Faster on My Own: Chapter 32
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Sam dropped a sealed manila folder onto the desk. This was not uncommon, nor was her doing so without uttering a word. Steven rubbed his eyes. In the last few months, he could think of only a few days that had not been marred by a sudden fatigue. So after he tore it open, he could not discern why he was looking at a photograph of a dismembered corpse.
“Why am I looking at this? Not that I’m questioning your methods, but I don’t see what good this is to me.”
“It’ll be clear enough.”
Steven flipped through a few pictures, but soon shut his eyes and dropped them to his desk. “No, this is too much. Just tell me who this is and why I’m looking at her.”
Mouth scrunched up into annoyance— a rare emotion for her— she snatched the photos out of his hand, reordered them, and set them back on his desk. Steven glanced over the picture of a half-mangled face. Cruel work, even by Sam’s standards, as the other side of the face indicated that the woman was conscious as this happened to her. A second passed before the untouched face registered in Steven’s mind. Charlotte was dead. He looked up from the photo, trying to divine from Sam’s expression what she knew, and what she thought she had done. As usual, he faced a blank slate. “This is just another picture.” He hoped not to betray any fear in his voice. No matter what Sam had wrung out of Charlotte, she wouldn’t be able to act on it unless he did something to convince her it was true.
“You don’t recognize her?”
“Should I? You’re the one who’s supposed to tell me what person did what or who got killed when.” He pushed the pictures away. Sam’s eyes snapped to his hand as he did so, and Steven tried to keep his frustration hidden. She was too perceptive, and he, too clumsy.
She nodded at the lone guard inside the room, then waited until he left. Alone, she said, “That is Charlotte Corday. She’s one of the leaders of the ULF. The rest of which is hidden somewhere in the Appalachias.”
“Hm, we’ve had some trouble with them lately, haven’t we? Communists, right?”
“Anarchists. I found a couple more interesting details about her.” She slid another photo in front of Steven. “This is a picture of the crowd on the day of the assassination attempt.” With a strong tap, crinkling the photo, Sam said, “Here she is, from exactly the angle the shot came from.”
“I see. Good work, then. One assassin in the ground— or furnace? Acid? I don’t want to know.” Steven waved his hands. “A thousand more out in the streets.” As if on cue, gunfire erupted outside the window. Steven took it to be the police or army doing their business.
“The other detail, is that her real name is Caroline Demiers. She was in an anarchist cell with Ashwin Shethi, who is the same Ashwin you’ve asked me about. Am I correct in that?”
“Yes. Have you found him?” Steven rubbed his chin, trying to seem nonchalant as his mind raced. If she uncovered the cell, how likely was it she hadn’t discovered Steven’s own membership?
“No. If he’s part of any resistance movements, he’s deep underground. More interesting than that, is that you don’t recognize the name Charlotte Corday. Why is that?”
Steven blinked as vacantly as he could. Sell, he thought, sell forgetfulness like your life depends on it. “Hard to say why I don’t remember something.”
“She was, after all, your girlfriend.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “That was a long time ago. What a strange coincidence.” Surely, she wouldn’t read meaning into that choice of words. Yes, it might have seemed as though he was trying too hard to paint it as chance. But if it was genuinely a coincidence, which Steven was supposed to believe it was, wouldn’t calling it one be appropriate?
“Yes. Strange.” Sam stared out the window. As much as Steven would have liked to see what it was that captured her attention at such a critical time, he couldn’t seem overly concerned by her actions now. After a few silent minutes passed, with Steven pretending to review some other reports as he eyed her unmoving profile, she raised a single finger to the window and returned her attention to Steven. Her breath wavered.
“You were in that cell. With her, just a month before you showed up on your father’s door. Possibly earlier, but I can’t verify that. From there, every one of your actions appears designed to gain power. Why?”
“This is ridiculous. I had a change of heart. As for power, who doesn’t want it?”
“Maybe so. I could have interpreted it that way. And would have, if not for the assassination attempt. Sending the soldiers to the rooftops, letting the crowd escape? Unthinkable.”
Steven opened his desk drawer. After Ben, it made sense to keep a pistol loaded in case another powerful subordinate turned on him. But Sam’s cold eyes could conceal any kind of violent intention, and Steven wanted to be ready. When he’d put the gun in the drawer, he had tried to envision using it. He hoped that he could draw it out as the revolutionaries stormed the White House, to give them their dramatic victory as they gunned down the President. With luck, he still wouldn’t have to use it until then. “I messed that one up, I know. You were shot, I was flustered. It happens. You got her anyway, right?”
Guns fired outside, again. They sounded closer this time. Constant internal war, while necessary for the Plan, wore on Steven. He couldn’t get used to the sounds of death, even as he ordered it over and over again. “I don’t know what your purpose here is. I thought you brought me in because you could tell we shared a vision for an ordered world. I know now that was a lie. So I’ll be taking over from here.”
“Oh, a coup?” Steven laughed. “How do I keep getting so lucky?” He gripped the pistol under the desk loosely, confidence bubbling up through the previous flood of anxiety. “A subordinate gets worked up, decides they can run the whole thing, and blurts out their plan to take over before it’s all put away. The Chairman was one thing, but you? I expected better of you.” Steven expected some regret to flash over her.
But she smirked. “It’s already over. Steven.” She pressed a finger to her ear. “Now.” When the two agents burst in, their eyes did not bother to scan the room. They knew where Steven was, even as he ducked behind the desk. Now he held his pistol in two hands, muzzle pointed to the sky as bullets embedded themselves in the thick wood of the Resolute Desk.
#
Steven knew that if he ducked behind the desk, it would be harder to kill him.Each of the agents betraying him knew how many bullets they had. And it was a lot.Sam knew that she could just walk around the desk and drag Steven out. The chubby coward she had betrayed didn’t have the fight in him. She knew that.
None of them knew why an explosion shook the building. Steven assumed it was part of the coup. The others had no idea. Another explosion burst through the side of the oval office. Debris rained onto Sam and her two allies.
Steven knew this was his chance. He ran out of the room. How many presidents, he wondered, had spent so much time actually running away from their enemies? All of the ones who had previously been generals, maybe. But even Nixon never walked at more than a brisk pace. Sprinting, Steven refused to look back. Seeing a gun pointed at him wouldn't protect him from any bullets, and knowing the numbers of people chasing him wouldn't help him get away. Diving down corridors and stairwells, Steven tried to reach a service entrance. From there, he could slip away, meet up with whatever loyalists might still be around, and get an unplanned civil war brewing. Another explosion shook the building. As Steven dashed toward an exit, he questioned the wisdom of trying to destroy the White House. The most glaring error: Sam was inside. Steven laughed. The section of his regime that had betrayed him was the same that didn't know not to blow up their leader. Bursting through the door, he tried to identify the nearest car, but his attention was stolen by an apparent militia of black and Latino men and women, in no identifiable uniform. They fixed their weapons on Steven, whose arms shot up as if by instinct. They grabbed him, and one said into the radio, "Tell Arnold we have to fall back from the White House. We've got an important prisoner. Can't say more."
Steven knew he was in trouble.