“Mrs. Alexander.” The agent said as he stepped through the threshold into the room. “I’m Agent Waters, Secret Service. I have been assigned to your detail.” He said, once again pulling his credentials from his wallet. He keyed the device so that she could clearly see them. Grace nodded, and he returned the device to his jacket pocket. He stepped into the room and let the door close behind him. Grace held her gun behind her back. “Are you okay, Mrs. Alexander?”
“Yes.” She said, but the strain was evident in her voice.
“I would like to check the suite, if you don’t mind. Just to make sure that everything is as expected.” She nodded, and he advanced. She stepped back, and he passed her. She turned to continue to face him so that he could not see her gun. He glanced into the kitchen area, opened the pantry door, closed it, and then started down the hall. One by one he checked the rooms, finishing with her bedroom. When he came back into the living area, Grace sat on the couch, both hands on her lap. “Everything looks fine.” He said, smiled, and walked to the front door. “I’ll be right outside.” He said, and left the room. Grace stared after the slowly closing door. At least he was not going to stand around and watch her for the next few hours, she thought, as she reached in between the cushions of the sofa, and pulled out her gun. She sighed. How could it have all have come to this?
As the hours passed and the clock ticked ever closer to nine, her went over and over all that had happened the last few weeks. After the debate tonight, she had no idea if she would ever see Mason again. No more debates, no more public opportunities to use her in the campaign. He had even said that tonight was the last time he needed her on camera. Oh dear Lord, she thought. She may not live through the night. And what if he killed her, or disappeared her, or whatever. What about Bradlie? And Sarah? And the Muslims? And the nation? This could not go on. This had to stop. He had to be stopped. And it would have to be tonight. It would be her last chance. She looked down at her gun. She had to stop him. She was the only one left that could do it. She would have to kill her husband. And she would have to do it tonight. It was her last hope.
Could she conceal the gun under her dress, she wondered. Could she hide it from sight under the red dress that he demanded she wear? She rushed into the bedroom, and flung open the closet door. The red dress hung in the back, and she yanked it from the rack. She hung it on the back of the closet door, and quickly peeled the protective plastic away. Removing it from the hanger, she put it on, and stepped to the mirror. The handgun was small, but with its nine round clip, it was not tiny by any stretch of the word. And since the dress had been custom made for her, there was no space to conceal a weapon. But she had to wear this dress. If she appeared in another dress, Mason might trigger the bomb. She could not risk that.
It was obvious that there was no way to conceal the weapon above the waist. She placed the gun in the small of her back, but it still bulged against the form fitting fabric. The shoes that the designer had selected to be worn with the dress had no place for concealment either. And even if she wore other shoes, she would need boots of some kind to pull it off, and she had none. She turned back to the mirror. The shimmering fabric fell just below her knees. That left the space between her crotch and her knees. Maybe she could fashion a makeshift holster of some kind, she thought. Something that she could strap around one of her thighs, where the weapon could be positioned on the inside of her thigh. But if she did that, would she be able to walk without it affecting her gait?
She spent the next several hours working feverishly with her hands. Using just the items she had with her, and the emergency sewing kit she had found in the drawer next to the bed, she carefully crafted a sling that could hold her gun. It wrapped around her waist, to support the weight of the weapon, and then around her right thigh, with a flap that would hold the gun close against the inside of her thigh, midway between her knee and her crotch. It was low enough not to affect her walk very much, and still high enough not to be seen, unless someone actually looked up her dress. Even with everything that was happening, she felt that specific possibility was highly unlikely to happen tonight. With the dress on the hanger again, she practiced walking back and forth in front of the mirror with the gun strapped in place. The stride was not comfortable, as the gun kept scrapping her left inner thigh. She added some additional fabric to the rig, that could be wrapped around her left thigh, and this provided a minor degree of protection. Soon, she was gliding across the room, with barely any noticeable variance to her normal walk. She checked the time and it was already seven-thirty. She had to arrive in just a little over an hour. This would have to do.
She shed the fabricated holster and entered the bathroom. Her hands shook as she turned on the shower. She had to do this. She had no option. She had tried every other way she knew to stop him. And poor Connor. He had tried so hard as well. No matter what happened in the next two hours, there was but one thing she had to do. She had to stop him from becoming President, and she had to stop him from killing Bradlie. She stepped under the water, and it washed over her with cascades of warm cleansing power. She felt as if she were being baptized again. As if her sins were being washed away by the purity of the water, and a calmness overcame her. Faced with the single most insurmountable hurdle of her life, a serenity began to pour into her. And suddenly she knew. She knew, that regardless of the outcome of this night, that everything would be okay. She might succeed. She might fail. Mason might die. Mason might live. She herself might live. And she may die. Bradlie might live. And Bradlie might die. Whatever might happen, would happen for a reason. And it would be God’s will. The nervousness she had felt before fell off of her, and circled down the drain. She was resolute on her action. And finally, at peace with what she must do.
She took her time as she got ready, and took extra time to make sure that her impromptu holster was positioned correctly. She slid into the dress, and adjusted it. She slipped on her shoes, and then checked herself in the mirror again. It really was a lovely dress. What a shame that there was such evil involved, that it made her despise the designer’s beautiful creation. Had her designer had any idea of what this dress would come to mean, she would have burned the fabric when she had first seen it. She took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied, she checked the time again. It was time to leave.
Chapter 34