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concern.
    Frankie felt a shiver run down her spine. A sudden sweat soaked her shirt and her eyes struggled to focus on Colonel Barnes.
    Shivers, sweating, blurry vision.
    All symptoms of Ebola.

Chapter 9
     
     
    “Madame President?” said the Secret Service agent holding out the telephone.” “I have President Mitchell for you.”
    Acting President Maria Lopez smiled broadly. Her first experience as Commander-in-Chief was not one she wished to prolong. In the past half hour, the barrage of requests and issues that had crossed the desk of her airtight cocoon was eye watering. A national crisis was on the brink of becoming a global pandemic and an international disaster. Overwhelming was not even close to describing the situation she was in.
    “Madame President,” said President Mitchell warmly, an emotion he had never felt when conversing with Maria Lopez. She had been, without doubt, his biggest pain in the ass since winning the presidency.
    “Mr. President, it’s so good to hear your voice,” she replied, equally warmly. The feeling was mutual. She did not normally enjoy hearing his voice.
    It was evident to both of them that, at times of crisis, political differences were set aside. Although they sat on opposite sides of the political spectrum, a truce would be maintained for the security of the nation.
    “I just wanted to thank you for stepping up for me,” he said with pain evident in his voice.
    ‘Of course, Mr. President, whatever I can do.” The pain in his voice worried her. She had assumed he was calling to retake control.
    “Can you bring me up to speed?” he asked.
    Maria spoke for the next ten minutes, describing the aftermath of the attack, the lockdown of the White House and Walter Reed, the task force being formed and the actions put in place to ensure Nick Geller did not escape the country. She informed him of the countless calls from heads of state from across the world who had called to offer their support to the United States and condolences for the Vice President.
    “It sounds as though you’ve been thrown in at the deep end,” said President Mitchell when Maria drew to a close.
    “It’s why we enter politics, Mr. President,” she replied, giving a true politician’s answer.
    “If it’s any consolation, I’m fairly certain we’re all clear on the Ebola front,” he offered.
    “Have you had your results?”
    “No, no just common sense. If he infected us, he would have been infected himself. Why go to the bother of blowing up the West Wing and escape if you’ve exposed yourself to a deadly disease?”
    “That does make sense, Mr. President. But why is he doing this? Did he say anything before he shot you?”
    “Just the usual Allahu Akbar stuff and then he pulled the trigger on a ridiculous looking little pistol. It was made out of some sort of plastic, probably made on a 3D printer. He walked straight through all our scanners without so much as a beep.”
    “Thank God his aim was off,” she said wholeheartedly. She respected the office of the presidency above all else and would never wish ill of any president, no matter how much she disagreed with his politics.
    “One sixteenth of an inch, that’s how close he was. One sixteenth of an inch to the right and I’d have been dead in seconds. I’m told it was an exceptional shot from the makeshift pistol. Its lack of power meant he had very few kill shots and he missed his by one sixteenth of an inch,” he said again, still coming to terms with how close he had been to dying.
    “God was on the side of the good, Mr. President!”
    “I hope he stays there. I think we have a storm coming and I pray he keeps us safe.”
    “He will, Mr. President, he will. I’m sorry, sir, but you sound tired.”
    “I’ve been tired since I took office two years ago.” He couldn’t help the subtle dig at how hard she had made his presidency. “I called to thank you and let you know that now I’m out of surgery and been given the all