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“Thanks for this,” he said, patting his pocket. It was something.
Angélica motioned for him to continue down the stone steps. When they reached the bottom, they passed through a curtain of beads and entered a corridor. It was a dungeon of sorts, but instead of doors with iron bars, there were just open gaps shielded by webs of kem äm.
Several warriors were standing guard. They addressed Angélica in Mayan, and she responded curtly and motioned for them to take Roth away.
He looked at her dispassionate face, her mask of indifference. She truly was Malintzin reincarnated. And Roth would do anything he could to help her make it out alive as well.
A warrior grabbed Roth by the arm, squeezing hard, and jerked him toward one of the doorways. He waved his hand over it, and the magic of his bracelet summoned the kem äm to it. Then he shoved Roth into the dark, small room. The kem äm filled in the gap, illuminating the man in a dirty suit who sat in the corner. A man who looked like the president.
“Mr. Roth?”
“Mr. Brower.”
Roth slumped down against the wall across from him. The cell was pretty narrow, about seven feet across and ten feet long. Roth watched as the warrior walked away, but he knew they were patrolling the main corridor.
“I’m sorry they caught you,” Brower said. “Did they bring you in through the White House too?”
“No, one of the Smithsonians. The one by FBI headquarters,” Roth said. “There’s an obsidian mirror in the White House?”
“Been there for years,” Brower said with a resigned sigh. “No one I know remembers where it came from. They took my watch, so I don’t know what time it is. And we’re underground.”
“It was late afternoon when I was caught. It’s probably five or six o’clock? I don’t know the time zone differences between the East Coast and Mexico.”
“DC is two hours ahead, but that doesn’t really matter right now. They’re killing us at midnight,” Brower said. “These barriers are like a force field. I flicked a little pebble at it, and it shot back at me just like you said it would. Not that I needed more convincing after what happened in the Situation Room.”
“Who else is down here?”
“British prime minister. German chancellor. Oh, and the king of Spain.”
“Wow,” Roth said, shaking his head. He gestured to Brower. “And you, Mr. President.”
“Our government, like others, has redundancy built in. I wish I’d taken your warnings more . . . urgently. I’d convinced myself that a room full of trained special agents would be more than enough to take down one terrorist. We even used a nerve agent. Nothing worked.”
Roth draped an arm across his knee and gazed at the shimmering wall of kem äm. Suki would have been able to wave it away with a flick of her hand, but the magic had never worked for him.
“The director showed me the photos from the Situation Room. Guess you’ve seen Jacob in jaguar form?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified,” Brower said. “I’m sorry you’re here. I wish I were the only one.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Roth said.
Brower cocked his head.
“Because I’m going to need help getting the others out of here.” He fished in his pocket and removed the special pouch. “Got three poison darts. We’d better make them count.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, DC
January 10
There’s a first time for everything. As the military helicopter passed over the rooftop of the White House, Suki gripped the armrests, gazed out the window, and watched the lawn approaching. She wore a headset and microphone, as did her mom, Jane Louise, and the others in the helicopter.
“Is this the president’s helicopter?” Suki asked, looking at Lund, seated across from her.
He shook his head. “It looks similar, but this one’s a VH-60N White Hawk. His is a Sea King. It has some special mods.”