YAY! I have resumed, and due to the suggestion of many people, I have
written the attempt on the assassination part. Thanks for all the reviews
guys, it keeps me sane. xD! Enjoy!
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Chapter Four
"'We are not enemies, but friends,' " the tour guide said as she led the group through the East Wing entrance of the White House. " 'We must not be enemies,' " she continued, passing to let them gather inside the foyer beneath one of the presidential portraits that lined the wall. " 'Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection.' Abraham Lincoln."
The Secret Service agent had made this speech hundreds of times, but she had a knack of making it sound as though she'd just thought it up. Her name was Alicia Vargas, short and looking as though she was barely out of college, with her wide-spaced eyes bouncing from person to person as she explained the White House. Her large coat hid the fact that she was hoarding a Sig-Sauer pistol in the holster at her side. Offering up another smile, Alicia indicated the portrait that hung behind her, the sixteenth in the line of chief executives that began with George Washington and culminated today in George McKenna.
"President Lincoln said that in his first inaugural address. It's one of my favorites. I like to think, especially with all that's happening in the world, that those words are more important than ever."
With a shrug and a gesture, she motioned over towards the security desks where they had x-rays and metal detectors. The people fidgeted, obviously nervous. "I just want to repeat what you were told at the Main Gate. Obviously, with the President in residence today, we want to be especially careful. One at a time, please approach the desk, present a photo ID, place your bags and purses on the conveyer belt, and pass through the metal detector. Your possessions and all cameras will be returned to you when you leave. I know that sounds harsh, but I hope you understand."
As the people made their way down the line, one man in particular caught her eye. He was wearing a Red Sox baseball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses over his eyes. His hands were shoved deep into his trench coat pockets, and he slumped slightly. He wasn't doing anything wrong; in fact that was far from it. Most people when they visited the White house were excited, upbeat, impatient and impressed. This guy looked as though he didn't have a care in the world.
Alicia shrugged, moving on. As she ushered a woman through the lines quickly, she recalled the beginning of the tour, where they had first entered the gates. Now that she had thought about it, there was no Red Sox hat in the group. She turned back to look for the man, but when she did Alicia caught the last bit of a faint sound, the 'bamf' of imploding air.
Red Sox was gone.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
From another area of the compound, Special Agent Donald Carp was leaning against one of the doorways. The East Wing entrance hallway was mostly a back hallway, and currently was not in use. But when Donald's peripheral vision registered some kind of movement in one of the doorways, he immediately moved to investigate. When he turned to peer down the corridor, all he saw was darkness. That was one of the problems with the back hallways, they were hell to light properly. He figured it was probably nothing, but being bored he felt the need to pry. To his surprise, however, there was something. He didn't notice until the figure had stepped from the shadows though, revealing a stooped form dressed in a tan trench complete with a Red Sox baseball hat. Boy was he going to have fun ratting on Alicia for letting a tourist stray from the group. He reached for the man's shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir, are you lost? I'm afraid you can't leave the group- "
The man turned to face him, and Carp gasped, finding himself face to face with a demon. His skin was such a dark blue that it looked as though the man was engulfed in his own shadow, the only points of color his gleaming yellow eyes. His ears were pointed, his teeth were fangs, and the hand that grasped at Carp's arm possessed three fingers rather than the normal five.
Without a conscious thought, Carp went for his gun - but a pointed tail wrapped tight around his throat, cutting off his cries for help. The tail then spun him like a top until his head connected with a wall, a blinding pain ringing through his head. After that he never felt the blow to his neck, completing the act of knocking him unconscious. It was all over in a matter of seconds, but those seconds made all of the difference.
From the East entrance came Alicia's shout, gun already in her hand as she came careening through the doors and down the hallway. Carp's partner was closer however, and he lunged for the intruder - only to be tripped by a sideways sweep of the mutant's legs, revealing two-toed feet that matched his hands. The intruder leapt across the hall, grabbing onto Alicia's gun with his tail and tossing it down the hallway, landing near the ceiling. To Alicia's astonishment, he stuck there. Above the chandeliers he was suddenly harder to see, his dark skin tone matching the shadows. With a snarl he was gone, bouncing from ceiling to wall to floor, scampering around to the west wing.
Alicia used the mini-mic clipped to the inside of her sleeve. "Code Red," she cried. "Code Red. Perimeter breach at visitors' checkpoint! Agent Vargas in the Cross Hall, ten meters from the East Entrance. Intruder is hostile, two agents are down. Threat to Braveheart!"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the back of the mansion, in the opposite wing, President George McKenna was working on the phones, applying a measure of charm with a simple hint of threat to a senator hoping to mess up the latest administrative initiative. He looked up with irritation as the doors to his room were busted open and Sid Walters, head of his protection deail stormed inside. He had a gun in his hand, and from the look on his face, he wasn't going to be interested in any comment the President had to make.
"Say again," Walters snapped into his own mic, "how many are there?"
"What the hell-" The President began, but all questions and any thoughts evaporated as half a dozen more men paraded into his office, forming a living shield around his desk. Most of them were in suits, pistols in hand, but at least two of them were in full combat gear - helmets, flak jackets, and the works with MP5 submachine guns in their hands. This obviously was no drill. These men believed that he was in some deadly danger, and were willing to risk their lives for him.
McKenna heard a tiny voice demanding his attention, and only then did he realize that he still held the phone in his grip.
With a calmness that the President didn't know he had, he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Trent, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now, something's come up. I'll call you back as soon as I can, alright?" Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. "Sid?" He asked in a meek voice.
"You'll be fine, sir. You have our word."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The West Wing was a mad house, agents running around trying to clear everyone from the mansion as well as track down the intruder. There was no sense of order, that all had disappeared with the first gun shot. They weren't nice, and they weren't gentle either. Their goal was to get everyone out as fast as possible. The thing was, they were just as scared as the tourists. Surveillance cameras were proving useless, the intruder was to fast for the cameras, and by the time someone shouted a warning it was already too late.
Toby Vanscoy found that out the hard way. He had been clearing the civilians from the area when a scream alerted him of the mutant's presence. He reacted the way he had been trained, pulling his Sig-Sauer P226, one of the fastest handguns in the world, and opened fire. In the quick flash that he had wasted all fifteen of his shots, he realized that he had not even come close to hitting the target.
The intruder bounced off the walls, he leapt from floor to ceiling, he ran as easily upside down as he did on the floor, and then he hurled himself through the air in a somersault that ended with both feet planted firmly in Vanscoy's chest, sending him flying backwards through the air. It felt like he had just been smashed with a battering ram, loosing his gun as he busted through the double doors and crashed into the main office.
The intruder followed, straddling Toby's body only to find that six more soldiers blocked his way. He glanced over his shoulder only to see half a dozen more taking their places behind him, Scarlet dots decorated his body as their laser targeting locked onto him, the agents all in good cover while he was wide open. Glancing upward he also saw that it was also a drop ceiling over head, if he tried to grab onto the tiles they would only drop him back down to the floor. They figured they had him now.
"Hands behind your head, get down on your knees! Right now!" The mutant glanced down, to his surprise, to see Toby's extra pistol pointed right at him, shouting orders.
"Right now!" The lead agent from ahead snarled. "No tricks, or we'll open fire."
The intruder hissed, bearing his fangs. Vanscoy pulled the trigger, only to have his bullet hit the ceiling above.
The intruder had vanished.
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Chapter Four
"'We are not enemies, but friends,' " the tour guide said as she led the group through the East Wing entrance of the White House. " 'We must not be enemies,' " she continued, passing to let them gather inside the foyer beneath one of the presidential portraits that lined the wall. " 'Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection.' Abraham Lincoln."
The Secret Service agent had made this speech hundreds of times, but she had a knack of making it sound as though she'd just thought it up. Her name was Alicia Vargas, short and looking as though she was barely out of college, with her wide-spaced eyes bouncing from person to person as she explained the White House. Her large coat hid the fact that she was hoarding a Sig-Sauer pistol in the holster at her side. Offering up another smile, Alicia indicated the portrait that hung behind her, the sixteenth in the line of chief executives that began with George Washington and culminated today in George McKenna.
"President Lincoln said that in his first inaugural address. It's one of my favorites. I like to think, especially with all that's happening in the world, that those words are more important than ever."
With a shrug and a gesture, she motioned over towards the security desks where they had x-rays and metal detectors. The people fidgeted, obviously nervous. "I just want to repeat what you were told at the Main Gate. Obviously, with the President in residence today, we want to be especially careful. One at a time, please approach the desk, present a photo ID, place your bags and purses on the conveyer belt, and pass through the metal detector. Your possessions and all cameras will be returned to you when you leave. I know that sounds harsh, but I hope you understand."
As the people made their way down the line, one man in particular caught her eye. He was wearing a Red Sox baseball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses over his eyes. His hands were shoved deep into his trench coat pockets, and he slumped slightly. He wasn't doing anything wrong; in fact that was far from it. Most people when they visited the White house were excited, upbeat, impatient and impressed. This guy looked as though he didn't have a care in the world.
Alicia shrugged, moving on. As she ushered a woman through the lines quickly, she recalled the beginning of the tour, where they had first entered the gates. Now that she had thought about it, there was no Red Sox hat in the group. She turned back to look for the man, but when she did Alicia caught the last bit of a faint sound, the 'bamf' of imploding air.
Red Sox was gone.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
From another area of the compound, Special Agent Donald Carp was leaning against one of the doorways. The East Wing entrance hallway was mostly a back hallway, and currently was not in use. But when Donald's peripheral vision registered some kind of movement in one of the doorways, he immediately moved to investigate. When he turned to peer down the corridor, all he saw was darkness. That was one of the problems with the back hallways, they were hell to light properly. He figured it was probably nothing, but being bored he felt the need to pry. To his surprise, however, there was something. He didn't notice until the figure had stepped from the shadows though, revealing a stooped form dressed in a tan trench complete with a Red Sox baseball hat. Boy was he going to have fun ratting on Alicia for letting a tourist stray from the group. He reached for the man's shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir, are you lost? I'm afraid you can't leave the group- "
The man turned to face him, and Carp gasped, finding himself face to face with a demon. His skin was such a dark blue that it looked as though the man was engulfed in his own shadow, the only points of color his gleaming yellow eyes. His ears were pointed, his teeth were fangs, and the hand that grasped at Carp's arm possessed three fingers rather than the normal five.
Without a conscious thought, Carp went for his gun - but a pointed tail wrapped tight around his throat, cutting off his cries for help. The tail then spun him like a top until his head connected with a wall, a blinding pain ringing through his head. After that he never felt the blow to his neck, completing the act of knocking him unconscious. It was all over in a matter of seconds, but those seconds made all of the difference.
From the East entrance came Alicia's shout, gun already in her hand as she came careening through the doors and down the hallway. Carp's partner was closer however, and he lunged for the intruder - only to be tripped by a sideways sweep of the mutant's legs, revealing two-toed feet that matched his hands. The intruder leapt across the hall, grabbing onto Alicia's gun with his tail and tossing it down the hallway, landing near the ceiling. To Alicia's astonishment, he stuck there. Above the chandeliers he was suddenly harder to see, his dark skin tone matching the shadows. With a snarl he was gone, bouncing from ceiling to wall to floor, scampering around to the west wing.
Alicia used the mini-mic clipped to the inside of her sleeve. "Code Red," she cried. "Code Red. Perimeter breach at visitors' checkpoint! Agent Vargas in the Cross Hall, ten meters from the East Entrance. Intruder is hostile, two agents are down. Threat to Braveheart!"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the back of the mansion, in the opposite wing, President George McKenna was working on the phones, applying a measure of charm with a simple hint of threat to a senator hoping to mess up the latest administrative initiative. He looked up with irritation as the doors to his room were busted open and Sid Walters, head of his protection deail stormed inside. He had a gun in his hand, and from the look on his face, he wasn't going to be interested in any comment the President had to make.
"Say again," Walters snapped into his own mic, "how many are there?"
"What the hell-" The President began, but all questions and any thoughts evaporated as half a dozen more men paraded into his office, forming a living shield around his desk. Most of them were in suits, pistols in hand, but at least two of them were in full combat gear - helmets, flak jackets, and the works with MP5 submachine guns in their hands. This obviously was no drill. These men believed that he was in some deadly danger, and were willing to risk their lives for him.
McKenna heard a tiny voice demanding his attention, and only then did he realize that he still held the phone in his grip.
With a calmness that the President didn't know he had, he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Trent, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now, something's come up. I'll call you back as soon as I can, alright?" Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. "Sid?" He asked in a meek voice.
"You'll be fine, sir. You have our word."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The West Wing was a mad house, agents running around trying to clear everyone from the mansion as well as track down the intruder. There was no sense of order, that all had disappeared with the first gun shot. They weren't nice, and they weren't gentle either. Their goal was to get everyone out as fast as possible. The thing was, they were just as scared as the tourists. Surveillance cameras were proving useless, the intruder was to fast for the cameras, and by the time someone shouted a warning it was already too late.
Toby Vanscoy found that out the hard way. He had been clearing the civilians from the area when a scream alerted him of the mutant's presence. He reacted the way he had been trained, pulling his Sig-Sauer P226, one of the fastest handguns in the world, and opened fire. In the quick flash that he had wasted all fifteen of his shots, he realized that he had not even come close to hitting the target.
The intruder bounced off the walls, he leapt from floor to ceiling, he ran as easily upside down as he did on the floor, and then he hurled himself through the air in a somersault that ended with both feet planted firmly in Vanscoy's chest, sending him flying backwards through the air. It felt like he had just been smashed with a battering ram, loosing his gun as he busted through the double doors and crashed into the main office.
The intruder followed, straddling Toby's body only to find that six more soldiers blocked his way. He glanced over his shoulder only to see half a dozen more taking their places behind him, Scarlet dots decorated his body as their laser targeting locked onto him, the agents all in good cover while he was wide open. Glancing upward he also saw that it was also a drop ceiling over head, if he tried to grab onto the tiles they would only drop him back down to the floor. They figured they had him now.
"Hands behind your head, get down on your knees! Right now!" The mutant glanced down, to his surprise, to see Toby's extra pistol pointed right at him, shouting orders.
"Right now!" The lead agent from ahead snarled. "No tricks, or we'll open fire."
The intruder hissed, bearing his fangs. Vanscoy pulled the trigger, only to have his bullet hit the ceiling above.
The intruder had vanished.