feet away.
She was shakily aiming her service pistol at him, and he could see doubt and fear all about her.
“Federal agent!” Franks cried, showing her the badge and ID. “Don’t shoot!”
“Down on the ground!” she shouted.
“You’re making a mistake, rookie,” he warned her as he started to lower himself down. “I was chasing the killer. He’s getting—”
A squall of rain hit them. He dropped to his knees, went for the gun, snagged it expertly, and whipped it out, intending to shoot the young cop.
She shot first and hit Franks square in the chest. He staggered back in disbelief but still tried to aim at her. She shot him twice more.
He fell on his back, dying.
Franks’s last vision was of the cop standing over him, aiming at him.
“No rookie mistake, man,” she said, her voice taunting and quivering both. “No rookie mistake at all.”
CHAPTER
60
ROUGHLY TWO HOURS after President Hobbs was shot, Mahoney and I lifted off the roof of FBI headquarters in a helicopter bound for Joint Base Andrews, which used to be known as Andrews Air Force Base.
Looking down on the nation’s capital, I saw tanks flanking the bridges and armed soldiers amassing on every corner. There were cops and FBI agents searching every vehicle trying to leave Washington. In all my years in DC, I had never seen this level of military presence, not even after 9/11.
The media was painting the mood of the country as bordering on panic. There were reports of runs on grocery stores and on guns and ammunition. People were frightened and desperate to know what was happening.
“We’ll catch him,” Mahoney said, breaking into my thoughts. “With or without professional footage of the actual shooting.”
“Krazy Kat said he thought he could do something,” I said.
Ned cringed. “Did we have to bring him in?”
“Rawlins is the best there is,” I said. “I figure he’s our only chance of getting a look at the killer anytime soon.”
Mahoney grunted and looked at his phone screen. We flew within sight of my home, and I looked toward it, wondering when I’d return. For a moment, I shut my eyes and prayed it would happen sooner rather than later.
We landed on a helipad at Andrews, not far from Marine One, the president’s helicopter. Air Force One was there, but it looked different to me. There were three other planes just like it, all unmarked, all Boeing E-4s, sitting on the tarmac along with ten fighter jets and half a dozen private jets.
Armed airmen inspected our FBI identifications. Everywhere we looked, we saw battle-ready soldiers and airmen.
For the first time, it felt to me like we really could be a nation at war.
My generation of Americans had never experienced political assassination. And nothing of this magnitude had ever happened in U.S. history.
That shook me. It really did. I understood why people might feel on the verge of panic. No one knew who or what was behind the attacks or what might be coming next. That dread and uncertainty were enough to push people right to the edge psychologically, and I expected to hear about looting and civil unrest before too long.
A soldier led us into an open hangar, and we entered a space big enough to hold a C-130 cargo jet or two. As we crossed the hangar floor, I looked down at my casual clothes and felt underdressed to meet the president, even given the circumstances. Nana Mama would have been appalled.
The soldier stopped and stood aside, and I followed Mahoney into a large room with six long rectangular tables.
Around the tables sat perhaps twenty people, several of whom I knew at a glance. Samuel Larkin, the acting president, was huddled at the far end of one table with FBI director Sanford, General Hayes, and Homeland Security director Elaine Monroe as well as CIA director Felix White.
I recognized the upset faces of enough other people at the table to realize they were the surviving members of the cabinet. John Watts, the chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, was there as well. So were the leaders of both parties in both houses of Congress.
“What in God’s name am I doing in this room?” I whispered to Mahoney.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Mahoney said.
“Mahoney, Cross,” FBI director Sanford said, waving us toward the president.
We shook hands with Larkin.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr. Cross,” he said in a grave voice. “Director Sanford said you and Special Agent Mahoney were the people he wanted involved in the investigation immediately.”
“Well,” I