Dead silence (book 5 the Valkyrie series)

Chapter 24

The team arrived group by group in a small clearing within the park across the road. Hidden by trees, the spot was the only place we could arrive without being noticed. And the nearest place to the White House that the Bifrost touched down. The sky hung low, a murky, red-tinged, orangey hue that reminded me of blood-smeared chalk. I shuddered at the thought of having to live with a sky like that for too long. Enough to drive a person a little crazy looking up at that sodden mess every morning. It didn't take long for both teams to be ready and sending a soft smile to Joshua, I motioned for the A-team to glamor up and move out. We disappeared in groups of three, and I hid my smirk at the sight of Thor as he blinked out of existence. He'd been persistent, and who was I to deny the will of a god anyway? I appeared in the Oval office, Gungnir in hand, surrounded by my team, with Suri on my left and Fen on my right. A dragon and a wolf, what more could I ask for? Sparse orange light filtered into the room, the kind of sunlight no President would ever have expected to see shine onto his desk. The room really was Oval in shape, with wood floors, now cracked and broken in places, and a giant cream oval carpet edged with words sewn into it, which I assumed were special quotes. The famous Resolute desk sat at one end, still intact. Behind it were creamy-gold brocade curtains that should have been framing a triplicate of floor to ceiling windows. Now, they stood askew, the curtains broken away from the wall, one end still attached, the other sitting on the floor. A seating area with two large sofas occupied the center of the room and the setting looked undamaged. Unfortunately, the fireplace on the wall opposite the window, along with the two bookcases on either side, were split in half by vicious cracks that ran along the walls all around us. Wood, plaster and paint were ripped like fragile paper. What I was more interested in were the doors that led into the Oval Office. There were too many as far as I was concerned. Doors to the garden, panes all shattered, doors to the study, hanging half open, to the West Wing corridor and the secretary's office. Too many ways in and out. One of those ways were currently guarded by the President's Secret Service agent. I felt a rush of worry, knowing someone would very likely die if that agent entered the room. The team fanned around the room, remaining hidden by glamor, waiting in silence as the President spoke to one of his aides, head bent revealing a balding spot on his skull. No-one moved until the younger man left, striding straight-backed and serious-faced through the door to the West Wing. I moved slowly, gliding along the floor, gritting my teeth and praying my armor didn't clink and alert him to our presence. Glancing around the room, I waited, watching as my team moved out until every entrance to the room was guarded. The President sat in his chair, flicking through documents page by page. He seemed oblivious to the sudden additional presence of a dozen people. President Russell Whitman had been in office a year now, and I recalled the raised eyebrows in Craven's conservative culture at the latest leader of the free world being a man whose race was hard to define. If ever there was a man able to lead a multitude of cultures it was Whitman. Descended from a combination of grandparents; African-Hispanic and Middle-Eastern-Asian, Whitman's wife was from Native American and German stock. A cultural melting pot if there ever was one. One of the most popular Presidents since Kennedy, he was also known for straight-talking and keeping his word. Personally, knowing how much the man had done for the good of the country since he'd arrived in the Oval Office, this unceremonious intrusion felt inherently wrong. But necessary. I came to a standstill on the right side of his desk, a few feet from him. His gray hair glinted in the murky light, his aquiline nose and dark eyes shadowed. He must have begun to sense something was wrong because he frowned and looked up at me. I chose that moment to throw off my glamor and appear in front of him. He let out a soft grunt, moving back against the backrest of his cushioned office-chair. The dusky skin on his face tightened as the blood drained from it. "I'm not here to harm you," I said softly. I shook Gungnir, allowing it to collapse before slipping it into the sheath at me back. Then I raised my unarmed hands in front of me. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't a threat. And I didn't waste time with words. People in shock stopped listening after the first sentence uttered by an intruder. Or, at least, in my own experience that was the case. He looked startled by my voice, perhaps my American accent too. His eyes went to my back where he took in the sight of my wings as they shivered indicating my nervousness. All-American Angel anyone? "What are you? Who are you?" At last he seemed to be recovering from his original shock. He got to his feet, sending the chair skidding behind him. "What do you want?" And now his voice began to take on a defensiveness that I hoped wouldn't impede my efforts to speak with him. "To talk." I spoke softly, hoping my calm tone would provide him with an assurance that I wasn't here to kill him. "I mean you no harm, Sir. I need to talk with you. It's very urgent." He stared at my face, no doubt trying to reconcile what he saw; a winged woman with an American accent. I'd take my time to absorb that sight too. "Well, what do you want to speak about?" He stood stiffly and I wasn't sure I could trust him not to panic. But, I took the risk, not wanting to waste any further time. "Sir, my name is Bryn Halbrook. I'm a Valkyrie. The Norse gods are real and so are a many things worse than the gods themselves." He raised his eyebrows as if daring me to say something more ridiculous. I continued despite his obvious skepticism. "We believe you're in serious danger. We have knowledge of a plot to target key members of the United Nations as well as a handful of influential politicians from countries across the world. We need your help to gather them together and to tell them our story. For both their personal safety and that of the safety of the people they represent." I'd spoken so fast that when I finished the silence in the room was deafening and my cheeks heated up. His eyebrows rose as he shook his head. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? You really expect me to believe that story? You? Especially with you in that . . . that getup." I shook my head, feeling frustration rise. I surged into the air, hovering above the desk with my wings outstretched for him to see the proof of its reality. "I assure you, Sir, that it's never going to be more real than this," I said, hoping I had his attention. "Do you believe me now? Will you at least listen to what I have to say?" "I've listened and it doesn't make sense." His tone hardened and my heart fluttered. I was losing him. "Important people, key people, will be dead in the next day if you don't help us get them to safety," I implored. I'd beg if I had to. He lifted his chin, standing spine straight. "Who are these people?" he asked, his tone challenging, as if he didn't think there was any substance to my claim. I reached for the stack of papers in my satchel. It contained the full list of names and locations of our suspected targets. I hovered over the desk as he flipped through the pile of lists. "I'm not sure what connection they have to each other, but they are the targets." At last he looked up at me, a vein near his eye throbbing. "This is for real?" I nodded. "A lot of lives depend on your decision." He inhaled sharply. "I'm not sure about this," he said, his eyes flicking around the room as if he was expecting someone. A flash of fear trilled through me. Was he already one of them? Glancing behind me, I watched Derek through the glamor offered to him by Myst. He was frantically tapping away at his keyboard. After a second he looked up at me, worry in his eyes. "What is it?" I asked, past caring that the President would wonder who I was talking to. Derek's voice was strained as he said, "I have incoming. About twenty on foot, probably Jotunn, and two helicopters. All armed and ready to fire." "Do they look likely to fire on the White House?" Just the thought shocked me. Derek nodded as he tapped away. "Both locked on this location. Both hot." Crap.