No one knows the exact moment that they will die, only the inevitability that death is looming. Cohen Jacobs. 27. White House correspondent. Or at least that’s what the badge read as he buttoned his security gaining him access to the White House. His day started as ordinarily mundane as a day could.
“If I could kill all of the telemarketers, I would.” Cohen muttered as he was seated in the press room. Five calls from different unknown numbers two hours. Cohen pressed end on his phone. In half an hour, the President would take the podium and regurgitate whatever information had been fed to him. A war on American soil was brewing and with each conference the public seemed to know less and less. Cohen had been behind those old white doors long enough to understand the extensive information that was shielded from public eye. He’d eavesdropped on whispered conversations and glanced at official documents for…show more content… Just as he reached to power down, another call came in, another new number. Cohen picked up. “He-Mr.Jacobs” Cohen was silenced before the woman on the other line began speaking. “Do not say a word and do not bring any attention to yourself. Trust me, You’re making a mistake and I’m going to save you. Secret service agents are posted in the back, to the right of the podium and beside the door. Now nod your head and laugh like you’re talking to a friend. Repeat after me: “I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a minute to give you the paper, my mistake.” Leave the room and get in the taxi waiting outside.” She ended her directions and was silent on the line. Cohen hesitated, He knew her observations checked out though as he scanned the room. He didn’t know what it was, perhaps his gut instinct, or the looks exchanged by the secret service agents after focusing in on him in the crowded room. A stifled and nervous laugh escaped his lips as he repeated the words and hurried out the