Madam President ✓

88. I Was So Close

  Ivanov, of course, has rejected all offers.

  He's only interested in one thing: that damn code.

  I almost laugh. He has to be seriously delusional if he thinks the United states will give him even the first number or letter- I don't even know what it is. He would've been better off trying to get a family member of the Secretary of State or defense director... though immediate family has their own security details for those exact reasons.

  Fuck. I'm going to die here.

  What'll they have to use against the White House once I'm too far gone to hang on? They'll have to re- coordinate , try to come up with a better plan  to get the code. While they're distracted, the White House- if they care at all, will destroy them.

  Maybe it's the mental strain talking- but I'd do the entire world a favor by just dying.

  If the Russian government fell....

  The door of my little room swings open and an unfamiliar man slams a plate on the floor.

  "Eat."

  "Go to hell." I challenge him.

  He just chuckles. "You first. I've never understood how you American press secretaries can blatantly lie to your people's faces."

  "What are you talking about?" I shake my head. "Jesus- we tell the world what they need to know,  and does your President not do the same thing? How can you defend him so blindly?"

  "The president saved me. Eat."

"You gonna make me repeat myself?" I raise an eyebrow. "Go to hell."

  "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

  "Oh come on-" I sarcastically smile. "We both know how this ends. Let's not draw it out, shall we?"

  I gesture to the door, knowing any chance I have at escaping isn't in this room anyways.

  "If you insist-" he shrugs. "We do intend on making another video. Can you walk again?"

  I nod.

  Slowly, the restraints are removed again. I want to flex my fingers and stand up even slower, but there's a gun pressed to the back of my head. I'm forced to stumble towards the door with no feeling in half of my lower half.

  I know it's a last ditch effort- that I should just accept death like I've told myself I would, but my eyes dart around looking for anything I could use.

  They land first on the portrait of Ivanov's predecessor, a few feet to my left. Surely they won't miss it.

  I wish I had more time to really think about the possible outcomes- but I don't. I have to act now.

  Before my collector has a chance to shoot me, I lunge for the portrait. A grunting noise I didn't know humans could make escapes my lips as I slam the Canvas against the but of his gun as hard as I can. Surprised, his reaction time is just a millisecond too slow.

  It slips from his grasps. I yank it through the the fabric and turn it around on him. The sound that follows from a bullet piercing his skull at such as close distance, I swear could be heard from the opposite end of the basement. Fuck. These motherfuckers don't use silencer attachments.

  I give myself half a second to identify what kind of gun I'm currently holding on the off chance I stumble across extra ammo. It takes less than that to figure out it's a standard 9mm handgun. I make a mental note to grab whatever I see and shove it in my pockets as I start running with no sense of direction.