They passed a stairwell leading upward from which she could hear the clear voices of the press briefing breaking up. She raced ahead.
Past a tiny kitchen with two vending machines, a microwave, and an espresso machine with a picture of Tom Hanks above it, they came to another door. Again, Dilya slotted her ID and a flat panel at the end of the hall swung aside. Zackie pushed through first.
They rushed through after her as steps sounded on the stairs from the offices above. Dilya leaned on the panel and it snicked shut with seconds to spare. The sudden silence was echoing.
They were in a utilitarian hallway that Reese’s sense of direction said was a basement beneath the White House Residence itself. There was the rattle of dishes and the hum of a dishwasher off to her left. To the right
