9t woman’s condition: a perfunctory examination, considerin two
heavy-caliber bullets had blown through her brain.
“I’m sorry, sir, there wasn’t time. I’m sorry, sir.”
Bill Burton had been a Secret Service agent for twelve years, and a
Maryland state trooper for eight years before young woman’s head.
Despite all his intense training, he was i shaking like a preschooler
just awakened from a nightmare.
He had killed before in the line of duty: a routine traffic stop gone
wrong. But the deceased had been a fbur-time@ loser with a serious
vendetta against uniformed officers and wielding a Glock semiautomatic
pistol in a sincere attempt to'” lift Burton’s head from his shoulders.
He looked down at the small, naked body and thought he@ would be sick.
His partner, Tim Collin, looked across at him, grabbed his arm. Burton
swallowed hard and nodded his head. He would make it.
They carefully helped up Alan J. Richmond, President of the United
States, a political hero and leader to young, middle-aged and old
alike, but now simply naked and drunk. The President looked up at them,
the initial horror finally passing, as the Alcohol worked its effects.
“She’s dead?” The wor& were a little slurred; the eyes seemed to roll
back in the head, like loose marbles.
Yes, sir.” Collin answered crisply. You didn’t let a question from the
President go unanswered, drunk or not.
Burton hung back now. He glanced at the woman again and then looked back
at the President. That was their oh, his job. Protect the goddamned
President. Whatever it took, that life must not end, not like that. Not
stuck like a pig by some drunken bitch.
The President’s mouth curled up into what looked like a smile, although
neither Collin nor Burton would remember it that way later. The
President started to rise.
“Where are my clothes?” he demanded.
“Right here, sir.” Burton, snapping back to attention, stooped to help
him up while his companion checked thef stooped to pick up the clothes.
They were heavily spotted everything in the room seemed to be-with her.
“Well, get me up, and get me ready, goddammit. I’ve got a speech to give
for somebody, somewhere, don’t I?” He laughed shrilly. Burton looked at
Collin and Collin looked at Burton. They both watched as the President
passed out on that, and one of his rounds had just blown apart a
beautiful; the bed.
AT THE SOUND OF THE EXPLOSIONS, CHIEF OF STAFF GLORIA Russell had been
in the bathroom on the first floor, as far away from that room as she
could get.
She had accompanied the President on many of these assignations, but
rather than growing used to them, they disgusted her more each time. To
imagine her boss, the most powerful man on the face of the earth,
bedding all these celebrity whores, these political groupies. It was
beyond comprehension, and yet she had almost learned to ignore it.
Almost.
She had pulled her pantyhose back up, grabbed her purse, flung open the
door, run down the hallway and even in heels took the steps two at a
time. When she reached the bedroom door Agent Burton stopped her.
“Ma’am, you don’t want to see this, it’s not pretty.”
She pushed past him and then stopped. Her first thought was to run back
out, down the stairs, into the linio, out of there, out of the state,
out of the miserable country. She wasn’t sorry for Christy Sullivan,
who’d wanted to get screwed by the President. That had been her goal for
the last two years.
three inches from going into his chest. Only thing fast enough was a
bullet.”
He stood as erect as he could and looked her right in the eye. He and
Collin had done their job, and this woman wasn’t going to tell them
otherwise. No blame would be put on his Well, sometimes you don’t get
what you want; sometimes ti shoulders.
“There was a goddamned knife in the room?” She looked at Burton
incredulously.
“If it was up to me, the President wouldn’t go out on these, these
little excursions. Half the time he won’t let us check anything out
beforehand. We didn’t get a chance to scope the room.” He looked at her.