Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

inside them. But soon she would be spent. Her lungs would be aching for air, her body doing anything it could to feed itself. Her cheeks would hollow, and her throat would close in on itself. Her arms and legs were free to jettison her back to the surface and grasp the oxygen her lungs so desperately needed. It was at that point that she always thought about her parents. They were trapped underneath the water. They weren’t able to grasp air from the surface. They went past the point of no return.
    The tears began to flow. Sydney let herself feel the pain as she kept her face in her palms. She stopped walking and bent over. When she did, her tears turned into sobs, and she went to work on her hands. She used her teeth to tear through the bandages and then bite at the scabs on her palms.
    The agent ordered her to move. She felt pain throbbing in her hands, but she didn’t want to look at them for fear of getting caught. They were at the intersection now, and the agent pulled her to the second hallway on the right. This was Sydney’s only chance.
    “No,” she screamed. “I’m not going anywhere! Help! Someone! Help!” Sydney clawed at the side of the tunnel, making sure her palms came in contact with it each time.
    “Shut her up,” Speakes ordered.
    The agent was trying to control Sydney’s arms from the side, but it was no use. He finally got her in a bear hug from behind, clasping her arms against her body. They continued down the next hallway, the agent having to heave her along. Speakes turned around, his molasses words dripping from his mouth.
    “Don’t worry, Ms. Dumas. It will all be over soon.”

Chapter 87
    “May God bless you all, and may God continue to bless the United States of America.”
    President Butcher looked up from the podium after finishing the conclusion to his State of the Union speech. He was alone in the Family Theater. The speech was written out on paper in front of him and had been scrolling across the teleprompter, but Jack didn’t need either crutches. Jack Butcher forced himself to memorize every political speech he had ever made. It started out as the method he used to get Simon to go to sleep as a toddler. All Jack needed to do was start in with his ideas about bureaucratic reform or fixing budget deficits in Simon’s darkened bedroom, and soon his son would be sawing wood. Reading his speeches to Simon proved to be good luck, and before every speech Jack made, the final version would be run by Simon first. As the years passed, Simon would no longer fall asleep. Instead, he would applaud after his dad finished speaking, while at the same time offering constructive criticism. Even when his disease burrowed pain deep into his bones, Simon still managed to clap for his dad as tears filled his wincing eyes.
    As he stood at the podium, Jack pictured his son in the front row, clapping for his dad once again. Jack swore that he could even hear Simon’s applause. His eyes caught movement at the back of the theater. Jack squinted beyond the stage lights and saw two bodies emerge from the shadows. The first was Vanessa Dempsey. She was escorting Sergeant Cavanaugh down the side aisle. He was the one who was clapping.
    Jack stepped down from the stage. Vanessa could tell that he wanted privacy. She turned and left the theater.
    “I’m glad you like my speech,” Jack said.
    “I wasn’t applauding for that, Mr. President. I am clapping for the way you played me. Bravo, sir.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Danny stepped toward the president from the end of the aisle. “There were men in the sewers underneath L’Enfant Plaza. They knew I was coming. You set me up.”
    “Freeze!”
    The order came from the back of the theater. Jack recognized Peter Devon’s voice before he made it out from the shadows. He bounded halfway down the aisle and aimed his pistol at Danny. Danny stopped moving, but his eyes never wavered. They continued piercing through Jack.
    “On the floor, Cavanaugh! Now!”
    Danny didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
    Peter Devon cocked his gun. “I’ll give you two seconds, Cavanaugh. You won’t hear number three. One …”
    Even though Danny was required to relinquish his weapon as soon as he entered the White House grounds, he acted like a man who still had the upper hand.
    “Two …”
    Jack held up his hand. Peter Devon nodded but kept his gun firmly affixed on his target.
    “Can you tell me why they knew you were coming?” Jack