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At the bottom of the steps stretched another corridor, and voices from staffers filtered to them. Not everyone was allowed in the room, usually just the cabinet and key support people. The faces looked at her as she approached.
“The meeting is underway, Christina,” one of them said.
“Secretary Owens wanted a copy of this,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a stack of papers clipped together.
“You can’t go in there,” said another.
“I don’t want to interrupt. Can you bring it to the chief of staff?”
“I’ll hand them over,” offered a young man. “But you can’t go in there. None of us can.” He took the stack of papers from Christina and then thumbed through them before nodding.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to walk away. Jacob remained. He’d memorized the path back to the mirror, so he no longer needed her.
First he’d invoke a silence glyph so that cries of alarm or pain wouldn’t reach this corridor.
The man with the stack of papers went to the door and pulled on the handle, opening it slightly. Jacob stepped up close behind him, staying just far enough away to avoid a collision. As he watched, the young man motioned to another young man, just inside the door, who hurried over to him.
“This just arrived for Secretary Owens,” he whispered, handing over the stack of papers.
He was blocking the doorway, and there wasn’t enough room to slip past him. Jacob transformed into a small harvest mouse, maintaining the web of invisibility. He slipped through the door and entered the room silently. It wasn’t full, the way he’d been expecting. Some of the attendees were speaking from TV screens. The big screen showed an image from a slide deck with European cities and numbers of infected people.
The president sat at the head of the table, leaning back and looking stern. The crest was behind him on the wall.
After accepting the papers, the staffer shut the door, walked over to one of the men seated in the big chairs, and bent low to whisper in his ear before setting the papers in front of him.
Secretary Owens nodded curtly.
Jacob transformed back into a man, still invisible, and stared at those assembled. Some looked bored. Others anxious. They were discussing the pandemic’s exponential growth in Europe. There were already a lot of cases breeding in New York. A handful had recently been reported in DC. It would only grow faster and faster as the victims spread it to family and friends.
They were discussing possible solutions, but there was no solution. Not for them. Only those with the immunity glyph would be protected from it. No modern medicine could stop this ancient disease.
He listened to the conversation for a moment, savoring the opportunity that was before him. He drew a glyph on the door, which created a barrier of kem äm to keep everyone else out. Next to it, he added a glyph of silence. He didn’t disguise the glyph with invisibility, like the glyphs on the Dresden Codex and the secret signs his people had used elsewhere. This was prominent.
Immediately, someone noticed. “Look at the door!” shouted a man across the table, pointing at the glowing strands of magic that had suddenly appeared.
Jacob noticed several of the people at the table were in dress uniform. Generals in the US military, with stern faces and grizzled hair. Some women as well. But it was the president he was here for. The leader.
Jacob sloughed off the invisibility, standing alone at the foot of the table.
Several gasped in surprise at his sudden appearance.
Jacob touched the tabletop with his fingertips. “My name is Jacob Calakmul,” he announced, looking directly at the man at the head of the table. The most powerful and protected man in America. Who was now helpless.
“I know who you are,” the president answered. But it was not the president’s voice. Jacob had heard recordings of his speeches. He knew the way the man talked. It wasn’t him.
The man pretending to be the president leaned forward. “We’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, DC
January 10
Shock was an emotion Jacob rarely felt. Fear—not since his father had tried to murder him. He’d learned how to control his weaker emotions. But standing at the table, realizing he’d been duped by Mr. Roth once again, caused such a mixture of fear and distress that he was stunned silent for a moment. Stunned enough that the man at the head of the table continued talking.
