Wingo had turned the radio on and they listened to the just-breaking news story. It sounded grim. Rescue operations were quickly being assembled, but they would need heavy equipment to get the car off the bottom of the river. The good news was that the limo had its own oxygen supply and was completely sealed so no water could get in.
Wingo said, “The Feds will be doing everything they can. And you heard the radio. The vehicle is sealed, and they have oxygen down th
ere.”
Sean stared straight ahead. “First, crashing through the barrier might have ‘unsealed’ the Beast. It’s a tank, but even tanks can be damaged.”
“And second?”
“The computer controls everything in the Beast, Sam. You own the computer, you own the Beast. And Alan Grant is way too smart to have missed something like that.”
As the limo hit the bottom of the river Michelle undid her shoulder harness and checked the president. He was unconscious. She checked his pulse. It was strong, though his face was pale. She cupped her hands around his neck, feeling for fractures or bulges, but found none. She next did something she could hardly believe she could even think about.
She slapped him in the face, not once but twice.
He came around on the second strike. He looked dully at her.
“What the hell just happened?” he gasped.
“Are you hurt, Mr. President? Does anything feel broken, bruised, sore?”
He gingerly moved his arms and legs. “Sore but everything feels intact,” he replied. “What happened?”
Michelle drew a short breath. “We went off the bridge. We’re in the Potomac.” She glanced out the windows and saw nothing but black. “The bottom of the Potomac, actually,” she amended.
“In the Potomac?” he said incredulously.
Michelle found the control in the console for the window partition. Miraculously it still worked. The Beast still had power, but down here that probably wouldn’t last. The motor had cut off, though, and she doubted it would restart underwater. Besides, where would they drive?
The glass slid down and she crawled through to check on the agents in the front. The air bags had deployed, she immediately noticed, which gave her hope.
The hope faded when she saw the blood and open eyes.
She checked their pulses but already knew the answer. The bags had deployed when they’d struck the railings. They had probably survived that. What they hadn’t survived was the impact with the water. There were no more air bags left to save them from that. She looked at the side windows and the steel frame around them. They were bloody. Impact had probably been there. Death had probably been immediate.
She and the president were alone at the bottom of the river.
She slid feet-first back out and returned to the rear compartment.
“How are they?” Cole asked anxiously.
Michelle shook her head. “They didn’t make it, sir.”
“Oh my God.”
Michelle looked around at the comfy leather with the thick cushions and padding. This little cocoon had saved their lives while the agents up front had taken the full brunt of the collision.
Michelle looked down at her phone. No bars, obviously.
Sometimes her service was spotty on land, much less underwater. But—
She opened the center console. There was a phone there.
She pulled it out. “This will test the manufacturer’s warranty,” she said.
The president undid his bowtie and unbuttoned his top button. “Getting a little close in here,” he said.
“I’m sure they’re assembling a rescue team as we speak, sir. Divers will be on the scene soon.”