THE FIRST LADY looks exhausted and it’s apparent she’s in pain from her severed finger, but I have no doubt she’s still in control. She takes one more step onto the porch and says, “I know you. You’re Agent Grissom.”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am,” I reply, “but we don’t have time for this. I need to get you out of here as soon as possible. You’re in terrible danger.”
She looks over me and says, “Are you alone?”
“I have an SUV waiting for us at the bottom of the road.” I step one more time closer to the porch and say, “Ma’am, I really must insist. The chief of staff, he—”
“The chief of staff is a pimp,” she says. “Did he send you here? Does he know where I am?”
“Ma’am, my agents and I, we’re here by ourselves,” I say. “As far as I know, Mr. Hoyt doesn’t know you’re here. But he means to do you harm. He’s agreed to make the ransom payment, but he won’t allow the President to make a national statement on his…indiscretions. And if that means causing you harm, I don’t doubt he’ll do it.”
She looks to her father and says, “Dad, I told you that was too much.”
“Don’t care,” her father says. “I wanted to hurt the son of a bitch as much as he hurt you.”
Enough is enough. I jump up on the porch, nearly stumble, and I grab the shotgun by the barrel and fling it onto the gravel behind me. Mr. Fuller is so surprised he just sits there, and I grab the First Lady by her good arm and say, “Ma’am, we’re leaving. I’m responsible for your safety, and I don’t know how he’s going to do it, but I know the chief of staff doesn’t want you around. He sees you as an embarrassment.”
I manage to propel her down the wooden steps, and she tries to wriggle out of my grasp. “Dad! Come along! Please!”
He shakes his head, stands up. “No politician or lackey is going to run me off my own property. You two get along. If somebody shows up, well, I won’t be defenseless. I intend to get my shotgun back.”
“Please, ma’am,” I say, and I half-shove, half-drag her down the driveway. I swivel around, and true to his word, Mr. Fuller is easing his way down the porch steps to retrieve his shotgun.
The First Lady doesn’t put up much resistance and I bring my left arm up to my mouth, toggle the radio. “Scotty, Scotty, this is Grissom. Can you hear me?”
I push and drag. I repeat myself. “Scotty, Scotty, this is Grissom. I need you up here, with the Suburban. Now.”
Still no answer.
We move about six or eight meters when I hear the sound of an engine, and I think, good, Scotty’s heard me and he’s on his way.
The First Lady says, “What’s that over there?”
I look and see it’s a helicopter, a Kiowa by the looks of it, and it’s armed with a weapons pylon on each side.
“Scotty, Scotty, this is Grissom! I need you now!”
Still no answer.
I look up at the approaching military-style helicopter and think, damn, too late.