Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

both the paranoia and the number of White House security personnel. Dozens of uniformed police officers and soldiers in military fatigues were lined up along the White House fence. Besides the massive concrete barriers that blocked vehicles from getting beyond the guard booths at each end of the street, temporary steel gates had been erected twenty feet in front of each barrier. Both gates were guarded by a dozen armed soldiers.
    Beyond the gates, Sydney counted eighteen news vans with their phallic transmitters reaching high into the air. Besides the security personnel and news teams, a sea of people, both demonstrators and tourists, took the opportunity that Prime Minister Fantroy’s tragic death had given to be a part of the circus outside the White House’s front yard.
    Both Sydney and Danny had outfitted themselves with sunglasses and black Bull Run baseball caps as part of their disguises. Danny continued holding her hand as he led her through the pulsing throngs of people. Sydney could hear British accents among the shouts being hurled toward the White House. Some people held signs and pumped them up and down in the air.
    Avenge Anthony!
    God Save the King and PM Fantroy’s Legacy!
    Butcher the Bloody Bastards Who Took Anthony From Us!
    If they only knew what Anthony Fantroy really was, Sydney thought. Just like she had last night as she learned of Fantroy’s fate, Sydney relived the moment when Knobby had told her about the first time he met Anthony Fantroy. He had come to visit Knobby in his university office. He wore a seersucker suit to come ask what most would consider a morbid question. Fantroy needed to make sure that Knobby had chosen a replacement for himself after he passed on, someone who could be groomed over time to ensure a smooth transition. Fantroy had the perfect candidate in mind. It was Sydney’s biological father. Sydney’s own eyes welled as she pictured Knobby, sobbing during his explanation to Sydney about the fateful meeting when he introduced her father to The Group, an act that ultimately signed his death warrant.
    Sydney looked at a few of the Brits in the crowd. She felt like grabbing each one and shaking them while she yelled the truth into their ears.
    Fantroy is not a martyr! He wanted to enslave you all!
    Danny led her down East Executive Avenue along the White House’s outer perimeter. The long chain of police officers and soldiers continued all the way around it. Danny stopped next to another crowd of people who were gathered at the southern-most point of the White House grounds. Sydney had never been here before. She looked beyond the fence to a lawn so unspoiled that every blade of grass was perfectly symmetrical. Every flower was planted with purpose. The starch-white columns that held up the south rotunda seemed regal, like nothing could ever keep them from doing their job.
    Sydney squinted into the cloudless sky and counted at least a dozen men dressed in bulky black outfits roaming the White House roof. She pulled her eyes back to a small, grayed sign that quietly reminded her of the impossibility of their task.

    These grounds are monitored. Do not climb on the fence.
    Do not attempt to gain access to the grounds.
    Violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

    How on earth are we going to see the president of the United States under these conditions?
    Danny tugged on her hand, and Sydney pulled herself away from the fence. They were on the move again, picking their way through the crowd . Sydney didn’t like being in the dark. She didn’t like the fact that Danny was dragging her around by the hand when, in fact, she wanted to shout, “Where are we going now?” But Sydney was smart enough to stay silent. The sign told her the grounds were monitored. An audio recording system would be part of the White House security team’s surveillance package.
    Sydney kept her eyes on Danny’s head. It tilted back and forth every few moments. She didn’t know anyone before Danny who had a photographic memory. Was he taking pictures of all the scenes around them? Committing them to memory? Would they go somewhere and evaluate their situation based on these detailed recollections?
    Sydney looked around and then closed her eyes as they continued walking up West Executive Avenue. She tried to recall what she had just seen.
    A tree, but what kind? Green leaves, crinkly branches. Twenty feet away is a man in a blue warm-up suit. A woman with red hair is