, the two loners perfectly content in amiable silence. Then Sam noticed that Ezra wasn't paying attention anymore, after the third time he'd stepped on her feet. "What?"
Standish's voice was grim. "The caterers with all the food and beverages seem to have dispersed from this area."
"Huh?" Samantha wasn't really listening, letting herself get lost in the music.
"Sam. Where did they go?"
--
JD rubbed his eyes. He'd been staring at the computer screen for the better part of four hours with virtually nothing to show for it. He had found out that two of the Secret Service agents were second cousins twice removed, but he really didn't think that it held much baring. He hit the keypad in frustration. The screen blinked, dumping him in some file he didn't recognize.
The raven haired federal agent groaned and began trying to get out, but the system seemed to have taken a strong hold and was not about to let go. Realizing the system had locked up, JD started to read the article, hoping that the system would free itself up, because he dreaded the thought of rebooting the five or six systems he needed for his search.
The file was a plea for a presidential pardon, dated a little over two years ago. The man had murdered a senatorial candidate three weeks before the elections. He'd been given the death sentence. He'd been in jail a year and a half when he sent Bartlett his plea. According to the file, Bartlett had rejected him and his plea.
The screen bleeped and flashed and his cursor was once again working. Now interested, and needing a break from going over personel files, JD decided to investigate. There were two other files attached to the pardon plea. JD clicked on the most recent. It was a footnote to the man's record. A week after Bartlett rejected him, he had been found hung in his jail cell. JD felt a shiver run down his spine. He had died exactly two years ago to the day.
The next attachment was the court records and the man's mug shot and fingerprints. Stan Macy, born 1958. The man was ugly, with deep, sunken eyes and a gray pallor to his skin. JD's eyes lit up. Macy claimed allegiance with the Liberty Swords, and took responsibility after his trial for a few of their bombings. Macy, he had seen that name before. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Ha ha!" he yelled triumphantly. "Bingo. I got you." JD picked up the telephone and dialed Chris's cell. There was a message from his service that the phone was temporarily out of range. Not wanting to wait, he grabbed the rental keys off the desk and ran out of the building.
--
Larabee's keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. So far nothing had gone awry, but it was early days yet. He saw Vin seated on a balcony overlooking the ballroom, an ideal place for the sharpshooter should there be trouble. He spotted Ezra dancing with Sam near the back entrance. The two of them actually looked surprisingly calm. For the first time since he had seen them together they looked as if they weren't about to tear the other's throat out.
JD burst into the room, panting and red faced. Larabee trotted over to him. The younger man looked decidedly out of place in jeans and a sweatshirt. JD saw Chris and hurried over. "I got him," he exclaimed. "I found out our rogue."
"Who JD?"
"An agent by the name of Craig Dwyer. He interrogated Ezra earlier. You see, his uncle, Stan Macy died two years ago today. It was Bartlett's first year in office and he turned down a plea for a pardon from the death sentence. Macy was Dwyer's stepmother's brother. They must have been real close."
"Wait, wait, I think you skipped some details. If they knew all this about Macy, why did they hire Dwyer? And what's the connection to the Liberty Swords?"
"Dwyer was hired before Macy was arrested and put in prison. The guy has had an excellent service record up till now. No one had any reason to question his loyalty. But here's the real kicker. Macy was a founding member of the Liberty Swords. Oh yeah and Dwyer was in the service before becoming Secret Service."
"Do I want to know?"
"You probably already do. He was a demolitions expert."
"Good job JD. I'm gonna go track down Butterfield and the others. Bartlett is in a suite on the third floor. You have to take those service stairs that are down the hallway and to the left. Those are the only stairs up to his room besides the fire escape and that was cut off just above the second floor. Take my key card. The code is 3867. Get Bartlett the hell out of here. Drag him out if you have to. Find McGarrey and take him with you."
That was the longest speech JD had ever heard Chris make. He found McGarrey making polite small talk with a few minority whips. He whispered the situation in the older man's ear. They raced out of the ballroom, JD repeating the key code over and over in his head. At the door to the stairs he punched it in, and began to take the stairs two at a time. McGarrey was hot on his heels.
--
Ezra pulled Sam away from the happy dancers. He spotted Larabee coming toward them from across the room. The two locked gazes and nodded to each other. Then Chris turned on his heel and disappeared. Ezra turned to Sam. "I believe the time has come for plan A. Shall we depart?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
They weaved their way through the ballroom and out the back door into a dark, empty hallway. Sam trotted behind the southerner, hiking her skirt up so as not to trip. Near the end of the hall was a service door, dead-bolted shut. Not deterred in the slightest, Ezra slipped an arrangement of picks from his inside breast pocket. He made short work of the lock.
The storage space was mostly empty save a few boxes of detergent and other cleaning supplies. Sam and Ezra went to the rear of the stock room. Together they dragged a small, but heavy crate into the middle of the floor. The top slid off easily.
Ezra gathered his weapons from the case and strapped them on. He sported a 9mm pistol in his shoulder holster and his .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver in an ankle holster. He took off the expensive suit jacket and slipped into a Kevlar vest and black windbreaker.
Sam slipped behind a partition to change from her dress into back slacks and a black turtleneck. She too donned the heavy Kevlar vest and windbreaker. She holstered a 9mm at her hip and slid her backup weapon into a special holster at the small of her back. She stepped out and Ezra tossed her a walkie talkie.
"Ready?" she asked.
Ezra pulled back the barrel of his 9mm. "Let's do it."
They were halfway down the hall when gunfire erupted from inside the ballroom. The spray came fast and furious from an automatic of some sort. Ezra held up one hand to stop Sam. He crept forward and silently twisted open the handle of the door. He opened it a crack. More than twenty men, all heavily armed had rushed into the room. They were now in a face off with Butterfield and the rest of his men. Unfortunately, the terrorists had no qualms about using guests as shields.
Ezra twisted around to face Samantha. He closed the door as quietly as he could. "Stay here and listen." He jogged away.
Samantha sighed, "I don't believe this."
--
JD slammed the door to the suite shut with such force that the air in the room rippled. "I think we need to find another way to get you out of here Mr. President. The stairs are most definitely out."
Bartlett ignored JD and glowered at Leo. "What the hell is going on here? Who is he and why is he ordering me around? He's barely any older than Zoey." JD might have been offended, had he taken the time to think about it.
He rushed around the room. Finally he stopped and nodded to himself. "The window. Definitely the window."
"What is he talking about? Leo, what have you not been telling me?"
"We may have a slight problem Mr. President. We decided it would be better not to concern you with it."
"Concern me?" He repeated incredulously. "Leo, I am most assuredly concerned. And I am not going out that window."
JD was practically hopping from foot to foot. They needed to go, now. He heard the sound of gunfire and wood splintering. Leo heard it too. There were yells from agents who had been guarding the door. He pushed Bartlett toward the propped window. "I don't think you have much of a choice at the moment sir."
"Remind me that we need to have a little talk later Leo."
"Yes sir Mr. President."
The night was cloudy and the light of the stars couldn't penetrate its murkiness. Everything was a pitch, pine tar sort of black; thick enough to get stuck in and heavy enough to smell. The air smelled hot and damp and sweet. Nervous energy seemed to run through it like waves.
JD lowered the fire ladder as quickly as he could. All three men trooped down the rickety metal staircase. JD had parked only a few blocks away and he could see the Four by Four from his vantage point high above the street. JD bumped into Leo. "I think we're stuck." Leo stated. There they were, two stories above the tarmac, with no more ladder.
JD sighed. "I'll be right back." With that, he lowered himself as far he could, his legs dangling in the open air. Then he let go. He hit the pavement and let himself roll, just as Vin had taught him. His right ankle hurt like hell, but he was bruised rather than broken. He trotted to a half empty garbage bin and rolled it back under the steps. "Jump!" he called up.
Bartlett looked over at Leo. "I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you slowly." Then he jumped, landing squarely among the trash. JD helped lever him out. Leo went next, he too landing safely. As Bartlett and JD were pulling him out of the trash two agents rushed around the side of the hotel.
"Mr. President?"
"Don't ask. What's going on?"
Leo shook his head. "Tell him when he's in that car," he pointed to JD's, "and on his way back to the residency. Fuller, you go with Dunne and the president. Tony, you're with me."
The president was ushered to the car and it drove away. Once it was out of sight Leo turned to the Secret Service agent. "All right, tell me everything."
"Well sir, the building is on complete lockdown, but the cameras are still running. No one can get out or in, because, according to the terrorists, the entire building is wired. They're in a stand off with our boys right now. Doesn't look good sir. No one is backing down, but they have hostages. Needless to say they're in a temper having misplaced the president."
"I'll bet. Who do they have?"
"Donna Moss."
--
Josh lunged after her, but Sam and Toby pulled him back. Josh was pale, his eyes wide. Donna was struggling and whimpering softly, the leader's enormous arm snaked about her neck. The gun pressed to her temple didn't help either.
"Son of a bitch! Where the hell do you have him stashed?" The terrorist growled.
"Who are you talking about?" Butterfield responded, his voice icy and cool.
"The president. He wasn't in his suite." Chris silently thanked God for JD. "Look, we came here with a specific intent. The Liberty Swords are here for the rights of the people. This government is no better than a tyrannical dictatorship! Well that ends here, tonight. I'd say there enough politicians here to put a serious dent in our Congressional population. The Liberty Swords aren't afraid to die for their cause. Unless Bartlett shows up in this room in the next ten minutes, a very powerful bomb is going to blow us all to kingdom come."
Chris caught sight of the slight movement up on the balcony. Vin. He locked onto the tracker and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not yet. They had to give Ezra and Sam time.
--
"He's completely lost his marbles," Sam told Ezra. "Says there is a bomb big enough to blow the whole building and it's set to go off in," she checked her watch, "four minutes and twenty seconds."
"If he wants to kill everyone the bomb will be below the ballroom. The basement to this building isn't used for anything but storage. I'll bet he has it attached to a support beam. I think it's time for plan B."
Samantha groaned and followed him. "I hate plan B!"
The basement was dark, damp and cold. Barren cement walls lined by racks of unused equipment surrounded them. And there, right in the middle of the room was a man crouched behind a box no bigger than a music chest she'd had as a child. A man knelt beside it. Ezra darted across the room, keeping low.
Sam took a deep breath. She gave one rack a nudge. The metal creaked and the man looked over in her direction. Sam remained hidden behind the rack. The Liberty Sword drew a gun and moved cautiously toward her. Samantha didn't move until he was nearly on top of her. She struck with a dexterity born out of years of experience. Her foot lashed out, sending the pistol skittering over the floor. Sam dropped, sweeping the man's legs. He hit his head on the ground and lay still.
Ezra went for the box. A small, luminescent timer stared back at them. Luckily, the timer had yet to start. "Five minutes on the clock. Ezra, tell me you know what you are doing."
"Somewhat." Sam rolled her eyes as Standish carefully unscrewed the clear plastic top. "C4. These people are moving up in the world. At least it's more stable than Nitro. Damn."
"Damn? Damn is not good."
"They didn't want anyone messing with this obviously. The timer just went down to three minutes and counting."
Ezra lifted the timer box off the explosives. Four wires, red, green, back and purple ran into the explosives. "Yank 'em and let's get out of here."
"That would be highly ill advised," Ezra told her. "If we pull the wrong wire this bomb will be going up long before it is scheduled. And if you don't mind, I like my body parts where they are, thank you."
"So which wire?"
"I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?"
"Well this isn't like connect the dots! There is a certain amount of skill required here. Allow me a moment to examine the device."
"We don't really have a moment here Ez. You got one minute thirty. Make a pick."
Ezra began to sweat and he chewed his lower lip. "I can't seem to find the detonator. If I could just find the wire connected to the detonator we'd be home free. It's not the black, I know that..."
"Twenty seconds Ez. Pick a damn wire."
"I'm thinking." He snapped.
"Think faster!"
The timer hit the single digits. Ezra latched onto what he thought was the right wire and closed his eyes. Sam turned away, flinching. Ezra pulled.
The southerner blinked. The dial stopped at four seconds. He let out a long breath. "That was far too close."
Sam brought her breathing back down to normal. "Ezra."
"Yes?"
"Why'd you pick green?"
"Honestly?" Samantha nodded. "Green is my favorite color." Standish stood and walked away. Samantha choked, unable to say anything.
"What about the rest of the bombs? The ones on the doors." Sam said when she finally got her voice back.
Ezra held up a small device. "This should cover that. It's a remote detonation unit. We can disarm the bombs with it. Look, we need to work fast. Those guys upstairs aren't going to wait forever. I'll go see if I can't even the odds a little while you work on those doors."
"Check. I'll have the cavalry here in no time." Ezra nodded and headed back up the stairs. Sam took out her walkie talkie and set it to a wide frequency. A weak. Crackly voice answered her. She had to work quickly. She too made a run for the steps.
--
Josh watched helplessly at the terrorist holding Donna. HE had stopped trying to get to her, but still watched her like a hawk. The guests all cowered near one corner of the room. He heard some in tears. Sam, CJ and the others were all sitting tight. Josh wondered how much longer the stale mate could drag on.
Then he saw a movement at the back of the room. Standish had come back and was making his way around the fringes of the room, hidden among the shadows and behind tables. He was positioning himself for a better shot.
Standish raised his weapon, calling out, "I suggest that it would be in your best interests to let her go sir." The terrorist spun, his eyes shooting sparks.
"What are you going to do Standish? The moment I go down is the moment this building becomes one giant ball of flames. Are you ready to die Standish? To kill all these people?"
"No," he responded evenly. "But I don't think you are either. If you're so comfortable with the idea of your mortality, then why do need hostages. You're too much of a coward to face us without your shield. Easy to be brave when it's not your life."
The man's face went crimson. "I am not a coward! The Liberty Swords are men of righteous courage. We are brave enough to stand against tyranny. I will show you my cowardice!" His eyes were wild, as if he'd lost all semblance of sanity. He threw Donna to the side and fired wildly at Standish.
Josh jumped for Donna, wrapping her in his arms and covering her. He could feel her heaving sobs. Standish too dove for the floor. "Now!" he yelled.
Vin dropped the man the moment he opened fire, sending a bullet straight through his head. As soon as Ezra yelled, Secret Service, SWAT team members and local police swarmed through the doors of the ballroom. It seemed the rest of the Liberty Swords were not quite so anxious to die. Outnumbered and outgunned, they slowly placed their weapons on the floor. A wave of relief ran through the room; it was over.
--
End to Chapter 3
I think I'll add one more little chapter to sort of wrap things up. Thanks for reading.
Spoilers: Plenty, but I can't name them.
Disclaimer: Don't own any except for Sam Walters/ Hunter. You'll figure out the name thing as you go along. I think I made Sam because I wanted to see how they all would react to a really strong, somewhat uncouth, headstrong female character. And she is just really fun to write. Just some fun in the ATF/AU with the members of the WW. Look at previous chapter for more detail.
~~
"Hunter?" Sam Seaborn repeated again in disbelief.
"Hey Sam. It's been a long time. Last time I saw you was at Princeton. And it's Walters now."
"You're...?"
"Oh God no, not anymore. I kept the name to remind me never to do that again."
Josh cleared his throat. "I seem not to be the only one confused by all this. This is the evil terrorist I'm supposed to help protect you from? No offense, but I think I could take her."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Seaborn grinned.
"Could you please explain what the hell is going on?" No response. "Sam?"
"What?" Seaborn and Walters responded in tandem.
Josh sat in a nearby chair. "Oh no. This isn't confusing at all."
Sam Seaborn turned to his best friend. "Sorry. Josh, this is Samantha Hunt...Walters. We went to Princeton together for a few years. We met in..." his voice trailed off.
"Asian Civ." Samantha replied. "What a bore that class was. And as I remember, you sat right near the front, scratching down every little note that professor told us. You were the perfect little student."
"I got an 'A' in that class."
"So did I. And I didn't work half as hard as you did. I never even would have met you except that you had your head buried in a book and knocked me down a flight of stairs," Walters smiled, her eyes twinkling. Josh was laughing.
"You knocked her down a flight of stairs?" Josh chortled.
"It was a little flight," Sam responded weakly.
Butterfield cleared his throat and Josh and the two Sams glanced over at him. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think we're venturing off the subject. I still want to know why you were trying to kill the president and who you're working with. White pride, anti-establishment, what?"
Samantha shook her head. "Sorry to burst your bubble but I'm no terrorist. Neither are the three men you brought me in with."
"I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Not on my say so. Chris Larabee, do you remember him?"
Butterfield nodded. "Sure. Larabee is an agent in the ATF Special Agents division in Denver. I'm not sure why that applies."
"Well, Larabee isn't in Denver. He's here, in DC. Those three men you arrested are agents on his team. They and I came to stop an assassination attempt."
"Right."
"You don't believe me, fine. I'd wager Larabee will be calling you any minute. Even check our records. After I moved back here from Europe I moved to San Juan Capistrano, California. I'm a karate instructor. Honestly, take my prints and check my record."
"One more question before I go. Why are you being so cooperative while your friends are silent as mice?"
Samantha waved one hand in the air as she talked. "The young one is John Dunne. He's probably half way between terrified and awed. Tanner is the guy in the beat up leather jacket. He's not speaking because he was told to talk to no one. And Standish," she shook her head.
"What about Standish?"
"He'll screw with your head just to see you sweat. It would be easier getting information from a brick wall."
Butterfield grunted. "We'll see. Josh, Sam, can I see you outside?"
Seaborn glanced at Samantha. "I'll be right back. We have a lot to talk about." He strode out the door, leaving Samantha to stare after him.
"You have no idea old friend," she muttered. Then she noticed how close the Secret Service agent was standing to her. She raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"
Meanwhile Josh and Sam were conferring with Butterfield in the hall. "What do you think Sam?"
Seaborn shook his vehemently. "I haven't seen or even spoken to her in years. But I would never pin her as a terrorist, especially not against someone like Bartlett. I'd say she's telling you the truth."
Butterfield nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to put a call into the CIA. We should have all their files in an hour. I don't like this. If she is telling the truth then we have a mass terrorist group running around DC who came too damn close to the President. He'll have to go under massive supervision at all times."
"He won't do it."
"I know that Josh, but I have to try. Man is too damn stubborn for his own good. Thanks for your help Seaborn. I'll give you all a call when I get this sorted out." Butterfield stalked down the hall, whipping a cell out of his breast pocket.
"Look Sam, I'm going to head back. Leo and CJ are gonna need to know all this. CJ has to put a good spin on the bombing."
"You're going to put spin on an assassination attempt?"
"We're going to try."
"I'll stay here a while longer. Sam and I have some catching up to do."
"Yeah, you really need to work out a better system for referring to yourselves. Having to sort you two out is going to be a real pain."
"I'll meet you back at the office in a few hours." Josh turned to leave. "She's not an assassin Josh."
"I hope you're right Sam. I really do."
Sam rubbed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. His hand found the doorknob and he opened it. Samantha was waiting for him.
"So what's the deal Seaborn? Last I saw of you, you were studying for the bar. What ever happened to being a lawyer?"
"I realized that I wasn't comfortable being the money grubbing scum of the earth working for big business."
"So you became a politician? That's kind of a horizontal move, don't ya think?"
"Bartlett is a damn good man Sammy. As a politician they don't come any better. You might know that a little better, had you decided to stick around."
Sam stared at Samantha in silence for a long time. The person in front of him held the same glimmer of life that he had known in college. But her eyes, while still open and thoughtful, were jaded and dulled by time. Small lines crept at the corners of her mouth and eyes when she smiled. She wasn't the kid he remembered from class, but then, he was no longer a kid either. Both of them had been changed by time and circumstance. He wondered what circumstance could weigh so heavily on her that she actually seemed to shrink.
"We never did get that first date did we Seaborn?" Samantha broke the stillness.
Sam managed a weak half smile. "As I remember it, you stood me up."
Samantha motioned to a chair. "What else do you remember about me? Certainly that I'm no assassin, no terrorist."
"I remember you to be an opinionated, hard ass who liked her own way. I also remember that you were a rabid, liberal democrat, but people change."
"Not that much," she grinned. "Sam I never meant to leave you hanging at the restaurant. But the day before, my aunt in England died and I went running over to Europe. Our date completely slipped my mind. Then when I got there...I decided to stay a while. Then I met Tom. We got married about a year later. Etcetera, etcetera, we got divorced and I moved back, to California."
"Is that your standard story or one you made up just for me?"
Samantha stared at her hands. "Pretty much the standard."
"When are you planning to start telling me the truth?"
"One day, when my life is far less complicated. But believe that I had nothing to do with the bombing, and that, had I the choice, I never would have stood you up."
"How did you get involved with these guys? I mean Denver, San Juan, they're not exactly near to each other."
"That, is a long story. Let's just say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What about you? I haven't heard a thing about you. I've read plenty, but you know... Did you really hire a hooker?" Samantha shook with uncontrolled laughter. "I mean Sam, I know you don't get much but still, that's low."
Seaborn threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable! We haven't talked in years and the first thing you ask me about is my relationship with a call girl."
"A high priced call girl if I remember correctly." Samantha's eyes danced.
"Funny. Look, here's the whole story..."
--
Chris Larabee flashed his pass at a tall, muscular guy guarding the front of a hallway. It had been a long time since he'd been in the Pentagon. Not that it had changed much in all those years. The halls were still wide, gray and barren save the few people scurrying down them.
It had surprised him to hear that Butterfield had been expecting his call. He wasn't even sure that the man would remember him, right, not even he believed that. But at least his agents were in one piece, for the time being anyway. Buck would give him endless amounts of hell if JD came back with even a scratch.
"Is it just me," he asked to no one in particular, "or do Vin and Ezra make a habit out of getting into perilous situations? And damn if they don't drag the kid in there with them. How the hell did Standish get a gun?" He was still muttering to himself when he met up with the tall lean Butterfield.
"Hey Ron."
"Hey Chris. It's been a long time."
"Yep."
"Last time I saw you was at the funeral. I'm real sorry about Adam and Sarah. Sarah was so happy with you."
"You didn't seem to like me much at the time."
"Sarah was like a little sister to me. I was worried she would get hurt."
"You were right."
"Maybe, but not in the way I thought. You were a cocky little bastard Chris. I thought I would have to pick up the pieces after you got yourself killed. She was always happy though. Now," he changed the subject, sensing Chris was uncomfortable talking about his dead wife and son. "Why are you in DC?"
"It's a long story."
"We got time. Your boys aren't going anywhere until we sort this out."
"Fair enough. It all started with a botched undercover job, kinda got worse from there. You see..."
--
Sam and Sam were talking amiably some two hours later when Butterfield finally returned. Coming in just behind him walked Chris Larabee, looking less than pleased. "I leave you all alone for twenty minutes!" he exclaimed.
"Sorry, the bomb wouldn't wait. And you know, you can't really blame this on me. Ezra is the one who started the stampede with that little starter pistol of his. Does this mean I can leave now?"
Butterfield nodded. "Correct. Chris filled me in on everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything," Chris repeated. "It was the only way I could get you out. Now that Ron knows we're on his side, he's invited us to help."
"Chris and I go way back. His word, plus the fact that your files checked out, make me inclined to believe you. Our best people are working up the tattoo angle now."
"What about Vin, Ezra and JD?"
"We're going to release Vin and JD now, but Standish will take a bit longer. His having a gun creates a lot of red tape. Shouldn't be more than another hour though." Butterfield told her. "And it's not like his record is spotless to begin with."
"We'll stick around till he's set," Chris said gruffly. "Honestly, that man has to make everything difficult. I checked us in at a hotel. You can wait for us there or whatever. You have my cell number."
Seaborn frowned. "What do you say to a tour of the White House, up close and personal? I want to introduce you to some people you'll be corresponding with."
"Sounds perfect."
Butterfield nodded. "Fine. Let her out of the cuffs Browning." He and Chris promptly left the interrogation room.
Browning, the tall, beefy agent who had been hovering around her all day grunted. He glared at Samantha. "You have been hanging around all afternoon you know that? It's gets annoying quick." Browning ignored her, reaching for her bound wrist. Walters merely smiled sweetly and stood up. "That's okay. I'm good." She stretched her arms above her head, neither arm bound by the encumbering metal wristband.
She took in the look of surprise and started to hurry Sam out the door. Browning yelled incoherently when he realized that he was now bonded to the desk. He began to fish around his pockets. "Looking for these?" She dangled the cuff keys in front of her. "Don't worry, I'm sure someone will have a spare. You a have a pleasant afternoon now." She closed the door behind her, muffling the man's angry threats. "Jackass."
Sam and Sam walked out to Seaborn's car. They got in and the presidential speechwriter turned the key in the ignition. They pulled from the parking spot. "I'm sorry Sam," she blurted out.
"About what?"
"Everything. I'm sorry I can't tell you why I stood you up. I'm sorry that we met again under such circumstances, and I'm sorry that I couldn't do more today, to help."
"Samantha stop. You can't go around feeling guilty for things you never could have prevented in the first place."
"Of course I can feel guilty. I'm Catholic, it's a thing."
--
"Josh."
"Donna."
"Josh!" Donna inserted that extra little whine that always got Lyman's attention.
"Donna."
"You're ignoring me Josh."
"You're right, I am."
"But they're killers Josh!"
Lyman turned. "Do you think that saying my name after every sentence is going to make more of a point? Cause I gotta tell ya, it's just irritating."
"They're killers Josh. We're letting killers into the White House, do you realize how insane that is?" Moss failed to notice Sam and a tall, copper haired woman walking toward them.
"Probably less insane then me standing here listening to you right now."
"That's not funny. We're letting them in here, with guns, and God knows what else to help protect the President. Killers who just this afternoon nearly blew you all sky high. You know, with the bomb?"
"Yes Donna I know. I was there. But remember, they're on our side. And to be fair, from what Butterfield told me, he only fired the gun so they could get to the bomb."
"And you believed their story? Come on Josh, these whackos will say anything."
"Most of these whackos don't have the CIA back them up."
"As if that makes it any better. Tell me Joshua, have they ever killed anyone?"
"Probably."
"There, do you see now? I'm not going to be able to work around them. I'll get all tongue tied and nervous and I'll put my foot right in my mouth."
"Donna, you don't even know who these people are. And as for your foot, you do that every day anyway."
"Yes, but not in front of people who know thirty-six different ways to kill me with their bare hands. I'll be jumpy."
"That's caffeine Donna. Am I still having this conversation? Hey Sam. You're back."
Donna turned to see Sam, with a mildly horrified expression on his face. Next to him stood a woman, about 5'8", with hazel eyes and copper colored hair. One corner of her mouth tugged up in a small smile.
"Hi," she stuck out her hand. "I'm Donna Moss, assistant to Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman. That kind of makes me deputy, deputy huh?" She grinned.
Josh groaned. "Enough with that joke! It's not funny."
Donna ignored him. "And you are?"
Samantha grabbed Donna's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "No one important. Just one of those killers it's insanity to let into the White House."
"Eep." Donna squeaked and jumped behind Josh.
Lyman laughed. "What? You think I'm going to be able to stop her if she knows thirty-six different ways to kill me with her bare hands?"
"Not really, but I figure I can make a break for it while she's killing you."
Then Donna noticed that Samantha was laughing. It wasn't even a creepy laugh, the kind of laugh that sent shivers up your spine, but a nice, hearty laugh. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"I wasn't planning on it. The name's Samantha Walters. But give me a few days of following conversations like that and I might reconsider." Donna paled.
Seaborn jabbed her lightly with his elbow. "Don't do that to Donna. She scares easy. You always did have a twisted sense of humor."
"Like I said, some things never change." She and Sam said their farewells and moved off down the office. Samantha grabbed Seaborn's elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Are those two...?"
"Who? Josh and Donna?"
"Yeah."
"You mean like..."
"Yeah like, you know..."
"Together?"
"Yeah."
"No."
"Oh. Do they even know...?"
"That they're..."
"Yeah."
"No. They're oblivious."
"Too bad. They would be cute together."
"Everyone knows it but them."
"Look, as fun as this is, can we talk somewhere else? Somewhere more private."
"Sure. My office is just over here." The two college friends went inside and shut the door. "What's up?"
"The bomb set today was complicated, not just something that can be shipped and set on location. It's been bugging me all afternoon, and even Larabee was talking about it before we came out here."
"So?"
"What I'm trying to say is that it took time to set up. Whoever put it there did it after the sweep by Secret Service. And I would seriously doubt that after the sweep it was left unguarded. These terrorists have an in somewhere in your hierarchy."
"You can't think..." Sam trailed off.
"I do; we all do. The person that set that bomb was a member of the Secret Service."
--
McGarrey's office was noisier than usual. McGarrey, the entire senior staff, Butterfield, Samantha and the four Denver ATF agents were crammed inside. Ezra had managed to commandeer the one soft leather chair in the room. The others were left to stand or sit in rickety rolling chairs. Samantha placed herself strategically on the arm of Ezra's chair.
"I don't believe that." Butterfield finally announced to the group.
"Believe it," Chris, Samantha and Ezra said in unison.
"My agents have been hand picked for this detail. For some Bartlett is their second president to protect. All of them have proven themselves loyal and honest. They wouldn't be a part of a terrorist attack."
"Then how do you explain the bomb!" Samantha snapped.
"Excuse me Hunter is it?" Toby piped up.
"It's Walters."
"Well it's Hunter on your file, so it's Hunter now. I think that agent Butterfield has a point. You are asking a lot for us to trust you at all. You, up to this point have not done anything to prove yourselves worthy of that trust. You don't know these men either. We do."
Vin shot Samantha a questioning look. "Hunter?" he mouthed.
"I'll explain later," she mouthed back.
"Well a Poker player is only as good as his bluff," Ezra stated dryly. Most of the people in the room gave him an odd look. "I mean that this person, or persons would have to have a very good reputation in order to gain admittance into an area of such restriction." More blank stares. Only Ainsley and those who had been around the enigmatic southerner a great deal looked as though they knew what he had said.
"He was saying that since the standards are set so high for secret service members, then this person would have to be an incredible talent to get past the screening process." Ainsley supplied.
"Exactly. That you my dear, for putting my words into such an eloquently simple form." Ezra beamed at her.
"Do you have any new leads on the tattoo angle?" Leo queried.
"We're still working on it, but we should have it narrowed down soon. We'll need you to identify the tattoo," Butterfield nodded at Samantha.
"I hate to be the one bringing this up," CJ tapped her pen against a notepad, "but what are we going to tell the president. He has a lot of guest speaking appearances this week. HE won't want to cancel them."
That was Bartlett's greatest attribute, and greatest flaw in a nutshell. He hated to disappoint people he made promises to, a certain rarity in a politician. Unfortunately, it also meant that he rarely listened to anyone once his mind was made up.
"You can't exactly command the leader of the free world to stay home," Josh sighed.
"We could always tell him the damn things have been cancelled," Toby remarked dryly.
Leo snorted. "He's scatterbrained Toby, not stupid. What's on his plate this week anyway? Sam?"
"What?" Again, two voices responded. Samantha blushed; it was reflexive.
"Seaborn."
"He's doing the Sierra Club annual fundraiser tonight. And we rescheduled the forum for Friday. Little things other than that. A meeting with Hoynes tomorrow." Sam flipped his pocket organizer shut.
Butterfield sighed. Then he looked over at Chris and the others. "So, how do you all feel about black tie?"
--
Samantha, CJ, Ainsley and Donna shared a limo to the Sierra Club fundraiser. Behind them in another car was the president and Leo with Ron Butterfield. Ezra was in the limo behind them with Josh, Sam, Toby and Charlie, the president's aide. Chris and Vin were already stationed inside the building along with a dozen other Secret Service. JD, a computer and electronics whiz kid, stayed behind to work the search on the rogue agent.
Earlier that afternoon, both Samantha and JD had identified the eerie snake tattoo as belonging to a anti-government group out of Alabama. They believed that the democrats were slowly taking away all the rights of the people and that they needed to be stopped at all costs. Two bombings of government buildings were already associated with the group, although nothing had been proven. JD had his work cut out for him. The group, known as the Liberty Swords was extremely close knit and little was known about its members.
Samantha breathed deeply. She was about to step out of a limo into one of the fanciest ballrooms in all of DC. Not to mention that she was being associated with the President of the United States. She nervously smoothed the skirt of her long black dress.
"Nervous?" Donna asked.
"No more than you when you found out who I was, but yeah, a bit. I'm afraid I'll trip over these high heels. Not used to wearing 'em."
"You don't actually think these people will show up tonight do you?" Ainsley drawled in her peculiar southern drawl.
"I'm not really sure at this point. These guys haven't exactly been conservative when it comes to assassination attempts. They like to do things in front of a lot of people, preferably with media watching."
"There's a comforting thought. Lots of media types here tonight."
"Well, hopefully we'll get lucky."
Ainsley laughed nervously. "Hopefully they'll just bypass this little shindig and move on to some other venue of expression."
That wasn't really what Sam had meant, but she let it slide. 'More like hopefully these guys will be dumb enough to strike when there are more than a dozen Secret Service agents around,' she thought. 'Too bad we had to go around Butterfield, but his head wasn't on straight. Please let this go right.'
The limo drew to a stop, lurching Sam from her thoughts. She followed the other three women out of the stretch car, keeping her head down and walking quickly down the carpet. The one thing her new life had going for it was anonymity. She'd pissed off plenty of people in her time, and it wouldn't do for her face to be plastered across national television.
She stayed on CJ's left side, away from the cameras and let the willowy woman eclipse her smaller frame. She passed Vin on the way in and gave him a slight nod. The sharpshooter nodded back. 'Damn. That boy looks fine in a tux.' Sam thought to herself. Vin had donned a well fitting tux and pulled back his curly brown hair, revealing a perfectly square jaw. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anything remotely out of place.
The party was alive with people. Sam recognized wealthy WASP aristocrats, old money dating back to Cornelius Vanderbilt, as well as various celebrities dedicated to a good image. She wondered how many of the Hollywood types actually cared about the environment. There were also politicians and those dedicated to the preservation of the natural America.
CJ and Donna dispersed as more guests came in. CJ went off with some Senator Sam recognized from TV, but couldn't place. Donna ended up next to Lyman, talking his ear off about something. Samantha was left with Ainsley Hayes.
Together they watched the President come in and begin his meet and greet. Soon, Sam knew, he would be ushered up into a private room on the third floor of the hotel, where he would wait until the time for his speech.
"Have you ever met the president?" Sam asked. She figured it was an innocent enough question.
"No, well I mean yes, well not really but I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I mean technically I have met the man, but it wasn't an experience I want to remember."
"You don't want to remember meeting the president?"
"Well the thing is, it was kind of embarrassing. See I was just a little drunk at the time, well no not really drunk more like high." She saw Sam's bewildered expression and hurried on. "Not the bad kind of high, but I mean the adrenaline type. I had just been on national TV and did a fairly decent job if I do say so myself, which I suppose I do. And then there was the fact that I wasn't wearing any clothes, but then I didn't expect him to come to my office. Well, it's not really an office, it's actually the steam trunk distribution venue. But I mean how could I expect there to be wet paint, I mean honestly wet paint, so I was waiting for some new clothes, and I was dancing and Sam came in, and well the president came down right after him and I sort of threw my drink, and now you think I'm completely insane."
Samantha blinked. "Yes or no would have suited me just fine, but your way is good too."
"He called me a sex kitten."
"Excuse me?"
"The president. He said that most people thought I was hired because I'm blonde and republican and am often taken as a sex kitten, but that it obviously wasn't true. He said this while I'm wearing nothing but a terry cloth robe, am drinking, and dancing to 80's pop." Ainsley held up her hands and sort of squeaked. "I'm forever branded in his mind as a woman who doesn't wear clothes while working at the White House."
"It can't be that bad."
"You weren't there."
Luckily, Samantha was saved from having to respond. Someone from the press came over and whisked Ainsley away, leaving Samantha to stand by herself at one end of the ballroom. She stood there for a long time, watching people pass her by and nursing a glass of champagne. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder. The champagne spilled over her hand as she spun around. It was Sam, grinning softly.
"Dance Hunter?"
She smiled and took his hand. "God, it has been so long since anyone has called me that. I'll have to get used to it again."
"You finally about ready to tell me why you changed your name? The real reason."
"This is hardly less complicated."
"We probably won't get such a quiet time for the next few days."
"This is quiet?"
"No one is bothering us. So talk."
"I didn't choose this Seaborn, honest to God I didn't. Changing my name was one of those fundamental things when the CIA is involved in making a new identity for you."
Seaborn's eyes narrowed. "The CIA? Wha..."
"I wasn't completely straight with you in college either Sam. You know my parents are dead, but they didn't leave me the money I used to pay for Princeton. I had a very, lucrative occupation. I was a jewel thief Sam."
She plunged on, not wanting him to get a word in. "The reason I stood you up that night, was because the night before I was on a job, but my partner was a cad. He shot me and left me for dead. After the surgery and the hospital and the charges...I was being buried. The CIA offered me an out, and I wasn't stupid enough to turn that down. Do you hate me?"
They stopped dancing. "I don't hate you. I'm utterly confused, but I don't hate you."
"Good. I don't have enough friends left in the world to burn all my bridges. Now do me a favor."
"What?"
"Go dance with Ainsley."
Sam blushed. "You've seen me with her for all of twenty minutes. Is it that obvious?" Samantha nodded solemnly. "All right then. I'll see you later."
Ezra came up to her as soon as Sam left. He smiled pleasantly. "I assume that somewhere along the line you have learned the basic fundamentals of ballroom."
"I think I can handle a waltz if that's what you mean." Her eyes meandered away from the southerner's face. Those intense emerald eyes made her loose all sense of sanity. She noticed the fine cut of the man's suit and the flawless fit. She raised an eyebrow. "This suit looks great on you. Where did you rent it?"
"A Standish does not rent apparel."
"Ezra, is this your tux?"
"I believe it to be, yes."
"You packed a tux?"
"Never know when such a garment might be deemed necessary. Seems that my predisposition towards orderliness has come in handy in this case."
"You're anal," she teased.
In a rare lapse of decorum Ezra responded. "And you're a bitch, what's your point? Why do you feel that you must have such a coarse demeanor anyway?"
"Cause if I'm not such a bitch then people might realize that I have no idea what I'm doing. I like control. This furnishes me with the limited supply I have in my life. I think the best I ever had was one foot on the ground you know? It's been so long since I've been anything but someone's puppet." Ezra didn't say anything. He knew how she felt, alone in the world. He'd felt like that for most his life. It was only in the last few years that he had learned what a real family was like.
They danced for what seemed forever. They didn't talk, the two loners perfectly content in amiable silence. Then Sam noticed that Ezra wasn't paying attention anymore, after the third time he'd stepped on her feet. "What?"
Standish's voice was grim. "The caterers with all the food and beverages seem to have dispersed from this area."
"Huh?" Samantha wasn't really listening, letting herself get lost in the music.
"Sam. Where did they go?"
--
JD rubbed his eyes. He'd been staring at the computer screen for the better part of four hours with virtually nothing to show for it. He had found out that two of the Secret Service agents were second cousins twice removed, but he really didn't think that it held much baring. He hit the keypad in frustration. The screen blinked, dumping him in some file he didn't recognize.
The raven haired federal agent groaned and began trying to get out, but the system seemed to have taken a strong hold and was not about to let go. Realizing the system had locked up, JD started to read the article, hoping that the system would free itself up, because he dreaded the thought of rebooting the five or six systems he needed for his search.
The file was a plea for a presidential pardon, dated a little over two years ago. The man had murdered a senatorial candidate three weeks before the elections. He'd been given the death sentence. He'd been in jail a year and a half when he sent Bartlett his plea. According to the file, Bartlett had rejected him and his plea.
The screen bleeped and flashed and his cursor was once again working. Now interested, and needing a break from going over personel files, JD decided to investigate. There were two other files attached to the pardon plea. JD clicked on the most recent. It was a footnote to the man's record. A week after Bartlett rejected him, he had been found hung in his jail cell. JD felt a shiver run down his spine. He had died exactly two years ago to the day.
The next attachment was the court records and the man's mug shot and fingerprints. Stan Macy, born 1958. The man was ugly, with deep, sunken eyes and a gray pallor to his skin. JD's eyes lit up. Macy claimed allegiance with the Liberty Swords, and took responsibility after his trial for a few of their bombings. Macy, he had seen that name before. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Ha ha!" he yelled triumphantly. "Bingo. I got you." JD picked up the telephone and dialed Chris's cell. There was a message from his service that the phone was temporarily out of range. Not wanting to wait, he grabbed the rental keys off the desk and ran out of the building.
--
Larabee's keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. So far nothing had gone awry, but it was early days yet. He saw Vin seated on a balcony overlooking the ballroom, an ideal place for the sharpshooter should there be trouble. He spotted Ezra dancing with Sam near the back entrance. The two of them actually looked surprisingly calm. For the first time since he had seen them together they looked as if they weren't about to tear the other's throat out.
JD burst into the room, panting and red faced. Larabee trotted over to him. The younger man looked decidedly out of place in jeans and a sweatshirt. JD saw Chris and hurried over. "I got him," he exclaimed. "I found out our rogue."
"Who JD?"
"An agent by the name of Craig Dwyer. He interrogated Ezra earlier. You see, his uncle, Stan Macy died two years ago today. It was Bartlett's first year in office and he turned down a plea for a pardon from the death sentence. Macy was Dwyer's stepmother's brother. They must have been real close."
"Wait, wait, I think you skipped some details. If they knew all this about Macy, why did they hire Dwyer? And what's the connection to the Liberty Swords?"
"Dwyer was hired before Macy was arrested and put in prison. The guy has had an excellent service record up till now. No one had any reason to question his loyalty. But here's the real kicker. Macy was a founding member of the Liberty Swords. Oh yeah and Dwyer was in the service before becoming Secret Service."
"Do I want to know?"
"You probably already do. He was a demolitions expert."
"Good job JD. I'm gonna go track down Butterfield and the others. Bartlett is in a suite on the third floor. You have to take those service stairs that are down the hallway and to the left. Those are the only stairs up to his room besides the fire escape and that was cut off just above the second floor. Take my key card. The code is 3867. Get Bartlett the hell out of here. Drag him out if you have to. Find McGarrey and take him with you."
That was the longest speech JD had ever heard Chris make. He found McGarrey making polite small talk with a few minority whips. He whispered the situation in the older man's ear. They raced out of the ballroom, JD repeating the key code over and over in his head. At the door to the stairs he punched it in, and began to take the stairs two at a time. McGarrey was hot on his heels.
--
Ezra pulled Sam away from the happy dancers. He spotted Larabee coming toward them from across the room. The two locked gazes and nodded to each other. Then Chris turned on his heel and disappeared. Ezra turned to Sam. "I believe the time has come for plan A. Shall we depart?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
They weaved their way through the ballroom and out the back door into a dark, empty hallway. Sam trotted behind the southerner, hiking her skirt up so as not to trip. Near the end of the hall was a service door, dead-bolted shut. Not deterred in the slightest, Ezra slipped an arrangement of picks from his inside breast pocket. He made short work of the lock.
The storage space was mostly empty save a few boxes of detergent and other cleaning supplies. Sam and Ezra went to the rear of the stock room. Together they dragged a small, but heavy crate into the middle of the floor. The top slid off easily.
Ezra gathered his weapons from the case and strapped them on. He sported a 9mm pistol in his shoulder holster and his .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver in an ankle holster. He took off the expensive suit jacket and slipped into a Kevlar vest and black windbreaker.
Sam slipped behind a partition to change from her dress into back slacks and a black turtleneck. She too donned the heavy Kevlar vest and windbreaker. She holstered a 9mm at her hip and slid her backup weapon into a special holster at the small of her back. She stepped out and Ezra tossed her a walkie talkie.
"Ready?" she asked.
Ezra pulled back the barrel of his 9mm. "Let's do it."
They were halfway down the hall when gunfire erupted from inside the ballroom. The spray came fast and furious from an automatic of some sort. Ezra held up one hand to stop Sam. He crept forward and silently twisted open the handle of the door. He opened it a crack. More than twenty men, all heavily armed had rushed into the room. They were now in a face off with Butterfield and the rest of his men. Unfortunately, the terrorists had no qualms about using guests as shields.
Ezra twisted around to face Samantha. He closed the door as quietly as he could. "Stay here and listen." He jogged away.
Samantha sighed, "I don't believe this."
--
JD slammed the door to the suite shut with such force that the air in the room rippled. "I think we need to find another way to get you out of here Mr. President. The stairs are most definitely out."
Bartlett ignored JD and glowered at Leo. "What the hell is going on here? Who is he and why is he ordering me around? He's barely any older than Zoey." JD might have been offended, had he taken the time to think about it.
He rushed around the room. Finally he stopped and nodded to himself. "The window. Definitely the window."
"What is he talking about? Leo, what have you not been telling me?"
"We may have a slight problem Mr. President. We decided it would be better not to concern you with it."
"Concern me?" He repeated incredulously. "Leo, I am most assuredly concerned. And I am not going out that window."
JD was practically hopping from foot to foot. They needed to go, now. He heard the sound of gunfire and wood splintering. Leo heard it too. There were yells from agents who had been guarding the door. He pushed Bartlett toward the propped window. "I don't think you have much of a choice at the moment sir."
"Remind me that we need to have a little talk later Leo."
"Yes sir Mr. President."
The night was cloudy and the light of the stars couldn't penetrate its murkiness. Everything was a pitch, pine tar sort of black; thick enough to get stuck in and heavy enough to smell. The air smelled hot and damp and sweet. Nervous energy seemed to run through it like waves.
JD lowered the fire ladder as quickly as he could. All three men trooped down the rickety metal staircase. JD had parked only a few blocks away and he could see the Four by Four from his vantage point high above the street. JD bumped into Leo. "I think we're stuck." Leo stated. There they were, two stories above the tarmac, with no more ladder.
JD sighed. "I'll be right back." With that, he lowered himself as far he could, his legs dangling in the open air. Then he let go. He hit the pavement and let himself roll, just as Vin had taught him. His right ankle hurt like hell, but he was bruised rather than broken. He trotted to a half empty garbage bin and rolled it back under the steps. "Jump!" he called up.
Bartlett looked over at Leo. "I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you slowly." Then he jumped, landing squarely among the trash. JD helped lever him out. Leo went next, he too landing safely. As Bartlett and JD were pulling him out of the trash two agents rushed around the side of the hotel.
"Mr. President?"
"Don't ask. What's going on?"
Leo shook his head. "Tell him when he's in that car," he pointed to JD's, "and on his way back to the residency. Fuller, you go with Dunne and the president. Tony, you're with me."
The president was ushered to the car and it drove away. Once it was out of sight Leo turned to the Secret Service agent. "All right, tell me everything."
"Well sir, the building is on complete lockdown, but the cameras are still running. No one can get out or in, because, according to the terrorists, the entire building is wired. They're in a stand off with our boys right now. Doesn't look good sir. No one is backing down, but they have hostages. Needless to say they're in a temper having misplaced the president."
"I'll bet. Who do they have?"
"Donna Moss."
--
Josh lunged after her, but Sam and Toby pulled him back. Josh was pale, his eyes wide. Donna was struggling and whimpering softly, the leader's enormous arm snaked about her neck. The gun pressed to her temple didn't help either.
"Son of a bitch! Where the hell do you have him stashed?" The terrorist growled.
"Who are you talking about?" Butterfield responded, his voice icy and cool.
"The president. He wasn't in his suite." Chris silently thanked God for JD. "Look, we came here with a specific intent. The Liberty Swords are here for the rights of the people. This government is no better than a tyrannical dictatorship! Well that ends here, tonight. I'd say there enough politicians here to put a serious dent in our Congressional population. The Liberty Swords aren't afraid to die for their cause. Unless Bartlett shows up in this room in the next ten minutes, a very powerful bomb is going to blow us all to kingdom come."
Chris caught sight of the slight movement up on the balcony. Vin. He locked onto the tracker and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not yet. They had to give Ezra and Sam time.
--
"He's completely lost his marbles," Sam told Ezra. "Says there is a bomb big enough to blow the whole building and it's set to go off in," she checked her watch, "four minutes and twenty seconds."
"If he wants to kill everyone the bomb will be below the ballroom. The basement to this building isn't used for anything but storage. I'll bet he has it attached to a support beam. I think it's time for plan B."
Samantha groaned and followed him. "I hate plan B!"
The basement was dark, damp and cold. Barren cement walls lined by racks of unused equipment surrounded them. And there, right in the middle of the room was a man crouched behind a box no bigger than a music chest she'd had as a child. A man knelt beside it. Ezra darted across the room, keeping low.
Sam took a deep breath. She gave one rack a nudge. The metal creaked and the man looked over in her direction. Sam remained hidden behind the rack. The Liberty Sword drew a gun and moved cautiously toward her. Samantha didn't move until he was nearly on top of her. She struck with a dexterity born out of years of experience. Her foot lashed out, sending the pistol skittering over the floor. Sam dropped, sweeping the man's legs. He hit his head on the ground and lay still.
Ezra went for the box. A small, luminescent timer stared back at them. Luckily, the timer had yet to start. "Five minutes on the clock. Ezra, tell me you know what you are doing."
"Somewhat." Sam rolled her eyes as Standish carefully unscrewed the clear plastic top. "C4. These people are moving up in the world. At least it's more stable than Nitro. Damn."
"Damn? Damn is not good."
"They didn't want anyone messing with this obviously. The timer just went down to three minutes and counting."
Ezra lifted the timer box off the explosives. Four wires, red, green, back and purple ran into the explosives. "Yank 'em and let's get out of here."
"That would be highly ill advised," Ezra told her. "If we pull the wrong wire this bomb will be going up long before it is scheduled. And if you don't mind, I like my body parts where they are, thank you."
"So which wire?"
"I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?"
"Well this isn't like connect the dots! There is a certain amount of skill required here. Allow me a moment to examine the device."
"We don't really have a moment here Ez. You got one minute thirty. Make a pick."
Ezra began to sweat and he chewed his lower lip. "I can't seem to find the detonator. If I could just find the wire connected to the detonator we'd be home free. It's not the black, I know that..."
"Twenty seconds Ez. Pick a damn wire."
"I'm thinking." He snapped.
"Think faster!"
The timer hit the single digits. Ezra latched onto what he thought was the right wire and closed his eyes. Sam turned away, flinching. Ezra pulled.
The southerner blinked. The dial stopped at four seconds. He let out a long breath. "That was far too close."
Sam brought her breathing back down to normal. "Ezra."
"Yes?"
"Why'd you pick green?"
"Honestly?" Samantha nodded. "Green is my favorite color." Standish stood and walked away. Samantha choked, unable to say anything.
"What about the rest of the bombs? The ones on the doors." Sam said when she finally got her voice back.
Ezra held up a small device. "This should cover that. It's a remote detonation unit. We can disarm the bombs with it. Look, we need to work fast. Those guys upstairs aren't going to wait forever. I'll go see if I can't even the odds a little while you work on those doors."
"Check. I'll have the cavalry here in no time." Ezra nodded and headed back up the stairs. Sam took out her walkie talkie and set it to a wide frequency. A weak. Crackly voice answered her. She had to work quickly. She too made a run for the steps.
--
Josh watched helplessly at the terrorist holding Donna. HE had stopped trying to get to her, but still watched her like a hawk. The guests all cowered near one corner of the room. He heard some in tears. Sam, CJ and the others were all sitting tight. Josh wondered how much longer the stale mate could drag on.
Then he saw a movement at the back of the room. Standish had come back and was making his way around the fringes of the room, hidden among the shadows and behind tables. He was positioning himself for a better shot.
Standish raised his weapon, calling out, "I suggest that it would be in your best interests to let her go sir." The terrorist spun, his eyes shooting sparks.
"What are you going to do Standish? The moment I go down is the moment this building becomes one giant ball of flames. Are you ready to die Standish? To kill all these people?"
"No," he responded evenly. "But I don't think you are either. If you're so comfortable with the idea of your mortality, then why do need hostages. You're too much of a coward to face us without your shield. Easy to be brave when it's not your life."
The man's face went crimson. "I am not a coward! The Liberty Swords are men of righteous courage. We are brave enough to stand against tyranny. I will show you my cowardice!" His eyes were wild, as if he'd lost all semblance of sanity. He threw Donna to the side and fired wildly at Standish.
Josh jumped for Donna, wrapping her in his arms and covering her. He could feel her heaving sobs. Standish too dove for the floor. "Now!" he yelled.
Vin dropped the man the moment he opened fire, sending a bullet straight through his head. As soon as Ezra yelled, Secret Service, SWAT team members and local police swarmed through the doors of the ballroom. It seemed the rest of the Liberty Swords were not quite so anxious to die. Outnumbered and outgunned, they slowly placed their weapons on the floor. A wave of relief ran through the room; it was over.
--
End to Chapter 3
I think I'll add one more little chapter to sort of wrap things up. Thanks for reading.