"She's hiding something," Coulson said as soon as they were in the car again, still on the driveway. "I don't know what, but she knows a lot more than she's telling us."
Seth nodded. "I know. It hurts me to even think about it, but she's guilty of something."
He waved at the Secret Service agent who opened the gate for them, then slowly drove through.
"Was it me, or did she imply she was somehow involved in the assassination as well?"
"I was asking myself the same question, if I'm reading too much in her body language, in the subtext of what she was saying, in her expression and tone. There's no denying she didn't express any regret about her husband's death. That's understandable under the circumstances, but still."
"Even if she loathed him, having him assassinated in front of live cameras is a giant step. I would've expected at least shock, some statement about how brutal that was when we brought it up."
"The kind of emotion she offered about the Pride Bombing," Seth said quietly.
"So it wasn't just me who thought that was a little weird?"
"No, it wasn't. I've never heard her speak about the bombing with such emotions."
"Maybe because of her grandson?"
Seth darted his gaze to the left and lifted his foot off the gas. He checked the road in front of him, then looked to his left again. He hit the brakes, and before the car had come to a full stop on the shoulder, Coulson already had his gun in his hand.
"What did you see?"
"A man watching us with his rifle trained on us. Caucasian, dressed in camo, black bandana covering the lower half of his face, and wearing a camo baseball cap."
Thank fuck for the skills of Secret Service agents. They didn't miss a goddamn thing.
Seth already had his phone in his left hand, his thumb hitting the speed dial button. He rattled off his name and Secret Service ID number. “Visual of an armed man, three hundred feet outside the gate. Backup requested. Caucasian, camo gear, rifle. Exiting my car in pursuit on foot. Special Agent Padman is with me.”
Good. That should have Mrs. Markison’s protection detail start their procedures, like requesting backup from local cops and decreasing the security perimeter.
"Let's go," Coulson said, and a second later, they were both out of the car, guns drawn. They ran back and crossed the street to where Seth indicated he'd spotted the man. Coulson followed him as he jumped the ditch next to the shoulder and pushed his way through the bushes.
They'd only walked a few yards when Seth held up his hand, and Coulson stopped immediately. Silence. Then rustling. Was it the wind or…? In the distance, a car door slammed shut, and then an engine started. "Our man?" he mouthed wordlessly to Seth, who nodded.
Still, they kept their noise to a minimum as they trod a little farther, and then Seth kneeled, pointing at trampled bushes and fresh footprints in the mud. He'd been right. Someone had been there. Just a couple of hundred yards outside the outer perimeter of Mrs. Markinson's house. On the day he and Seth had visited her to talk about her possible involvement. Too much of a coincidence.
Seth gestured to keep going, and Coulson followed him. They both stepped around the prints to leave them undisturbed. Once they'd made their way through the bushes and trees, they came onto a piece of flat land where it was impossible to hide. Was that why whoever had been watching them had taken off? He must've realized he had no cover.
They crossed the flat land until they reached an unpaved road with fresh tire tracks. "He's gone," Seth said out loud, lowering his gun.
"He must've heard or seen us circle back."
"This is way too close to Mrs. Markinson for my comfort."
In the background, squealing car tires announced the arrival of more agents.
Coulson grabbed his phone. "I’m calling in forensics. I want the spot where he stood processed first for potential evidence. Same with these tire tracks here. We'll do the old-fashioned tire analysis and see if we can find out make and model of the car."
"You think it's related to the investigation."
Coulson quirked an eyebrow. "Are you honestly telling me you don't agree?"
"No, on the contrary, but it's a relief to hear you confirm it. I was starting to doubt myself and think I might be getting a little too paranoid, seeing conspiracies everywhere."
Coulson folded his hand around Seth's neck, then pulled him in for a quick, hard kiss. "Nothing wrong with your instincts, baby. Trust your gut."
Seth's smile made his stomach flutter. "I love you, boo."
"Love you too. Now let's get to work."
The FBI and the Secret Service had a little trouble playing nice at first, and then the local cops arrived and wanted a say as well, so both Coulson and Seth had to play referee until the pecking order was clear. What made it difficult was that Seth couldn't explain to his coworkers why the FBI had to take the lead, since they had to be kept out of the investigation. So in the end, Coulson had simply pulled rank, shooting an apologetic look Seth's way.
As soon as the FBI's forensic team had arrived, they left. They spent the first minutes of the ride in silence, and Coulson was trying to make sense of it all. How was this connected? Because it was; he had no doubt about that. A man had been positioned right along the only road leading in and out of Mrs. Markinson's home. Armed. Waiting for them, but how had he known Coulson and Seth were there? And why hadn't he taken them out? He'd had the perfect opportunity. If he'd fired into the car, they would've been dead before they'd ever had a chance to respond.
"I don't like how close that was," Seth said, apparently having thoughts along the same lines. "I can't help but think he was there for us."
"I know."
"He could've easily taken us out."
"Apparently, those were not his orders."
"Who knew we were going to talk to her today?" Seth asked.
"Other than the Secret Service agents on duty, only a handful of people. Sheehan, Agent Barry, Gary, the president, Calix, and Lisandra James."
Seth had been forced to inform the Secret Service director because he'd needed permission to visit Mrs. Markinson without arousing any suspicion. Director James had come up with the reason: Annabeth had wanted to meet Seth's boyfriend. Coulson had cringed a little at their relationship being used that way, but he had to admit it was a valid and useful excuse.
"You forgot someone," Seth said quietly. "Mrs. Markinson herself. If she is indeed involved, she could've let someone know."
"I suppose a woman who is potentially able to have her husband assassinated wouldn't blink twice at getting us killed as well, and that very thought makes me highly uncomfortable. I have to agree with you she doesn't seem the type, and I've met a lot of people over the years."
Seth sighed. "Yeah. I still can't figure it out."
"Let's say for argument's sake that she's involved not just in leaking the article but in the actual assassination. That she ordered it. Why would she use such an elaborate ruse? Why the Muslim terrorist group? That part doesn't make sense at all."
"It doesn't, even less when you take the Pride Bombing into account. That happened five years ago, and as far as we know, the same group was responsible. Did she order that too? She had absolutely no reason to. The president hadn't cheated yet, and she was—at least on the surface—happy as the first lady. It doesn’t add up."