The Apostle

CHAPTER 60

Mullah Massoud gri

As they drew closer, the accuracy of the person shooting at them improved. Whoever it was, he was very good with a rifle. Massoud pounded the roof of the truck and yelled at his soldier to make sure he didn’t shoot the woman or their fellow Taliban down below.

The commander was going to teach whoever this was a very painful lesson. You didn’t steal from a man like Massoud Akhund. All he had to do now was to keep them pi

Simonov slowed their truck to a crawl to allow the soldiers from the checkpoint below to move up and apply pressure. Hot shell casings tinkled onto the roof of the cab as Massoud leaned against the roll bar and kept firing in short bursts.

It was during a break in the shooting, when the soldier ejected his spent magazine and fished for another, that Massoud realized that the marksman near the flaming wreckage below had stopped shooting at them. It was also at that time that he heard an explosion from behind.

Looking into his side mirror, he saw the trucks behind him erupting in bright yellow flashes. “Move! Move! Move!” he yelled at Simonov.

The Russian, who had been transfixed by the spectacle behind them, popped the clutch and leaped forward. Though neither of them could see any aircraft, they knew they were under attack from above.

Simonov pushed the truck as fast as it would go, as the hand of death came racing up behind them.

Both he and the Taliban commander were so mesmerized by what was happening in their mirrors that they didn’t realize how quickly they had closed with the burning hulk of the truck in front of them that had been RPGed.

The Russian tried to brake but lost control. The truck bounced against the high rock wall on the right side of the road and then slammed into the flaming wreckage.

The last thing that went through Sergei Simonov’s mind as he went through the windshield and was killed was his son Sasha.

Mullah Massoud was ejected from the passenger window as the vehicle flipped over and rolled several hundred feet down the road.

He regained consciousness for only a moment. Blood poured from his nose and ears. Though his eyes refused to focus, he thought he could see daylight. Off in the distance he heard his brother calling him to prayer.

As the sun’s rays grew brighter, his body was beset by cold and grew numb. Zwak’s voice seemed to move farther away as the life drained from his body.

Standing above him were two shapes. They were men with guns, foreigners; probably Americans. Massoud Akhund opened his mouth to tell them that they would never triumph in Afghanistan.

The Taliban commander wanted to mock them for their arrogance, but nothing came. Nothing but deep, impenetrable, bottomless darkness.

CHAPTER 61

WASHINGTON, D.C.

TWO DAYS LATER

Carolyn Leonard cleared White House security on West Executive Drive and then found a parking space. It was one of those perfect D.C. days-warm with a bright blue sky and barely a trace of humidity.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked as she turned off the car’s engine. “Maybe you should take some more time to think about it.”

Elise Campbell turned to her, “Carolyn, I didn’t bring you along to talk me out of my decision. I brought you for moral support.”

Leonard smiled. “I’ll be waiting right here when you come out.”

“Thanks,” said Campbell as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.

As she stepped out of the car, she was greeted by the scent of magnolia blossoms drifting across the grounds. Max Holland was waiting for her in front of the West Wing entrance.

“Are you sure about this, Campbell?”

Elise nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he replied. “The president is waiting for you in the residence. Are you okay if we walk this way?” he asked, pointing toward the North Lawn. “It’s a nice day, and I’d like to enjoy what’s left of it.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

As they walked, Holland said, “The night Nikki Hale drove off the estate, I’d been on break when Alden went to the guesthouse. I never knew the details of what happened until you asked me to set up this meeting. I’d like to think that if I’d been there that night, things might have turned out differently.”

“Me too,” replied Elise.

They covered the rest of the distance in silence. On the third floor of the executive residence, Campbell followed Holland down the hallway to a carpeted ramp that branched off to their left. At the top was a room most Americans didn’t know even existed; the White House solarium.

Constructed by William Howard Taft in the early part of the twentieth century as a sleeping porch, it had originally been intended as a place to catch a cool breeze on hot nights and had been a favorite of first families ever since. President Eisenhower barbequed outside on its promenade, while his wife, Mamie, hosted bridge parties inside. The Ke

“The president will be here in a minute,” said Holland. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As he left, Elise took in the solarium.

It was an octagonal room, composed almost entirely of windows. The décor was bright and the tasteful furnishings plush and comfortable-exactly what one would expect to find in a sun room meant for relaxed family gatherings.

Its most striking feature was its view. In the foreground was the Washington Monument and beyond that the Jefferson Memorial.

“Best view in all of Washington,” said a voice from behind.

Surprised, Campbell turned around. “Hello, Mr. President,” she said. It was the first time she had ever seen him on time for any meeting, much less early.

“Elise,” he said as he crossed the room to shake her hand. “I understand you were quite insistent about seeing me.”

“I was. Thank you, Mr. President,” she replied as she accepted his hand.

Alden pointed toward one of the overstuffed couches. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“Okay,” said the president, taking a seat in the armchair just adjacent. “I’m all yours.”

Elise knew there would be no perfect segue or preamble for what she had come to say. The only way to say it was to say it, and when she did, the color drained from Alden’s face. “Mr. President. I wanted to tender my resignation to you personally.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know what happened the night Nikki Hale killed the Coleman family. She had been drinking with both you and the first lady. The three of you quarreled, and despite the fact that she was drunk, you insisted she get in her car and leave the estate. Then you lied about what happened that night under oath.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your answers to interrogatories in the civil suit. You lied about everything that happened that night. As if your involvement in Hale’s death wasn’t enough, you perjured yourself in trying to cover it up.”

“You wait just a second,” snapped the president indignantly.

“No, you wait, sir,” said Elise, cutting him off. “You lied to protect yourself and you lied to protect your candidacy, and I can’t work for you anymore.”