Page 154 of Enemy of My Enemy

The president and Leslie Spiers were whisked away from the White House last night and taken to an undisclosed location. Whether this was in response to the terror threat or unrelated, the White House isn’t saying. However, the blast site at Langley has been fully locked down, and the no-fly zone over Washington and Langley has been extended. Military helicopters are hovering over the site, and multiple rescue agencies have responded.

The whereabouts of former first gentleman Ethan Reichenbach remain unknown. No statement from the White House has yet been made.

* * *

Chapter 49

Jack’s worldexisted in snatches, bursts of sound and fury blanking to white, all jumbled together with smears of static and an ever-present whine ringing in his ears.

Shouts. Men and women screaming. Orders yelled, but he couldn’t hear right, like he was inside a bell after it had been rung and the world was still vibrating. It was dark, too dark, and nothing changed when he tried to blink. Something heavy lay on his back, pinning him flat, choking the air out of him as he struggled to breathe. Concrete dust filled the air, coated his tongue. Something wet and sticky covered the side of his face.

He licked his lips. Tried to speak.

Tasted blood on his tongue, burnt copper and flame.

“Here! Over here!” Hands moved something above him. The pressure eased, and he gasped, one hand weakly reaching out, fingers sliding through shattered concrete and broken glass.

Someone grabbed his hand. “I’ve got you, Mr. President.” The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it, not with the world flying apart. “He’s alive! He’s alive!” the voice bellowed. “Over here!”

“Irwin’s dead.” Something else rolled off his back, a wet weight that had lain heavy on top of him. “Took the brunt of the blast.”

“Saved his life.” Hands ran over his body, patting him down. “Jesus, look at all that blood. Where’s it all coming from?”

“Horsepower, Welby. Vigilant has been located, but he’s down. Looks fucking terrible. We need a chopper,now—”

His eyes closed, and then they opened again.

He was being carried, bridal style, over a destroyed and devastated landscape. Shattered blocks of concrete lay at sharp angles. Fires burned to his right and left, black smoke thick in the air, burning his eyes. He rolled his head, blinking bleary eyes at his rescuer.

Welby, his shirt and face bloodstained, carried him forward, clenching his teeth as he climbed over another shattered concrete block.

Suddenly, there were more hands on him, hands everywhere, patting him down, and the world veered from too slow to too fast. He gasped, trying to arch away from the touches.

“—just got here. Bringing a chopper down into the west parking lot! They’re taking us to Bethesda!”

He knew the voice. Jack blinked, reaching out, and grabbed hold of a black suit jacket.

Scott’s face—wrecked gaze, deep lines, and frantic expression—loomed over him. “Mr. President?” One hand slapped his cheek. “Damn it, Mr. President, come on!”

Then they were running, Welby grunting with every step, Scott leading the way. Above, heavy whooshing burned out all other sounds, the whirr and roar of rotors descending. His eyes tried to find the chopper. God, it sounded so close—

His eyes closed, and then they opened again.

He was lying down, staring up at a white hallway, flashes of fluorescent lights flying by every other second. He was on a white bed, silver rails on the sides, a plastic mask over his face. Scott and Welby ran at his side.

Where was Ethan? He had to find Ethan. His eyes darted every which way, and his breaths came too fast. He couldn’t breathe; God, he couldn’t breathe. Where was Ethan? He had to find him!

He grasped the rails and tugged, sitting up just enough to make everyone scream and alarms wail over his head. Scott reached for him, pushing him back down with wide eyes. “Lie down!” he shouted. “Lie down, Mr. President!”

He tried to tug on the plastic mask. “Ethan…” He coughed, struggling against Scott’s hold. “Ethan? Where—Ethan!”

Scott grimaced, but he pasted on a tight smile. “He’s on his way,” he choked out. “Just lie back, Mr. President.”

“Ethan!” He tried to sit up again, reaching—

His eyes closed, and then they opened again.

Doctors hovered over him, green scrubs and face masks crowding his vision. He jerked back, trying to push through the mattress. Pain, so much pain, and he wailed, screaming until his chest caved in and he couldn't breathe. Machines beeped as the sting of a needle slid into his veins. He tried to gasp, but gloved hands grabbed his cheeks, pulled his head straight.