“Alex!”
Nana Mama screamed so loud I heard her in my basement office. I had been unable to get hold of Mahoney, so I decided not to cancel my office hours.
“Alex, come up here now!”
I was between patients and heard the horror in her voice. I bolted up the stairs into the kitchen.
My grandmother was standing by the kitchen table, her mouth open, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They just interrupted my Rachael Ray,” she said. “They think the president’s been shot.”
“What?” I said, my stomach plunging as I moved around to see the television. “Where? When?”
“The DC arena,” she said. “Some youth congress. Maybe ten minutes ago.”
Nana had the screen tuned to CNN, which was in full alert mode. Wolf Blitzer was talking nonstop over looping video that showed President Hobbs entering the arena and working the rope line, upright and smiling, before the camera went dark.
“Every network feed was hacked and cut just a few moments before the president collapsed,” Blitzer said. “Witnesses said Hobbs appeared to jerk as if shot before falling back against his Secret Service agents. There have been no reports of guns seen or fired inside the arena, which has lost power and is under lockdown.
“We have confirmed reports that President Hobbs is being rushed to Walter Reed. We also have confirmed that Secretary of Defense Harold Murphy, widely considered the top candidate to be named Hobbs’s vice president, was also wounded and en route to…hold on.”
The feed cut to Blitzer, who was listening to his earbud, his expression turning graver and graver before he looked up into the camera and said, “We have just confirmed that U.S. treasury secretary Abigail Bowman has been shot and killed near the New York Stock Exchange along with two of her bodyguards.”
“Jesus,” I said, shocked, even though I’d suspected something terrible was in the works. “The president? Treasury? Defense?”
“It’s a plot, a conspiracy!” Nana Mama said. “Just like JFK! Someone’s trying to overthrow the government!”
Before I could agree, Blitzer announced that trading at all U.S. financial markets had been suspended, and the U.S. Capitol Building, the U.S. Supreme Court Building, and all federal buildings in the District of Columbia were being locked down.
My cell phone rang. Bree.
“Are you seeing this?” she said, sounding unnerved.
“I’m watching with Nana,” I said.
“I should have listened to you.”
“Doesn’t matter, and I’m not happy about being right. What’s going on there?”
“It’s chaos. We’re deploying around the DC arena. I’m heading there now.”
“Keep me posted. I’ll try Ned again.”
I hung up and hit Mahoney’s number on speed dial even as I watched the feed jump to Walter Reed and footage of an ambulance racing through the gates.
Blitzer said, “That was the scene two minutes ago as the president’s medical team tried to keep him alive and get him to an operating room. We’re awaiting a statement on President Hobbs’s condition, but early reports indicate he was badly wounded.”
The screen jumped to the scene outside the DC arena, where FBI SWAT officers were piling out of vans armed with automatic weapons.
Blitzer said, “No one is being allowed in or out of what has become without a doubt the biggest crime scene in the world. CNN will be focused exclusively on this fast-breaking story and—”
Mahoney’s work cell rang and didn’t go to that robotic voice. I went into the other room, listening to the ringing. He never answered. I left a message, went back to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Nana Mama said, “Capitol Hill Police are ordering congressmen and senators to stay in their offices while dogs are searching all federal buildings.”
On the screen, Blitzer sent coverage live to the White House, where the press corps was in pandemonium, shouting questions at Dolores St. Mary, President Hobbs’s shocked and rattled press secretary.
“What’s the president’s condition?” one yelled.
“Who’s in charge, Dolores?” shouted another.
“Who’s running the country?” a third demanded.