She held a Remington shotgun that she had taken from a compartment next to the driver’s seat. Sean had told her about it. He had also told her something else. A plan, one she was just about to execute.
She had flipped down the forward-facing rear seats, exposing the trunk area. She had explained to the president what she was going to do. He had accepted the strategy as the only chance they had. But she knew what he had been thinking by the look in his eyes.
She was young, fit, and strong.
He, on the other hand, was a middle-aged man with a slight paunch. And while he probably engaged in light exercise, what he was going to have to do in order to live was something more than that.
Michelle had taken all of this into account after Sean had talked to her and built her own plan around his. She went over in her mind what was about to happen. They had light now because of the Beast’s sealed power unit. But once she did what she was about to do, they would be plunged into darkness. So she had to graft onto her brain both the way out with the president and then the way up, to the surface.
Twenty-four feet, that was how far it was to the surface at this point in the river. It didn’t sound like a long way, but when you were holding your breath and struggling upward, it might as well have been a mile, especially with someone holding on to you.
She looked over at Cole. She had found some rope, Velcro straps, and an emergency flashlight behind a seat panel that Sean had also told her about. She tied one end of the rope around the president’s waist and then attached the other end to her waist. She purposefully kept the rope length short. They could not afford to get it snagged on something in the dark as they were fleeing the car. The result would be both their deaths. She unlatched the trunk, but the water pressure was keeping it firmly shut. At least it wasn’t locked.
“Sir, when I fire the lights will probably go out and the water will flood in. Take three deep breaths and hold the last one. Then I’m going to move forward and out and then up. You can kick your feet and move your arms once we’re out of the car. Then we go immediately up. I’ll be right with you the whole way. I will not leave you. I will not let you die. Okay?”
He nodded as beads of sweat collected on his brow. “Okay.”
She had Velcroed the flashlight around her head. She prayed it worked underwater.
“On the count of three,” said Michelle as she aimed the Remington. “One… two… three.”
She fired at the oxygen tanks. There was an explosion and a flash of light. The gas tank had been sealed against an explosion and its tank was full so very little vapor was present. And while the Beast was designed to withstand an RPG round coming from the outside, an oxygen-fueled explosion coming from the inside had not been contemplated by the architects of the car.
The unlatched trunk blew off and the water poured in.
Michelle dropped the shotgun and shot forward, pulling the president behind her. She met the cold water head-on. The light continued to work, although weakly. But it was enough illumination.
The Potomac had underwater currents as well as surface ones that were surprisingly strong. Many an unwary swimmer had died because of them. But Michelle was not unwary and she was a strong swimmer. She pushed hard through the car’s interior, using the seats and frame to propel forward.
She stood inside the trunk for only a moment, something she could now do because it no longer had a lid. Then she planted her feet firmly and pushed off strongly, aiming herself and the president upward. The trunk height was about two feet off the river’s floor. That meant twenty-two more feet to go.
She kicked powerfully with her legs and arms. She could feel the president doing the same right behind her, if somewhat more feebly.
Twenty-two feet became fifteen. Michelle could feel her arms and legs begin to ache with the cold and the effort it was taking to pull a full-grown man along with her.
Fifteen feet became ten. She could see a bit of light above her.
She gave another mighty kick and tried not to think about her lungs bursting.
Ten feet became less than six. But her head was throbbing so badly she thought a vein would burst. She also felt the president faltering. He was no longer kicking with his feet.
She could feel herself being pulled downward.
She gathered all of her strength and pushed upward, kic
k after kick, stroke after stroke. If she was going to die she was going to leave it all on the table, just like she had in the Olympics. Her crew team had lost in the final and gotten the silver, but it had still felt incredible. Well, tonight second place was not good enough. She was going for the gold.
Six feet became three, then two. She gave a tremendous kick and broke the surface of the water. She grabbed the end of the rope and pulled with all her might. The effort caused her to go under but the president’s limp form shot past her and his head rose above the surface. He coughed and vomited.
Suddenly, strong hands were grabbing them both. Michelle was pulled nearly out of the water by a grip that felt like steel. She looked around and saw the police diver next to her. Other hands latched on to her and she was pulled cleanly out of the water and into the rescue boat.
A moment later President Cole slipped into the boat next to her. She coughed up some water, took great gulps of air into her lungs, and sat up on one shoulder.
“Mr. President? Are you okay?”
He tried to sit up but two medics kneeling next to him gently pushed him back down. As they worked on him he looked at Michelle and smiled weakly.
“You can be on my protection detail anytime you want, Ms. Maxwell,” he croaked.