“I need to go back to Vegas!” Cat protested. “I have a job, a life there!”
The one enduring her complaints, a certain Captain Murphy, remained impassible. “You cannot leave the base. It is not safe out there. I contacted your studio and told them you are unavailable already. I cannot risk your safety, Catherine.”
She grunted, huffed, stomped, and finally gave up. On an intellectual level, she could understand. The government suspected Rorgramathan had corrupted the Supreme Court and several other judges along with who knows which portion of the Congress and the military. The demon could very well turn the whole country upside down but was satisfied watching people do it by themselves.
She picked Mr. Mouser from the ground and hugged the furball, sniffing him. “At least get me an electronic keyboard, so I have something to pass the time.”
“I’ll send someone to Carson City to buy one right away,” he accepted with a winner’s smirk. “On the taxpayers’ money.”
She grunted, “You’re insufferable. Look, I made enough money to buy my own musical instrument.”
Jack turned to his aide, “See if any soldier knows how to buy an electronic keyboard and send him to Carson City with a squad. Tell him to buy the best one available.”
“Wait. I know which type I want.” She paused and waited.
She got her instrument and found it (with the tripod) weighed almost as much as her. Without much to do, she spent most of her time in her room, playing with the keyboard or Mr. Mouser, watching TV, and worrying. In only two days, the government caught the ones responsible for the bombing of the Supreme court, who basically confessed their crime. A group of former billionaires from several sectors going from oil to big tech. Their fortunes evaporated after the “trustapocalypse” and they decided to go out with a boom to deliver their message.
Cat took this explanation with a Minecraft-sized cube of salt. A small part was glad it wasn’t her being thrown under the bus.
During this time, the military processed all the few pounds of silver they extracted into bullets. Jack was unavailable as he had dozens of meetings with people all over the country. The Judicial branch of the government was headless. Violence, riots, and looting swept the country. The damages were in the trillions of dollars, and the medical sector found itself overwhelmed by the number of injured people. The president declared a state of emergency and martial law. They were seriously considering sending the military to the cities most affected to enforce peace.
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On the third day since the attack, Jack summoned her to a meeting room. She entered and found a videoconference underway, just like the one back in Fort Hamilton. However, instead of the general, she found the President staring at her.
“Miss Wallenstein, thank you for joining us,” the politician said.
Mark Jenkins had appeared out of nowhere and climbed the Democrat Party ladder, surprising everyone when he won the preliminaries and became the official candidate. He won against the former wall-obsessed Republican president.
“It is my pleasure, Mr. President. How may I help you?” She answered with a business smile and a nod.
He waited for her to take her seat in front of a camera. “Mr. Wallenstein, we need you and your team here in Washington.”
She feared he was talking about the two returners that were still hiding.
“My team? Sorry, sir, I wasn’t aware I had one.”
The man smiled, “I am talking about your service cat, Mr. Mouser. I’ll go straight to the point but first let me assuage your worries. You have nothing to fear from the government, you have my personal guarantee.”
She tried to keep her face from betraying her emotions but they were stronger than her. Disbelief, paranoia, and all the baggage she was carrying ever since she took over Catherine’s dead body made her grimace and reply without giving it much thought. “Can I have it in writing delivered to my lawyer?”
The President laughed. “Miss Wallenstein that won’t be necessary but I am willing to give Mr. McNamara a phone call. Your contribution back in Fort Hamilton was inestimable. The software you helped develop to detect the invisible demon walking among us is being rolled out to all military, police, and defense units across the nation. Your country is thankful for your contribution.”
She wanted to demand he unblocked her assets. Her mansion, her trust funds, her investments. She didn’t do that. “I’m glad to help, Mr. President but I must remain skeptical. Agatha Stewart, one of my lawyers, is in DC. Can you get her on the conference?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“If it will put you at ease, I’d be glad to invite your lawyer,” he looked off-camera. “Kindly invite Mrs. Stewart to join us. Explain Miss Wallenstein is calling for her, and be polite.” She heard an off-camera “yessir” and the President relaxed. “We need to appoint new Justices for the Supreme court. We need your companion to screen the candidates for demonic influence. I’m ashamed to admit Mr. Marthan’s terrorist organization has spread its roots deep in the pillars of our society.”
From a wacky church to a terrorist organization. Cat decided to be bold and raise the stakes. She needed to see if the President was being sincere, “We’ll need to vet everyone involved, from the executive officials to the military personnel, and even the Congress.” Her demand was the most far-fetched possible. If they didn’t believe in Mr. Mouser’s abilities, they would either laugh or back down…
“That’s exactly what we intend to do. I’ll go one step forward. If your animal reacts to me, I’ll resign the office.”
She detected no falsehood. Glancing at Jack, he nodded at her and mouthed, “Accept, please.” Cornered, she accepted. After getting her personal items packed, she left on a helicopter, flying seven miles to Carson City airport where they switched to a military jet and flown to DC faster than she could believe. They also carried the few AD rounds (anti-demon) they’d crafted so far.
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Two hours later, the jet landed on the Joint Base Andrews, where the two changed rides to a helicopter that took them straight to the Pentagon. She didn’t dare look down at the destruction of one of her nation’s most precious landmarks. To her relief, Agatha was waiting for her along with some civilian and military officers.
“Catherine!” The young lawyer rushed to hug and kiss her cheeks. “I’m so glad to see you! Oh, what a hectic time to be alive.”
Hugging back, she said, “It is a good thing. Not the hectic times, but being alive. When I learned you were here in DC I became so worried!”
Mr. Mouser sniffed Agatha and then rubbed his nose on her.
“I feel like I’ve been reborn again,” Agatha sighed.
“I know the feeling very well. So, what does the government wants from us?”
“Not our taxes, which is an improvement,” Agatha joked. “They weren’t very forthcoming about the reason for bringing us here. They just assured me that neither of us is in any danger. And that they have no intention of pressing charges against you,” she said with a dash of concern. “What have you done this time?”
“Nothing. I believe there’s been a miscommunication. I asked them to get you to make sure they didn’t intend to entrap me or force me to do something I didn’t want to. I did absolutely nothing wrong.”
“Miss Wallenstein, Miss Stewart,” a major called, “This way, please. The President is waiting.”
They followed the retinue while a few soldiers carried the ammo crates and her baggage.
“President?” Agatha whispered in disbelief. “I thought it had something to do with Jack. Or that he’d come along with you.”
“No, he’s too busy in Nevada. His mission is too important to escort me here,” she whispered back. “And yes, it is the commander-in-chief that called us here.”
Agatha let out a muted squeal. Cat used the time walking to the building to scan the people around her with her new magic sense. None of the people here had anything extraordinary about them. Mr. Mouser hadn’t reacted so nobody here was tainted. She believed the government had pre-screened people based on their interactions to remove those that had contact with the demon’s stupidly-named cult. They crossed a narrow parking lot and entered the imposing building. The sentries on duty saluted the officers in the group.
They had to pass through the security checkpoint and get their visitor badges. Nobody batted an eye about Mr. Mouser, probably already instructed on how to behave and who was visiting. She showed her Nevada non-driver ID since her passport had been voided by the demon. Remembering that made her frown and she made a mental note to bring this up during the conversation.
Identified and cleared by security, they were led down the corridors to an auditorium. The President, the same general who talked to her back in Fort Hamilton along with other people she’s seen on TV a few times were sitting behind a long table while a few people occupied the seats in front of the stage. The auditorium wasn’t full but it had more people than what could comfortably seat in a meeting room.
“Miss Stewart, lieutenant Dora will take you to your seat,” the escort major said. “Miss Wallenstein, please follow me.”
While Agatha went to sit in the second row, she was taken backstage where someone that looked like an event planner or a protocol officer approached her. Several men in black that looked like they belonged to the secret service kept watch.
“Miss Wallenstein, welcome," a man that seemed rather disgusted with her mere presence approached. "I’m Patrick Randall with the Office of the Chief of Protocol. Have you been instructed regarding what you should do?”
“Yes but I’m with a bit of jet lag after flying from the western mountains in such a short time. Please run it by me again.”
“Understandable. The President will screen several candidates for the position of Supreme Court Justice," he explained like she was a child. "Senator Kingsley from the Judiciary Committee and a few other representatives are attending the meeting, and we'll soon admit selected members of the press. You will stand in a position their cameras won’t record you with agents Smith and Thompson on this end of the table with Mr. Mouser. Should you or your pet sense anything odd about a candidate, report it to agent Thompson. In no way let your pet--” She raised a hand. “Yes?”
She took a deep breath and gave Randall a faint glare, “Mr. Mouser is a certified service animal. Call him a pet again and I’m on the next plane to Vegas.”
He was condescending toward her, seeing her presence as a formality at best or perhaps a nuisance. Probably he was wondering what a hooker was doing here and which of these old men brought their toy to work but the other explanations were enough. She knew the public person of “Catherine Wallenstein” hadn’t the best reputation especially now that she was involved with the adult entertainment industry but she was a guest invited by the President himself and flown here with no expenses barred by the taxpayer petrol.
“I apologize,” he said in a very non-apologetic and haughty tone.
“Agent Thompson,” she called the Secret Service agent. When he answered, she asked, “Is Mr. Randall on a need-to-know basis?”
The otherwise impassible agent cracked a faint grin, “Indeed that’s the case, Miss Wallenstein. My partner has already reported the incident. Thank you for your comprehension.”
Randal glowered at the girl, then stole a glance at the Secret Service agent, who menacingly stared down at him like only a true Man in Black could. Cat was laughing inside but tried to keep her face steady imagining she was sucking on a lemon.
“Apologies, Miss Wallenstein,” he said, now without his haughty tone.
Mr. Mouser chuffed. She smiled kindly and nodded. “ Accepted, Mr. Randall. Please show me where I should sit.”