Talal had been warned about a possible hit. He’d had someone, perhaps a double he routinely employed, take his place at the meeting. Maybe he thought the Russian and Palestinian would try to kill him. Maybe he suspected a traitor in his inner circle, or a sniper like Robie waiting to take his shot. He had outsmarted them all. He had had his double die in his place.
Robie thought back to the conversation he had overheard that night. It now took on a critical importance.
Something that everyone assumed was pointless to try.
The weakest link.
Willing to die.
That could only be one possible target.
The president of the United States.
Now the theft of the Secret Service SUV made sense. They had someone on the inside. They had George Van Beuren.
And the fact that they had let Elizabeth Van Beuren die told Robie that the time to make th
e attempt was right now.
And Talal’s billions had bought him people in this country to do his bidding.
Then he remembered something Annie Lambert had told him. When the president got back to D.C., there was going to be a big event at the White House.
He pulled out his phone, did a quick Internet search.
He got the results and raced out of the house.
Tonight the president would be entertaining the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.
Talal was multitasking tonight.
The son of a bitch was going for both men.
CHAPTER
92
ROBIE WAS HALFWAY to D.C. when he finally reached Blue Man. In terse sentences he told him about his latest deductions.
Blue Man’s response was equally terse. He would meet Robie at the White House with backup. And he would alert the appropriate parties.
Twenty minutes later Robie slid his car to a stop at the curb, jumped out, and ran.
He was on Pennsylvania Avenue heading to the front gates of the White House. He looked at his watch. Nearly eleven. He imagined the party would be winding down by now. And if the attempt hadn’t occurred yet, it would have to shortly.
He spied Blue Man and a group of men huddled outside the White House front gates. Robie could see that it was a mixture of FBI, Secret Service, and DHS. He saw no uniformed Secret Service around. He assumed it had been determined that they couldn’t know how far the conspiracy had gone, so it was best to leave the uniforms out of this.
Robie ran up to them. “Do they know where Van Beuren is?” he asked.
Blue Man said, “He’s on duty. We’ve spoken to the Secret Service agents inside. They’re hunting for him now. The problem is, we don’t want to show that we’re suspicious of anything. Van Beuren may not be the only asset they have in there.”
One man in a suit stared over at Robie. He was about six-three with graying hair and a face that seemed to have a worry line for every national crisis he had endured. Robie recognized him as the director of the Secret Service. Robie recalled that the man’s father had been a veteran agent with Reagan when he had been shot. It was said that the current director had become an agent at the urging of his old man. And he had sworn that no president would ever die on his watch.
The director said, “You’re the one who called this in?”
“I am,” said Robie.
“I sure as hell hope you’re right. Because if you’re not…”
“If I’m wrong, nothing bad happens. If I’m right…”
The director looked at Blue Man.
“We’ll move in through the visitors’ entrance. We’ll attract less notice that way. Hopefully, they’ll snag Van Beuren before we even get in the place.”
“And the president?” asked Robie.
Decades in the making.
Willing to die.
He said, “The shooter has his gun. They have to be in with the president and the crown prince.”
The director paled. “You mean part of his staff? Or one of the guests?”
Robie didn’t answer. He was already sprinting down the hall.