fall into a civil war. There had already been one major battle with thousands of men killed, and both sides were gathering enough forces to make that horrific event look like a panty raid at a sorority house.
No , Bishop thought, I rescued the president because I thought he could stop all this madness.
The effort was in vain, as the man was shot by a common criminal less than 12 hours later.
Bishop felt a tug of guilt over the incident. While the president had been traveling with him of his own free will, Bishop had made the decision to travel to the small town of Alpha, thinking they would be safe there. It hadn’t worked out. Still , he thought, by some thinking, the man was in my charge .
Another small pickup truck was parked along the road, the logo indicating it belonged to the base’s military police. As Bishop jogged past the vehicle, the two soldiers inside watched him without expression. He hadn’t run more than 20 steps when he heard the truck’s engine start. A quick glance over his shoulder verified the assumption he had already made—the truck had executed a U-turn and was following him.
What now , he thought, just as the vehicle pulled up next to him, and the passenger side window came down. “Excuse me sir, could we have a quick word with you?”
Bishop didn’t stop running, but glanced over and replied, “Sure. What’s up?”
The specialist seemed annoyed that Bishop wasn’t stopping, but didn’t voice any protest. After a quick exchange with the driver, he yelled back over, “Sir, there’s someone who would like a word with you. I believe he’s on his way here right now.”
Bishop was confused and stopped running. The MPs braked to a stop, but didn’t exit their vehicle. Bishop looked up to see a black SUV rolling across the airport’s tarmac. It was one of the Secret Service’s escort trucks, and it was heading directly at him.
Agent Powell pulled up next to the MPs and thanked them, making it clear they were no longer needed. After they pulled away, the man in charge of the president’s security waved a greeting at Bishop, who nodded back.
“Good morning, Bishop. I hope you don’t mind my interrupting your exercise.”
“Good morning, Agent Powell. I was getting tired anyway. What can I do for you?”
“Why don’t I give you a ride back to the officers’ quarters? We can talk on the way.”
Bishop considered the offer, but shook his head. “I’d stink up the interior of that expensive government vehicle. I’m good.”
Powell laughed, “It’s pretty common to sweat in here, Bishop—given the job and all.”
It was Bishop’s turn to chuckle. He nodded and opened the passenger door, a blast of cool air hitting his body. Agent Powel waited until Bishop was settled and then slowly began driving back to the main cluster of buildings at the base.
“Bishop, I understand we’re close to finding the next in line for succession. Before I can make the new president safe, I’ve got to fill in a lot of the missing pieces to the puzzle of what happened that day. I’ve read and re-read your deposition, but there are gaps we simply can’t fill in right now. Has anything else come to you? Anything popped into your mind?”
Bishop was silent for a bit, eventually clearing his throat and speaking. “No, sir. I’ve told you everything I can remember. The images I have of the firefight outside the president’s office are blurry at best. It was dark, and the air was thick with smoke. Not to mention there was lead flying everywhere. Even the impression I have of the man holding the gun to the president’s head isn’t really clear. I didn’t have a lot of time to take that shot.”
Powell thought about his next statement, choosing his words carefully. “Bishop, I believe you, but there is still a mystery here. I don’t buy for one second that the Independents could have organized that attempt by themselves. We found only the dead members of the president’s team and dead
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