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Roth suspected it was because he was suddenly important to Carter.
They passed through the security checkpoint and went to the elevators. The other agents accompanied them, forming a veritable human wall around them.
“East elevators. On the way,” one of them said quietly through his earpiece.
When they reached the floor, the office space was noisy and charged with energy, completely unlike their previous visit. Whatever had happened at the White House had stirred up the hornet nest.
“Director Wright is a blunt-speaking man,” Monica said, walking alongside Roth on his right. “Just be crisp and clear. Answer his questions. Don’t embellish anything. He might cross-examine you, but just tell the truth. You’re not in trouble. In fact, you’re our best hope right now.”
That assuaged his feelings a little . . . but only a little. He’d still received no messages from Lund. He continued to hope that they were all en route to DC.
He was taken to an executive conference room in the middle of the floor, away from the windows. The old-building smell was mixed with coffee. Roth felt his anxiety surge as an agent opened the door for him. A voice issued through a phone speaker mounted on the table. It was older technology, but probably very secure.
“Mr. Roth has just arrived,” said a stern voice. “I will call you later, sir.”
“Thanks, Bill. I’ll be with the president.”
Roth had seen pictures of the FBI director on the wall. He was ginger, which was striking, with thinning hair and broad shoulders. He wore square-rimmed glasses, a striped tie, and had a politician’s smile—one that seemed disarming and friendly but didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He rose from the conference room chair and reached for Roth’s hand, giving him a firm handshake. Roth took in the rest of the room—a woman and two older men sat around the table, along with a security guard with a Kevlar vest over his white shirt and a large rifle slung over his shoulder from a strap. Where was EAD Brower? He was one of the director’s top deputies.
“I’m Director Wright,” the director said, releasing his hand.
Obviously, he already knew who Roth was, but Roth introduced himself nonetheless.
Monica and Agent Carter joined them, but the others stayed outside.
“Have a seat, Mr. Roth,” Wright said. “I have some images to show you of a crime scene at the White House. I hope you can stand the sight of blood. There’s a lot of it.” He pushed a laptop toward Roth and lifted the screen. “I need to know if a man did this. Or an animal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FBI HEADQUARTERS—J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, DC
January 10
The images triggered memories Roth would rather have forgotten. The helpless fear that had consumed him when his family was trapped in that arena. When he’d watched Jacob Calakmul transform into a jaguar and then pad slowly and deliberately toward Eric Beasley. He’d tried to protect his kids from the sight and sounds of the man’s brutal death, but there’d been no escaping it for any of them, and the memories had woken him up in a cold sweat on many nights.
“I’ve seen enough,” Roth said after scanning the images briefly. He closed the laptop screen, and the carnage winked out. His stomach was sour. He felt his body processing the surge of adrenaline spiked by his fear and disgust. It was a primal fear deep in the heart of every man. In a natural struggle against a true predator, humans were the inferior species.
Director Wright pulled out a printed photograph of a man wearing nice clothes standing at the foot of the table. It was Calakmul in the Situation Room.
“This him?” the director asked.
“Yes,” Roth answered, trying to quell a shudder and failing. He was sweating profusely now. Calakmul was in DC. Not the jungles. Or at least he had been hours ago.
“Look at this one,” Wright said, pulling out another photo. “This was the last image before the power went out. We have no footage of what happened down there. Take a look.”
Roth breathed in through his nose. He felt Monica’s hand on his shoulder.
It was another photo of Calakmul. Roth knew immediately why the director was showing him.
“The glow?” Roth asked, pointing to the halo around Jacob’s hand. Around, more specifically, the ring on his finger.
“What is it?”
“I’ve already explained this to you guys. You didn’t believe me.”