Tesla Secret, The Read Online Free PDF Page B

out front was filled to capacity. Kevin Hogan, Rice's Chief of Staff, stood at Rice's side. Hogan was the picture of a Washington political pro. He looked like what he was, a savvy, shrewd advisor with the unmistakable air that went with proximity to power. He was making an effort to keep calm. A lot was riding on the speech tonight.
    "One minute, Mister President."
    "How's the makeup?"
    "Good, Sir. No one's going to think of Nixon."
    Rice smiled. "I hope not."
    Hogan gave a weak laugh. In the first Kennedy-Nixon televised debate, Richard Nixon had come across on the black and white screen as a man who needed a shave, a man who couldn't be trusted. It was a bad day for the country, the day television became a major player in shaping American politics.
    Onstage, the Vice-President was finishing up. With a broad gesture he turned toward the wings.
    "Fellow Americans, I give you the President of the United States."
    "Showtime, Mister President." Hogan gave Rice an encouraging smile. "Give 'em hell, sir."
    On cue, the sounds of "Hail to the Chief" filled the hall. Rice strode onto the stage, looking out at the crowd, waving his hand. Blinded by the lights, he stumbled on an electrical cord carelessly laid across the stage.
    Rice heard the first shot and felt the wind as the bullet passed by the back of his head. Chaos erupted on the convention floor. In an instant, Rice was smothered under a swarm of Secret Service agents. He heard a second shot and felt it strike the man lying on top of him. The agent cried out. Blood sprayed out over the stage.
    There was a volley of answering shots from his detail. An automatic weapon opened up somewhere overhead. For a moment, he was back in Vietnam. Bullets juddered into the living shield piled on top of him. The rounds ripped through the carpet, shattered the podium where he would have been speaking. The shooter was somewhere above in the darkness behind the lights.
    He felt the shock as a bullet struck his arm, then pain. There was another fierce volley of shots from his detail. Suddenly the shooting stopped. Strong arms pulled bodies from him, lifted Rice and ran with him off stage.
    Kevin Hogan lay on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Proximity to power had its price.
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    Michael Healy feared no one. The closest he came to fear was nervousness. He was nervous now. He'd screwed up. The last three assignments from Foxworth had turned out badly. It didn't matter that he wasn't the one on the scene who had failed. He was responsible.
    "Rice is still alive." Foxworth looked at him. "Lucky for you, the man you picked is dead. So are the people you sent after Harker's team. What have you got to say about it?"
    "No excuses for Harker's people, sir. Bad luck with Rice. He tripped just as our man fired. It was certain, except for that."
    "Not our man, Healy. Your man."
    "Yes, sir."
    "Tell me why I should not terminate your position."
    He has no idea how fast I can kill him, Healy thought.
    "No excuses, sir," he said again.
    Foxworth swiveled, looked out the windows. He turned back.
    "Don't make any more mistakes."
    "Yes, sir." Healy relaxed, just a fraction.
    "What is your assessment of the damage from the Brighton Beach incident?"
    "It shouldn't be a problem. The men killed were low level security, former FSB provided by Ogorov. The police and papers think it's a gang war. I don't see it coming back to us. There is one possible issue."
    Foxworth waited.
    "A computer is missing. One of Harker's men must have taken it. It has messages on it that could lead back to Prague."
    "Can they be read?"
    "No. They're coded. But the point of origin can be traced."
    "If Harker figures that out, she'll send someone to Prague."
    "It's what I'd do."
    Foxworth considered for a moment. "We have to cover it. Send a team to Prague. Watch for Harker's people to show up. If they do, eliminate them."
    "Yes, sir."
    "That's all."
    After Healy left, Foxworth looked out his windows at the London