Night Is Mine by M. L. Buchman Read Free Book Online Page A

rolled down. The next, a close-up of the floodlit interior of the car, which glittered with a thousand glass fragments. A technician had drawn yellow arrows on the image to indicate flecks of shining white.
    “High-grade porcelain, apparently from a smashed spark plug.” Sure enough, the brand, model, and plant of manufacture were listed below.
    “Even at a fairly low rate of impact, even the speed of a hand toss, it will cause safety glass to perform its function and fragment. Because the windows of the First Lady’s personal limousine are not standard safety glass, the shattering dispersed the shards with surprising violence. The FBI theorizes that the very thing that injured the First Lady may have saved her life.”
    “Not making much sense with that last one, James.” The captain had focused his full attention on the matter at hand.
    Still inspecting the image, Emily blurted out, “The first blast created such a response…” Emily caught herself and glanced for permission to continue after she’d already begun. Not one of her safer habits.
    The admiral nodded his assent.
    “…that the attacker was too surprised and never fired the second shot.” Emily considered the weapon itself. “Air gun probably, so it was fairly quiet. Sound and visual somehow masked so that the Secret Service couldn’t locate the attacker. But an air gun with that kind of a load is only good at close range. Close enough that the explosive destruction of the window would have surprised him. Or her. The shooter stood down in the crowd, not a sniper up in a window. That takes guts or a suicidal intent.”
    Admiral Parker nodded for her to continue.
    But she had nothing else to say. They should have caught the assailant. An air gun with porcelain shards within ten or fifteen feet of the vehicle. Enough filming crews that at least one camera should have had the right angle.
    “Unless the Secret Service either knows who did it…”
    “They don’t. And counter-terrorism is also drawing a blank. Only the typical crazies who claim they did everything that happens called in, all missing many facts that they would have known if they’d been responsible.” The admiral sounded certain. “Or…”
    “Or the assailant is above suspicion. Perhaps inside the Secret Service even. Then he’d know exactly what the Service was and wasn’t monitoring.”
    “You always were the smart one, Emily.”
    She clammed up. If she was so damned smart, why was she stuck on the sofa of the captain of an aircraft carrier? Smart points gathered so far this week? About minus eight.
    A killer on the inside of the Secret Service? Why not just shoot the First Lady point blank? They had access. It didn’t fly true.
    “This was three days ago.”
    The next image revealed a cracked window. The one after that, a pile of crumpled plastic next to a blooming pink rose.
    “A model airplane?” The captain came out from behind his desk and moved closer to the big screen. “A MiG-21. Russian.”
    “From a kit company in Kentucky. This model is a fast little machine. Radio controlled. Flies at over a hundred miles an hour. Less than fifteen seconds from crossing the fence to impacting the White House.”
    Emily lurched to her feet as the captain stumbled forward.
    “That window was the Oval Office?” The captain’s voice had lowered to a deep, feral growl, belying any softness implied by his comfortable office. She must remember never to make him angry at her.
    “No,” Emily guessed. “The East Wing.”
    “Girl’s on the money again. The First Lady’s office, as a matter of fact. In there alone. Scared the daylights out of her. Apparently she’d glanced up at the moment it hit the window. She was frantic, screaming, and weeping when the agents broke in.”
    “What were they hoping to achieve with a model airplane?”
    “Captain?” The admiral was looking at her. For what? How was she supposed to know?
    Emily stared at the screen, and the spot between her