Or at least that’s what it feels like. I’m falling, wrapped in the tight embrace of my mortal enemy. But I’m also spinning. No, not spinning...flipping. I’m fli—The impact sends a wave of pain through my body, numbing my toes and fingers. But I’m not dead! And I’m no longer held in place. Despite my body screaming to remain motionless, I sit up and stagger away.Gordon lies atop the granite staircase of the White House’s south portico. We fell two stories down, but rolled so that Gordon absorbed most of the impact. A stroke of good luck.Gordon sits up, grinning.Or...not.He could have killed me if he wanted to. It’s obvious now. He could have popped my head in his hand like a too-full water balloon. He could have not flipped over. But he wanted me alive for a little while longer. Although that suits me just fine, it confuses me.Until I see the look in his eye. He’s enjoying this. Like a cat, toying with a mouse, he’s going to kill me slowly, savoring each injury. And then, he’ll kill me.
