Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

asked Devon.
    “Mr. President, I have my orders for these situations, and I will follow them.”
    “What you need to do, Pete, is figure out how the fuck these two got into the White House and how he gained access to the Oval Office! Right now!”
    “I will, sir. But this is not the place. We have procedures for questioning suspects.”
    The president glared at the head of his security detail and finally relented. “Okay.” He turned to Danny as Peter Devon began to muscle him across the Oval Office. “I hope you like prison, Danny. You’re gonna be there awhile.”
    Danny had the perfect comeback in mind. But, wisely, that’s exactly where it remained.

Chapter 111
    The only sounds out of Peter Devon’s mouth since they left the Oval Office had been single word directions. “Left.” “Right.” “Down.” They reached the bottom of the central staircase that led into the basement. Devon opened the door and uttered another “right.”
    Sydney and Danny began walking shoulder to shoulder down the hallway. From the corner of his eye, Danny saw Sydney glance at him and read the confused look on her face. We’re not heading for the interrogation room. We’re heading under the East Wing. As they came to the next intersection, Danny correctly predicted the one word that would escape Peter Devon’s mouth.
    “Right.” They turned and headed for the one place that had been marked off limits. Dark blue tape with the words, “Federal Crime Scene—Do Not Cross” in white remained taped to the doorframe.
    “Stop,” Devon commanded just outside Ben Speakes’s office. He knocked once on the door, and it opened. Standing there was Howard Fielding, director of National Intelligence. As the two of them stood there, Danny remembered the tidbit of news that seemed like nothing at the time, but right now meant everything in the world. After 9/11, the Secret Service department got reassigned from the Treasury Department to the newly created Department of Homeland Security. DHS reported to Howard Fielding. Fielding, not the president, was Peter Devon’s boss.
    Fielding looked down the hall. “Inside, quick.” They ducked under the tape, and Fielding closed the door behind them. “Did you get it?” The question was aimed at Danny. Peter Devon shot him a look. Danny lifted his shirt and pulled out a manila envelope, the same one that Devon undoubtedly felt as he patted down Danny back in the Oval Office.
    “What’s that?” Sydney asked Danny as he handed the envelope to Fielding. Fielding wasted no time tearing into it and examining the contents.
    “It’s the lawsuit.”
    Sydney’s brow furrowed. “But the president took it from you.”
    “He took your copy, yes.”
    “My copy?”
    “Director Fielding told us that Butcher was out with Shilling. That meant the chief of staff’s office was open. I remembered seeing a copier in there and made a copy of the lawsuit for myself. They caught me putting your copy back in his safe.”
    A laugh escaped Sydney’s lips. “God bless your beautiful memory, Danny.”
    Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out the device he used to open the credenza safe, along with the pick tool. Fielding had given them to him in the Willard Hotel room where they had planned this mission only hours ago. “Worked like a charm.”
    Fielding gazed at the electronic lock decoder’s tiny screen and read the combination. “ 071492” He looked back up. “I should have known.”
    “What?” Danny asked.
    “His son Simon’s birthday.”
    “So what happens now?” Sydney asked Fielding.
    “Like I told you when you called me, you’ve done your jobs.” He held up the lawsuit. “You’ve produced what you said you would. You’re free to go.”
    Sydney motioned toward Peter Devon. “You mean free to go with your agents to your, what did you call it?”
    Danny took the liberty of answering. “Undisclosed location.”
    Fielding smiled. “I’m a man of my word, Sergeant. You’ll be turned loose after a few days.”

Chapter 112
    Sydney had flirted, whined, and finally threatened her chaperones, as they called themselves, until she got her way. She unlatched the chain-link gate and stepped onto the scummy pool deck. She gazed past the rusty chain-link fence in all directions. The parking lot of the Manassas, Virginia Red Roof Inn was nearly empty in the middle of the afternoon, which was expected at a cheap motel used primarily by weary travelers looking for a place to flop