Horsemen's War (The Rebellion Chronicles #3) - Steve McHugh Page 0,53
you’ll have me.” I offered my hand.
President Lopez shook my hand without hesitation. “I’d be honored.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Roberto, I assume you’re staying to help.”
“I would like that very much, yes,” Roberto said.
“Good,” I told him. “So now that the pleasantries are done, why is everyone freaking out and getting angry?”
“The president has been taken captive by your people,” President Lopez said. “We want him back. Obviously.”
“Actually, I don’t think we have taken him anywhere,” I said. “Last I heard, he had been taken into the FBI’s or Secret Service’s custody. He’s not our prisoner.” I looked at Jinayca and Orfeda, who both nodded.
“Then tell us where he is,” General Blake said, although it sounded a lot less like a pompous demand now.
I shrugged. “How do you lose your own president? He has to be here somewhere; it’s not like he can just get up and walk off.”
“He was seen with several human agents,” Orfeda said. “They were taking him back into the White House.”
“The house that is still on fire?” I asked. “That seems like a bad idea.”
“So no one knows where a possibly traitorous president is,” President Lopez said, clearly exasperated.
“Anyone asked his wife?” I asked.
“She’s as surprised about it all as anyone else,” General Blake said.
“I’ll go check the White House,” I said. “I’ll try not to set fire to your building again.”
“Please do,” President Lopez said with the tug of a smile at her lips.
“Roberto, you want to join me?” I asked.
“Go with him,” President Lopez said. “Nate, if you find the president, please don’t hurt him. We’d like him unscathed when we press charges.”
“I’m coming too,” Jinayca said. “Anyone who argues will get a punch.”
No one argued.
Roberto, Jinayca, and I had only just left the tent when a young black woman wearing a charcoal suit that was more than a little singed walked over. “Nate Garrett?” she asked.
“I’ll catch you up,” I told Jinayca and Roberto before turning back to the agent. “That’s me.”
“The president’s wife wants to talk to you.”
“After you,” I said and followed the agent to a tent at the far side of the square, where four Secret Service agents stood guard.
I was ushered inside and found the president’s wife sitting at a small wooden table, a notebook in front of her and pen in hand. She placed the pen on the book as I walked in.
“You are Nathaniel Garrett, yes?” she asked.
“Nate,” I said.
Heather Reed, at only forty-six, was ten years younger than her husband. She was five three at most, petite, with long hair that was partly gray. From what I’d heard over the years, she did not suffer fools gladly and had been the backbone of her husband’s campaign to be elected.
“Nate, my husband is being called a traitor,” she said.
“Pretty much,” I said.
“I don’t believe it,” she replied. “My husband is not perfect. He’s stubborn and impetuous, but he’s not a traitor.”
“He sided with Avalon,” I said. “I was there. I saw it. I saw the smugness on his face.”
“My husband is not normally a smug man,” Heather said firmly. “I’ve seen a change in him in recent weeks. He’s cold, distant, and sharp with people. He’s quicker to temper, and he scares me. It may seem strange, but he doesn’t feel like the man I married and have supported all this time.”
“Heather,” I said as softly as possible, “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Tell me you’ll find Andrew,” Heather requested, getting to her feet. “Just find him. The man in the White House today is not my husband. Every now and again, I think I see flashes of something else, just behind the face.” She looked thoughtful. “Something wrong.”
“I’ll find him,” I told her, if only to put her mind at rest.
She reached out and took my hand in hers. “Thank you.”
I turned to leave.
“It was his eyes,” she said.
I stopped at the tent entrance and turned back to her. “What about his eyes?”
“I caught sight of them the other day,” she said with a slight shudder. “He’d lost his temper, throwing things around, hurling abuse at staff. I walked in, and his eyes . . . they weren’t his.”
“What were they?” I asked.
“Like fire,” she said with a frown. “I know that might sound silly.”
Oh shit. I sprinted out of the tent without another word, catching up to Jinayca and Roberto, who were just entering the White House grounds. “We have a big problem,” I said, running past them without stopping.