"Kristine Kathryn Rusch & Dean Wesley Smith - Xmen and Xmen 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

could solve the problem by simply hog-tying the man and planting his brand indelibly on that arrogant
posterior. He liked cows better than legislators. At least they knew their place.

He looked up with irritation as the door to the outer office burst open and Sid Walters, the head of his
protection detail, strode inside. He was about to lose his temper—which was legendary—when he
realized that Walters had his gun in hand and, from the look on his face, he wasn’t going to be interested
in any comment the President had to make.

“Say again,” Walters snapped into the mini-microphone clipped to the cuff of his shirtsleeve, “how many
are there?”

“What the hell—” the President began, but all questions and any thoughts of protest evaporated as a
halfdozen more agents rushed into the room to form a living shield around his desk. The two biggest
stood on either side of him. Four of the team were in suits, with pistols in hand, but these last two were in
full combat gear, helmets and flak jackets, with MP5 submachine guns in their hands. McKenna had
been to war, he’d been shot; he knew at a glance that this was no drill. These men believed he was in
deadly danger, and they were prepared to give their lives to save him.

McKenna heard a tinny voice demanding attention, belatedly realized he was still holding the phone.

With a calmness that astounded him, that he never dreamed he possessed, the President raised the
receiver to his ear.

“Trent, I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now, something’s come up. I’ll call you back, soon as I can, all
right?”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, McKenna hung up. He sounded so normal, not scared at all.
The analytical part of him knew that fear would come later and that it would be very rough indeed.If
there was a later.

He looked at the pictures on his desk, thankful now the first lady was in San Francisco and the kids
were at school. Nobody home but him.

“Sid?” he said.

“You’ll be fine, sir. You have our word.”


The West Wing was a madhouse, agents trying to evacuate the presidential staff at the same time they
were hunting down the intruder. There was no pretense of order; that had vanished with the first gunshot.
The guards weren’t polite and they weren’t gentle. Their goal was to get everyone clear as fast as
possible. Thing was, they were just as scared as the civilians.

Internal surveillance cameras were proving worse than useless; their quarry moved too fast, with an
agility that put monkeys to shame. By the time the guys watching the monitors could yell a warning, it was
already too late.

Toby Vanscoy found that out the hard way. He was clearing a suite of offices, herding people toward
the Press Room because it had a clear route to the outside, when a scream right next to his ear alerted
him to the danger.