"No need to be stressed, Marcella," John assured her just as they reached the shooting range.
At the gates, he was asked for identification and she was asked to sign her name and produce her ID. She did so with pleasure. At least, there would be a written document that she was there. Not that they can't make it disappear in case this was an ambush. But still…
John let out a loud sigh.
"You're not very convincing, Emerson. You and Hemmingway made my life hell back in high school," she said. "And your mighty organization is not very trustworthy either. A sitting President didn't want to start a war; Somehow, he ended up dead and the guy who killed him ended up dead too before he said anything."
"Oh, come on, DeAngelo," John looked exasperated.
"What?" Marcella's voice went high out of anxiousness. "Everyone's saying it's your people who killed the President!"
