When the Lion Wakes » Places

         Natalie E. Schultz, Supervisory Special Agent, U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation
Andrews Air Force Base
Prince George’s County, Maryland, United States

After arriving at Dulles, Natalie had found a car with government plates waiting to take her into Washington from the airport. Much to her surprise, the driver turned south on 495 instead of north, and Natalie slumped against the window of the car, pressing her face against the heavily tinted glass, though she fixed her stare on the back of the driver’s head.

Exactly fifty-nine minutes after the car’s engine had started at Dulles, the car rolled to a stop by a security checkpoint guarded by airmen in battle uniform sporting automatic rifles. A few moments of conversation and they were waved quickly through and onto the base itself. Natalie had been here exactly once before, exactly 1,693 days ago. The flight had taken three hours and twenty-one minutes, and it was now 6:33 in the evening. She tapped her finger in a steady rhythm against the window, eyes squinted.

The driver continued onto the base, moving slowly through the streets before coming to a stop at one of the central buildings and parking there. “Agent Schultz,” he finally said, breaking over an hour of perfect silence. Natalie’s gaze flickered toward him and she moved away from the window, straightening her posture and adjusting her glasses. “They’re waiting inside.” He opened the door and climbed out of the car on the driver’s side, while Natalie took a moment to process what had been said before opening the door where she was sitting.

Natalie stepped onto the street, squinting toward the setting sun. As Spring was closing upon them, the days would begin to stretch longer in small but growing increments. Natalie shut her door quietly, her hand hardly moving. The two of them headed for the front door to the building, where a pair of airmen stood guard, and stepped inside. There, several people dressed in somber, clean-cut business suits moved crisply, speaking in murmurs into earpieces, a stark contrast to the military personnel around the base.

“Agent Schultz, right this way,” said a brown-haired man with the rank insignia of a 2nd Lieutenant, motioning for Natalie to follow him. She noticed the name on the uniform -- Obed. Natalie could recall exactly eighteen other people by that name. She whispered their names under her breath as they walked through the halls, staring upward through squinted eyes at the harsh fluorescent lights -- through the halls, into an elevator, and down another hall, and finally into a room that functioned neatly as a conference space, by Natalie’s appraisal.

A man cleared his throat, and Natalie’s head jerked upward. She found herself staring at the President of the United States.

In person, Charles Maynard was a little over seven inches taller than Natalie, with dark brown hair that had begun to gray at the hairlines, and little wrinkles in his face that weren’t quite visible in most of the pictures she’d seen of the President. He offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Agent Schultz,” said Maynard, inclining his head, “though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Natalie stared at the President’s hand. The last time she had met the President was almost two years ago, 722 days to be exact. She hadn’t taken the hand then. This time, she reached her fingers for his, then clasped tightly, squeezing the President’s hand before releasing. Natalie resisted the urge to wipe her hand against her jacket. “It’s nice to see you too,” she mumbled, forcing herself to stare at the bridge of the President’s nose, between his eyes, so that she would at least appear to be maintaining eye contact.

“As you know, Director Edwards was killed this morning, and Hataf has claimed responsibility,” the President said, gesturing for Natalie to sit as he sank into a chair in the conference room. Natalie looked about, and edged closer to one of the chairs across from the President, seating herself on the edge of the seat while she continued to stare between the President’s eyes. “We’re both busy, so I’m going to keep this short. The FBI needs an interim director until I can make a permanent appointment, and right now, there’s no better candidate than you.”

It took several long moments before Natalie realized what Maynard had said. She looked upward then, wide-eyed, surprised, and immediately began to spin the pen in her hand. “You want me to do what?” she very nearly spit.

Maynard recalled what his chief of staff had said earlier. But he wasn’t interested in a candidate with strong social skills. He didn’t care whether Schultz could make small talk or sit politely through a political gala. He needed someone who would work efficiently to learn about whatever it was Hataf was planning, and stop it. Maynard looked Natalie in the eyes, leaning forward as he spoke. “I want you to serve as Interim Director of the FBI,” he said.

Already, Natalie was shaking her head. “No -- no -- I’m -- I’m not the person for the job, Charles,” she said, and Maynard was taken aback by her casual utterance of his given name. “Really, I’m not the person you’re looking for. I’m not even a Deputy Director. Shouldn’t you be asking one of them? Standard succession procedure in the event of an emergency would mean that the position should fall to one of the Deputy Directors of the FBI until a permanent appointment can be made and confirmed by the Senate.” She spoke rapidly, no longer looking at the President’s face.

“Your country needs you, Agent Schultz. You need to step up.” Maynard rose from his seat. “And don’t worry -- it’s only temporary. In a few weeks,” he said, adding months to himself, “you can go back to doing what you’re doing now in the field. Come on. We need to swear you into office.”

Natalie gripped her pen more tightly, spinning it at an increasing speed as she stared at the floor, the carpet’s patterns suddenly dizzying. “You can’t do this to me,” she whispered.

“Let me put it this way, Agent Schultz,” said Maynard, staring down at the woman in the conference room. “As President of the United States, I am ordering you to take the appointment. You don’t have a choice in the matter.” He moved toward the door. “Someone has to start cleaning up house,” he said over his shoulder. When Natalie didn’t follow, he snapped, “Schultz!”

Less than two hours later, Natalie Schultz sat on the edge of a small raised platform covered in soft blue carpet, holding her pen in one hand and clutching air with the other. “No pictures,” she managed to say, despite the flashes of multiple cameras, and squeezed her eyes shut. The President had disappeared several minutes prior, and Natalie found herself alone to fend with the press.

The swearing-in had occurred in time for the conclusion of the evening broadcast.

         “Whatever you need Doc.” Laughed Rapp as he stood. “When your ready you may call for one of us using the phone.” He gestured at the phone that was mounted on the wall next to the entry door. It had no buttons. “Just pick it up and it will ring. Request an escort to see the prisoner and you will be taken up there.” He moved to the door before offering her a sarcastic bow. “Until next time.” Then he was gone.

         :)

         Whaddup