PROLOGUE
Hayley Chill exits the Oval Office through a door that opens onto the Rose Garden and must pause to admire the absurd perfection of the balmy weather outside. The bright sunshine and brilliant green of the executive mansion’s grounds are a stark contrast to the bedlam inside the West Wing on this dreadful day. The twenty-seven-year-old White House staffer—flaxen hair and powder blue eyes notwithstanding—is unnoticed by Secret Service and FBI agents driven into a frenzy by the unfolding crisis. Wait until the full story comes out, Hayley muses as she walks up West Executive Drive. America won’t know what hit her. But the pandemonium has provided Hayley with a welcome diversion. Weighing on her mind as she leaves the White House complex, most likely for the last time, is the awareness she will be on a list of those held accountable. This failure of national proportions will demand a host of sacrificial lambs.
Hayley catches up with three housekeepers—two Filipinas and a Latina—as they exit the security gate at Seventeenth Street, on the west side of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. The residence staff members were the first to be released by the Secret Service.
“I’m looking for Alberto Barrios, one of the president’s valets. Have you seen him today?”
The Latina housekeeper nods and points across Seventeenth, indicating a man on foot, just turning the corner at G Street and heading west.
“Alberto,” the housekeeper says.
By the time she has jogged across the bustling avenue and rounded the corner at G Street, Hayley sees Barrios has already advanced halfway up the block. The Cuban, tall and broad shouldered, walks with a brisk pace. Hayley increases her gait to narrow the distance between them. She hasn’t a coherent plan or strategy. Barrios must be apprehended, at the very least. Stopping him before he flees the country is all that matters.
What is the extent of the man’s training? Is he armed? Where does he intend to rendezvous with his compatriots? These questions stay unanswered as Hayley follows Barrios up the mostly quiet side street. The skills she developed in the US Army, as one of the first female graduates to earn the blue cord, kick into gear. Intercepting the Cuban well before he makes contact with his associates is an absolute imperative. By any means necessary, she must detain him long enough for the police to arrive. Careful to maintain a discreet distance from her target, Hayley retrieves her phone and dials 911.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
Hayley covers her mouth as she speaks into the phone. “A man and a woman are fighting on the sidewalk. Twenty-one hundred block of G Street.”
“Ma’am, do they have any weapons?” the operator asks.
“The man has a gun.” She sees Barrios crossing the street in the middle of the block. Has he detected her pursuit? Into the phone, she says, “Please send the police. Quickly!”
Hayley disconnects the call before the operator can request she stay on the line. Pausing on her side of the street, she observes her target entering the GW Delicatessen. His turn toward the store is abrupt. Not natural in the least. To prolong the hope that Barrios is unaware of her presence would be a dangerous indulgence in wishful thinking. The real chase has begun.
As Hayley crosses the street, she considers the possibility that the deli has a rear exit, one that will provide the Cuban an escape. She could continue to the end of the block with a plan of intercepting him on Twenty-Second Street. But Barrios could be watching from inside and exit through the front door once she’s around the corner. Hayley calculates that her best chance for success is to follow him inside.
She imagines how the next few minutes will unfold. Violence will come. Blood will be spilled. Hayley has been here before. The experience has always been the same. There is a flattening of sound. Colors become oversaturated. Time is elongated, certain to be followed by a sudden lurching of events into hyper speed. Instinct is a pivotal factor in these situations. Training. Muscle memory takes over, as well as the brute willpower to prevail and survive. She pauses at the threshold of the convenience store, to breathe and modulate heart rate. Her eyes take in everything. Ears detect every sound, however minuscule.
Now, Hayley tells herself. This.
Pushing the glass door open, she enters the cramped delicatessen. Occupying a narrow storefront, the owners have maximized the limited space with high shelving that runs the length of the interior. A female cashier restocks the shelves directly behind a checkout counter, to the left of the entry door. The Cuban operative is nowhere in sight. As Hayley makes her way toward the back of the store, she notes the absence of surveillance cameras. Did Barrios, familiar with the store, select this location for that reason? Hayley feels the hairs on her forearms go up.
The deli counter at the rear of the store is deserted. Looking past the refrigerated case displaying an assortment of meats, cheeses, and salads, Hayley clocks the rear emergency exit door she intuited would be there. Weighing the likelihood that Barrios has fled, Hayley considers her next move. A restroom to the right of the rear exit offers another possibility. Checking the door, she finds it unlocked.
Every instinct sounds an alarm. Hayley puts herself in Barrios’s shoes. He thinks he can take me. She pauses to look over her shoulder, to the deli counter behind her. A magnetic strip over the prep counter is easily within access, offering an array of long knives. She quickly discards the thought. Instead, Hayley retrieves her set of keys, positioning three of them between her index and middle fingers.
She pushes open the door.
The dingy restroom isn’t much larger than a broom closet, fitted only with a filthy washbasin. Her prey is not in sight. A door leading into what must be the toilet is to Hayley’s left. She sets her feet far apart for a stable foundation and pushes the inner door open, revealing Barrios crouched on the toilet seat.
The Cuban agent seizes Hayley by the left arm and hauls her toward him. Simultaneously, he steps off his perch and thrusts a knife at her with his other hand. Hayley deflects his knife thrust with her left arm and punches with her right fist, driving the spiked keys into the soft tissue of Barrios’s face. She strikes him this way repeatedly in swift succession, gouging the Cuban’s cheeks and right eye. He wobbles under her furious assault, regains traction, and comes at her again with his fist closed around the knife handle. Striking out blindly, Barrios connects with a blow to her right temple. Hayley’s knees buckle. As she starts falling, he kicks her hard in the shin with a steel-tipped boot. Pain rockets up her spine and seems to explode from the top of Hayley’s head. Constricted by the narrow confines, Barrios awkwardly flips the knife forward and stabs at his adversary. She ducks, avoiding the blade by inches. The knife’s tip pierces the cheap, hollow-core door behind her. The big Cuban expends a few precious seconds to extract the knife, providing Hayley the opportunity to regroup.
In that cramped space, the two operatives—one male in his forties and the other female, twenty-seven—trade desperate blows. Their fight is ferocious but not long in duration. Barrios cannot exploit his larger physical size. Can’t extend the full reach of his punches. Hayley brings force to bear with the understanding that she made the correct decision in rejecting the choice of a long knife from behind the deli counter. Her spiked fist is equally devastating and much more maneuverable. Her agility overwhelms the Cuban. Hayley inflicts far more damage on him than she receives.