side entrance. The guards stood outside in the cold night air while the Senator and her bodyguard entered a spacious lobby decorated with antique furnishings.
Watson took in the sight of ornate gold chandeliers suspended from the ceiling as they walked toward a desk at the far side of the lobby. It was like a reception desk found at any expensive hotel. They were not surprised to find a pair of suited guards sitting there to greet them as they approached.
“Hello, Senator Keating. The Chief of Staff is ready to see you in his office,” one of the guards said as he pressed a switch on his security console and a large metal door next to the desk swung open.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait in the lobby until she returns,” the other guard said as he stood from his cushioned seat and pointed to the Senator’s bodyguard. “ You’re welcome to wait over there until she returns,” he added, pointing to a row of comfortable-looking antique couches lined up along the wall.
“Sure, I know the drill,” Fahey said, smiling and taking a seat on one of the couches.
The first guard scrutinized the Senator’s face and checked it against a picture of her on his computer screen as she walked toward the doorway. Cassandra passed through a metal detector and entered a long corridor with faded Civil War paintings depicting graphic scenes of battle on the walls. A video surveillance camera tracked her movement. As she walked, she glanced at the paintings of blue and gray uniformed men firing ancient rifles and cannons at each other.
Watson reached an intersection with another wider corridor and took a right toward the Chief of Staff’s office. She knew that her every movement was being monitored by guards in hidden security rooms. This realization did not help her to relax as she approached the office. The door was open and she found the Chief of Staff sitting at his desk.
“Good afternoon, Senator. I trust you’ve had a pleasant stay in the capitol so far?” the short, gray-haired, middle-aged man asked as he stood and walked toward her with an outstretched hand.
The pseudo-Senator shut the door tactfully and walked toward the Chief of Staff. She smiled, shook his hand, and sat down in an antique chair on the side of the desk closest to the door. The Chief of Staff returned to his black-leather, high-backed office chair on the other side of the desk. He folded his hands on the desk and smiled at Cassandra.
“So what can I do for you today, Senator?”
“Oh, just the usual,” Cassandra replied, smiling, as she reached into her black leather purse.
Her hand came out of the purse holding a black plastic rectangle, which resembled one of the old electric stun guns of the late twentieth century. Cassandra pressed a switch on the side of the device and fired a plastic needle into the man’s neck before his face could register surprise. The Chief of Staff grasped at the five-inch dart penetrating his throat. He tried to use his hands to block a miniature geyser of blood spurting from his neck. Blood oozed through his fingers like red syrup as he tried to speak and all that came out was a sickening gurgle. A blood pool formed on the edge of the desk and dripped over the side like a spilled glass of wine.
Watson stood suddenly from her chair and ran toward the right-hand wall. She knocked a picture aside and pushed at a section of the wall. It gave way to a small video surveillance room about the size of a walk-in closet where two security officers sat staring in mute shock at a pair of television monitors showing the Chief of Staff slumped over his desk in a puddle of blood.
The closest guard reached for his gun, but she shot him in the throat with a plastic dart before he could draw it. The second guard stood from his chair and pulled out his gun as two needles struck him in the face. He fell back into the wall, clutching
Watson took in the sight of ornate gold chandeliers suspended from the ceiling as they walked toward a desk at the far side of the lobby. It was like a reception desk found at any expensive hotel. They were not surprised to find a pair of suited guards sitting there to greet them as they approached.
“Hello, Senator Keating. The Chief of Staff is ready to see you in his office,” one of the guards said as he pressed a switch on his security console and a large metal door next to the desk swung open.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait in the lobby until she returns,” the other guard said as he stood from his cushioned seat and pointed to the Senator’s bodyguard. “ You’re welcome to wait over there until she returns,” he added, pointing to a row of comfortable-looking antique couches lined up along the wall.
“Sure, I know the drill,” Fahey said, smiling and taking a seat on one of the couches.
The first guard scrutinized the Senator’s face and checked it against a picture of her on his computer screen as she walked toward the doorway. Cassandra passed through a metal detector and entered a long corridor with faded Civil War paintings depicting graphic scenes of battle on the walls. A video surveillance camera tracked her movement. As she walked, she glanced at the paintings of blue and gray uniformed men firing ancient rifles and cannons at each other.
Watson reached an intersection with another wider corridor and took a right toward the Chief of Staff’s office. She knew that her every movement was being monitored by guards in hidden security rooms. This realization did not help her to relax as she approached the office. The door was open and she found the Chief of Staff sitting at his desk.
“Good afternoon, Senator. I trust you’ve had a pleasant stay in the capitol so far?” the short, gray-haired, middle-aged man asked as he stood and walked toward her with an outstretched hand.
The pseudo-Senator shut the door tactfully and walked toward the Chief of Staff. She smiled, shook his hand, and sat down in an antique chair on the side of the desk closest to the door. The Chief of Staff returned to his black-leather, high-backed office chair on the other side of the desk. He folded his hands on the desk and smiled at Cassandra.
“So what can I do for you today, Senator?”
“Oh, just the usual,” Cassandra replied, smiling, as she reached into her black leather purse.
Her hand came out of the purse holding a black plastic rectangle, which resembled one of the old electric stun guns of the late twentieth century. Cassandra pressed a switch on the side of the device and fired a plastic needle into the man’s neck before his face could register surprise. The Chief of Staff grasped at the five-inch dart penetrating his throat. He tried to use his hands to block a miniature geyser of blood spurting from his neck. Blood oozed through his fingers like red syrup as he tried to speak and all that came out was a sickening gurgle. A blood pool formed on the edge of the desk and dripped over the side like a spilled glass of wine.
Watson stood suddenly from her chair and ran toward the right-hand wall. She knocked a picture aside and pushed at a section of the wall. It gave way to a small video surveillance room about the size of a walk-in closet where two security officers sat staring in mute shock at a pair of television monitors showing the Chief of Staff slumped over his desk in a puddle of blood.
The closest guard reached for his gun, but she shot him in the throat with a plastic dart before he could draw it. The second guard stood from his chair and pulled out his gun as two needles struck him in the face. He fell back into the wall, clutching
Similar Books
