The Death of A Nation

Prologue

The icy wind cut into Jack's goose bump riddled neck like a hot knife to butter. He turned towards the small slit in the concrete wall, pulling his starched, black jacket up to his cheeks, exposing the bottom half of his crisp, white shirt. Through the small strip of window he was able to see nearly all of Washington. They were 15 storeys up, on the top floor of a multistory car park. There were no cars where they were and the place was dizzyingly high, enough to make Jack's stomach lurch just thinking of how far he'd fall if the wall he was leaning against just disappeared. If he squinted hard enough, he could just about make out the shimmering lights of his future workplace, the US Naval Observatory, more specifically the Number One Observatory Circle.  

The Vice-President Elect had promised him that he'd promote him to Secret Service after the inauguration. The man in question stood in front of him flanked by Marquez, another bodyguard, who was leaning against a grimy, grey pillar, a black ooze lay at their feet, the VP Elect was staring into his phone and glancing up anxiously at the door at the other end of the car park. Mark Evans was tall and wiry, with long, grey-white hair that fell past his ears, wearing a plush purple jacket over his typical navy suit, he had to give it to him the man never failed to dress well. Jack respected him deeply, almost like a father figure, and aspired to one day be in a position like his. In fact he'd only voted for President Elect Turner because Mr Evans had asked him to.

 He didn't like Turner nor his controversial policies, and the election that had taken place over the last year had been bitter and nasty, he didn't envy Turners bodyguards. Multiple threats had been made against the two men throughout the campaign, yet people hardly noticed Mr. Evans. He appeared to have a softening touch with Turner, yet even he wasn't able to stop his xenophobic hate campaign against illegal Mexican immigrants. 

Jack wondered how Turner would react if he realized that his Vice-President was knowingly employing an illegal immigrant. Marquez said that he and his mother had crossed the border 14 years ago to escape the gang violence and cartels of their town. Both he and Jack were Evan' most trusted and longest working guards, which is why they were both surprised when their boss wouldn't tell them why they were meeting someone at 2am atop a car park. 

"Sir,"Marquez's exotic accent had been dulled by the years. "It's been almost an hour, are you sure they're coming?"                                                                                                                                                           "He,"Mr.Evans said, turning to face him. "There's only one coming."                                                             "Should we be armed for when he comes, sir?" asked Jack.                                                                             "No, Watson." replied Evans. "If we alarm him, he won't give me the inf-never mind. Just secure the perimeter in case he tries anything funny. "                                                                                        Anything funny? Who was this person they were meeting that required a darkened car park in the middle of the night? However Jack knew it wasn't his place to question the future VP. He nodded and headed towards the door that lead to the lift down. As he had just reached the door, Mr Evans called to him "Actually Watson, let Marquez take your position, can you stand near the ladder?" Evans gestured towards the corner, Jack squinted over as he walked towards it, it was eight or ten feet long and seemingly lead to nowhere. However when Jack reached the bottom rung, he could see a wooden circle cut out of the cement. He preyed open with his right index and middle finger, it was surprisingly light. The gusty, bone-chilling winds outside came gushing in, turning his eyes into ice cubes, Jack quickly let the trap door drop with a dull THUD. As he let the door drop a knock was heard from behind Marquez. Turning slowly, Marquez turned to open the small, rusted metal door, his free hand fingering his revolver in his back pocket nervously. The handle let out the same horrifying creak as it had when they entered an hour earlier, the door swung open and Marquez slid to the left allowing the mysterious visitor to enter.