Chapter 9
As soon as the fires were out, a search was instituted. Agents went in a methodical path from the Residence elevator toward what would have been the West Wing.
They were looking for bodies.
Against all hope, they didn't want to find one specific body.
As the agents progressed through the West Wing lobby, one agent yelled out. "I've found something."
A crushed wheelchair had been found. That gave the agents hope that the First Lady was nearby. Slowly, they picked their way through more debris, but with little luck.
"Mrs. Bartlet, can you hear me?"
Maybe she could hear them. If so, that would be a good sign.
A faint voice was heard in the quiet. "Yes. I hear you."
Immediate confirmation of contact was flashed to headquarters. And onto Maine.
"Where are you?"
"Stuck between some beams, I think. We're in some sort of closet."
"Yes, ma'am. Please keep talking so we can find you."
"Are you injured?"
Trying to maintain her calm, Abbey replied, "I don't think too bad. But I want out."
"Yes, ma'am."
Abbey's voice guided the agents to the general location.
She shut her eyes when light found its way into the darkness. But they soon opened to see her rescuer's face. A beautiful sight.
The light showed Abbey buried in debris up to her waist and cuts on her arms and face. The agents couldn't tell what injuries she had experienced on her lower body. So they knew that they had to be very careful in getting the First Lady out.
"Just stay where you are. We need to remove the debris and then we'll get you out."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Yes, ma'am."