“When?”
“In college. The girls’ dorm was adjacent to the guys’. We figured out that we could crawl through the air-conditioning duct to bypass the RAs in the common area.”
“You snuck through the ductwork to hook up with your boyfriend?” Harper shook her head in amazement.
“No! Of course not. We, um, were studying.”
“Aw, shit, Becker. Regardless, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to crawl around up there.”
Becker insisted, “I can do it. I swear. I just need a table, a chair, and a boost. Leave the rest to me.”
“And then what?”
“Well, I’ll try to unlock the partition-wall door, and we’ll find a way around those goons. If not, I’ll go to Figueroa’s office or find another friendly face. I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing.”
Harper knew she wouldn’t be able to stop the strong-willed Becker from the hairbrained idea. She studied the vent opening and then looked at her assistant. She sighed and shrugged. Becker might just be able to pull it off.
Becker rallied the troops and they cleared off one of the banquet tables. Next, they positioned a chair under the vent. With the assistance of the guys, she was hoisted upward to pull the small latches holding the vent grate in place. It swung open, revealing the boxy, sheet-metal HVAC duct.
Less than a minute later, with her cell phone’s flashlight feature illuminated, Becker was crawling along the sheet metal using her elbows and feet to propel her forward. Her movements could be tracked by the sounds emanating from the ceiling. With each movement, the sound of a bass drum echoed through the vent and into the conference room.
Suddenly, her movements stopped and the bass drum stopped playing. Everyone in the room looked to one another out of concern for Becker’s safety. The group pushed closer to the opening in the ceiling and looked up. And then Becker’s voice changed. It was her best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression.
“I’ll be back.”
Chapter Three
Office of Congressman Joe Mills
Longworth House Office Building
Washington, DC
Joe had exchanged text messages with Harper earlier that day before she boarded the CDC Learjet to return to Las Vegas. This was what their life together was like.
When Congress was in session, he spent every waking hour working on the business of the congressional committees he chaired and every politician’s primary job—fundraising. From the moment a congressman was elected, he began working on his re-election. Their term of office was two years, the shortest of any Washington elected official, and therefore required an inordinate amount of time and money to maintain their campaign coffers.
Joe was well-liked in the 6th Congressional District located in the northeastern suburbs of Atlanta. He’d not had a serious challenge since his first campaign, but he wasn’t one to rest on his laurels. That evening, following another contentious budget hearing in which he tortuously challenged the Taylor administration’s budget director over perceived fuzzy math and political paybacks, he turned in early for the night.
Like a handful of other congressmen before him, Joe opted to live in his office while he was in Washington. Literally. He’d splurged, to put it mildly, on a Restoration Hardware sleeper sofa. The plush Belgian linen was so luxurious that most visitors to his office hesitated to sit on it, opting instead for the two chairs that flanked his desk.
Joe’s work could be mentally and emotionally draining. He always had to be on his toes, which required him to be well-informed of events domestically and internationally. There was always a reporter lurking around every corner with a gotcha question meant to embarrass politicians. His hearings often included in-depth research performed by the Taylor administration and his opponents across the aisle. If he was caught unaware about a topic, the media would have a field day at his expense.
He’d instructed his chief of staff, Andy Spangler, to keep him up to speed on current events, as well as Washington rumors. Joe vowed to avoid being blindsided and the embarrassing task of explaining why he was uninformed.
There had been times in the past when Chief of Staff Spangler had phoned him in the middle of the night. Typically, this occurred during significant international events or potential catastrophes like the discovery of a threat posed by an asteroid dubbed IM86 several years ago. Through the great work of NASA and a true American hero, the diversion and destruction methods had been successful in breaking up the potential planet killer. The nation had come together to respond, much like it had tried to do during the COVID-19 pandemic.
The back-to-back natural disasters were a reminder to Joe that you could never let your guard down when it came to catastrophic events. He recalled having a conversation with Harper about the asteroid.
The day before, they’d spent time with her family at Randolph House, visiting local museums and enjoying pork barbecue in the backyard. The next day, after Spangler had notified him of the threat, they were watching the skies, wondering if it would fall upon them, as Chicken Little had warned. He’d quipped, you just never know when the day before is the day before.
So when Spangler gently tapped on his office door and opened it without calling first, Joe’s half-awake state of mind assumed the worst. Now what?
“Joe, are you awake?” The two longtime friends and associates were on a first-name basis with each other when in private.
“Andy? Um, yeah. What’s up?” Joe sat up in bed and reached over the arm of the sofa to turn on a tabletop lamp. The subdued amber glow lit up the room.
“I’m sorry to wake you like this,” he began. “I kinda figured Harper wouldn’t call you.”
“Wait. What? Is Harper okay?”
Joe jumped out of bed and raced to his desk in search of his phone. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts and an Atlanta Braves tee shirt.
“She’s fine. Well, she’s not hurt or in any kind of danger. It’s just, um—” Spangler searched for the words.
Joe illuminated his phone and studied the display. There’d been no phone calls or text messages. He retrieved his emails as he spoke. “Spit it out, Andy. What is it?”
“Harper’s in Vegas, as you know. Governor Rickey called out the Nevada Guard to quarantine downtown Las Vegas.”
“Quarantine? I’m surprised Harper wouldn’t give me a heads-up.”
“Joe, she didn’t know about it. I got a call from her boss, Reitherman. He said the CDC wasn’t consulted. Well, they were, sort of. One of the governor’s people called Reitherman, and he said it wasn’t necessary yet because they were too early in their investigation.”
“Why’d they do it?” asked Joe. He went around his office and turned on more lights. He closed up his sleeper sofa to allow the two men more room to conduct their conversation.
“Apparently, the president summoned Harper to Air Force One when her plane landed late yesterday. Somehow, the conversation got turned around and used by the governor to lock down Fremont Street.”
Joe flopped in his chair and scrolled through his phone to find Harper’s number. “This reeks!”
Spangler raised his hand to stop Joe from calling his wife. “I know you want to talk to her, but before you do, we need to look at this for a moment.”