7.



A team of Federal agents swarmed an apartment that was the listed address of one Michelle Wilson. Getting no answer after repeated calls at her door, Agent Seitz had the landlord open the door. Charging inside, the rooms were quickly searched for occupants. All were found to be empty.

"She's not here," Agent Flint said dejectedly to his partner, with more than a hint of added irritation in his voice as he re-holstered his weapon.

"That's what worries me," his partner replied. "We still haven't been able to reach Jack Collins on his cell phone, and the Britland's butler maintains they have not arrived home yet. Something's clearly wrong here."

"They left the field office two hours ago," Seitz snapped. "They should have been home by now."

"Agent Seitz; Agent Flint!" called a voice from one of the rooms.

Both agents entered the room where another agent was staring at a room filled with newspaper and magazine clippings pinned to the walls.

"What is this?" Agent Flint growled under his breath.

The clippings all had one thing in common: Henry Parker Britland IV. The pieces of paper ranged in age from the time of Henry's second term to present-day. From a desk, Agent Seitz withdrew several thick folders, where photocopied pages held articles and pictures from the time of Henry's first presidential term to present-day. Many of them were from out-of-state publications.

Upon closer inspection of all the newspaper and glossy magazine pictures of Henry, the faces of two particular individuals when appearing with Henry were angrily scratched out. Sometimes they were cut out of the image entirely, or blotted out with a black marker. The two individuals, the agents guessed, were member of Congress Sandra 'Sunday' O'Brien Britland, and President Desmond Ogilvey.

                                               ***

Jack Collins eyed Derek Mendel knowingly as the partition between them and the backseat slowly crept up. Whenever that happened, they all knew serious discussions would be taking place between the former President and his member of Congress wife.

Collins felt very uneasy for Henry and Sunday. He had learned very early to take his job as head of security for the former head of state very seriously. Some, perhaps, would have considered it a lesser job without much glory or importance. He also knew that in about four years, Henry and Sunday would no longer be protected by the Secret Service, for five years ago it had been legislated that protection only be provided ten years after a President leaves office – legislation Sunday herself had been a part of as a member of Congress. But until then, Collins swore, he'd do everything in his power to make sure nothing happened to either of them.

As he drove, he recalled those unsettling twenty-four hours that occurred near the start of his position protecting Henry and Sunday - the twenty-four hours where four of his agents were left incapacitated but luckily not seriously harmed in their cars while Sunday was abducted. Collins had had an awful, sinking feeling that he had somehow failed, and that the situation would not resolve itself on a positive note. He had never admitted it to Henry, but when they first received word that Sunday had been kidnapped, he honestly thought she would not be found alive, if she was found at all. And it would be all his fault. True, he wasn't even in either the car Sunday had been in or the follow-up car, but somehow, as the Agent in charge, he knew he would carry the guilt.

Collins, out of habit, kept checking his rear-view mirror as he continued to head towards Drumdoe, and he knew Mendel was constantly checking his passenger-side mirror as well. The follow-up vehicle with agents Jerome Ashton and Chris Harrington were never more than a few car-lengths behind.

I want this to be over now, Collins thought to himself, as he approached the turn-off into the wooded area on a private road that lead through to the Britland's extensive property. The car's headlights cut neat beams as he made the turn along the road, and brightened the trees they passed along the way.

From between the trees on the right side of the road suddenly sprang a figure, desperately waving its arms, and throwing itself directly in the path of the car. Jack cursed and slammed both feet onto the brake pedal. The car came to a stop a mere inch from the person Collins could now make out as a woman. Before he could catch his breath from having the seatbelt constrict across his chest, the woman was at his window, a gun drawn, pointing at his head…