OBIE WAS IN a room at the White House. He didn’t know which room and he didn’t care. He had been led to it by others and told to wait there.

He sat in a chair and stared at the floor. The light overhead was dim. He heard noises from outside somewhere. People were talking in the halls. Occasionally the sound of a siren reached him.

None of it made an impression on him.

He only saw Annie Lambert’s face. Her eyes, really. The pupils big and pulpy, seemingly too large to be contained in such limited space.

He saw the round from his Glock hit her head, explode her brain, and end her life.

He saw this a hundred times. He could not make his mind turn the image off. It kept playing like a video reel. Part of him wanted to place his gun against his temple and make it stop for good.

But they had taken his gun from him and so this was not an option.

Right now that was probably a good thing, he thought. Right now Robie was not sure he wanted to live. He could no longer make sense of anything.

The door opened and Robie looked up.

“Agent Robie?”

He saw the director of the Secret Service. Behind him was Blue Man.

“Yeah?” said Robie.

“The president would like to personally thank you.”

“How is he?”

“Fine. Hospital released him. Thank God the bullet went clean through his arm. More blood than damage. He’ll be fine in no time.”

“That’s good,” said Robie. “But there’s no need to thank me. Just doing my job. You can tell him that for me.” He looked down at the floor once more.

“Robie,” said Blue Man, stepping forward. “It’s the president. He’s in the Oval Office. He’s expecting you.”

Robie glanced up at the man. Always neat as a pin. Twelve in the afternoon or twelve at night, didn’t matter.

Blue Man had a confused look on his face. While he had known that Annie Lambert lived in Robie’s apartment building, Robie also knew that Blue Man was not aware of their relationship. And he did not feel like enlightening him.

Robie said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

The trip to the Oval Office took a few minutes and involved their walking outside and past the Rose Garden. Before Teddy Roosevelt had had the West Wing created a series of glass conservatories had occupied the spot. As they trudged along, Robie recalled that Roosevelt had been shot while campaigning for president. The only thing that had saved his life was the thickness of the speech that had been folded up in his pocket. The bullet had hit this mass of paper and it had robbed enough of the round’s kinetic energy that Roosevelt had been able to give his speech, albeit while bleeding heavily from the wound in his chest. He had only consented to be taken to the hospital after his speech was done.

They didn’t make presidents like that anymore, thought Robie.

And so Roosevelt had lived. And so had the current president.

He had lived because of a bit of skill on Robie’s part.

And a lot of luck.

Just like the rolled-up speech.

The president sat behind his desk, his left arm sat stiffly in a sling. He rose when he saw Robie. He had changed clothes. Gone was the tux, replaced by a white dress shirt and black slacks. He looked shaken still, but there was firm resolve in his grip as he shook hands with Robie.

“You saved my life tonight, Agent Robie. I wanted to thank you personally for that.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Mr. President.”

“I can’t believe that one of my staff was involved. Ms. Lambert, I believe. They tell me there was nothing in her background that would have hinted at this.”

“I’m sure it was a surprise to everyone,” replied Robie dumbly.

Especially me.

“How did you recognize so quickly that it was her?”

“She had taken a drug, to calm her nerves. Suicide bombers often do this before they detonate. Her pupils were dilated from the drug’s action in her body.”

“She was drugged, but could still shoot straight?”

“There are chemicals that relax the nerves, sir, without dulling the other senses. And it actually makes you a better shot. Nerves kill the aim faster than anything. And I would assume that even the most gifted assassin would have been nervous tonight.”

“Because they would know there was no way out. That they would die,” said the president.

“Yes, sir. And she was close to you, only a few feet away. Her accuracy, of course, was important, but not as critical as her speed.”

In fact, she was faster than me, thought Robie. Her gun had appeared in a blaze of motion. Aimed, fired, and started to move to the secondary target before he could even get off one shot. It was only his shout that had made the agent nearest the president act swiftly enough to move him so that a mortal wound became something far less.

As though he had been reading Robie’s thoughts, the president said, “They tell me that if I hadn’t been moved I would be dead. And I wouldn’t have been moved except for your warning.”

“I wish I could have stopped her before she fired.”

The president smiled and held up his wounded arm. “I’ll take this any day over being dead, Agent Robie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Robie wanted to leave now. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to get into his car and just drive until he ran out of fuel.

“We will honor you suitably another time. But again, I wanted to make sure that I conveyed my personal thanks as soon as possible.”

“And again, not necessary, sir. But I appreciate it.”

“The First Lady would like to thank you as well.”

As if on cue the president’s wife walked in looking pale, the night’s terror still clearly in her eyes. Unlike her husband, she had not bothered to change. She swept over to Robie and took his hand in hers.

“Thank you, Agent Robie. Neither of us will ever be able to repay the debt we owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, ma’am. I wish you both the best.”

A minute later Robie was walking fast down the hall. It was as though he couldn’t breathe in here, like he was submerged in water.

He had reached the front entrance lobby before Blue Man caught up with him, showing a speed Robie would not have expected.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Somewhere other than here,” replied Robie.

“Well, at least it’s over,” said Blue Man.

“You think it is?”

“Don’t you?”

“It’s not over,” said Robie. “In fact, in some ways it’s just beginning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’ll be in my next report.”

“The crown prince would also like to thank you.”

“Send him my regrets.”

“But he’s waiting expressly to talk to you.”

“I’m sure. Tell him to email me.”

“Robie!”

Robie walked out the front door of the White House and kept going.

It isn’t over yet.