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eliminating the Chinese Minister of Defense, he had a full three
second warning before that maid actually struck.
Alighting on the on the white plastered wall, Adrian con-
sidered his options with laser-like speed. No way to kill the girl
without bringing half the Secret Service down on him. No way
to escape either. He needed to frighten her off without changing
into anything big enough for her to see a difference.
As the maid moved in for the kill, the assassin shifted into
a Bombardier beetle and opened fire with both aft cannons. The
natural tear-gas used by the bug to defend itself caused to house-
cleaner to drop the swatter and cover her eyes. Meanwhile, the
new beetle changed into a Sympetrum flaveolum, the world’s
fastest dragonfly, and whizzed off down the corridor at 60 miles
an hour, only his precise wing control keeping him from colli-
sions.
Landmarks flew by in a blur. A distant part of his mind took
note of porcelain vases and elaborate halls with brightly col-
ored carpets in bizarre, foreign patterns. Most of Adrian’s mind,
however was focused on the portraits he had memorized to mark
the way.
Up the stairs. Keep near the ceiling. His insect mind
grabbed at details. Portraits whizzed by. Grant, McKinley, both
Roosevelts, Frances Folsom, here!
Coming instantly to a dead stop, a great advantage to being
a dragonfly, Adrian flipped upside down and hung from the ceil-
ing, observing the two guards. One was blond and blue-eyed as
a Viking, the other a dark man with a shaved head. Both were
standing like eternally vigilante statues in some pharaoh’s tomb
on either side of the bedroom’s double doors.
This, he thought dryly, will be tricky. If he tried to crawl
under the door, even as a harmless bug, the guards would prob-
ably squish him out of habit. On the other hand, if he used force,
it was still possible the President could escape through some un-
known secret passage before Adrian could break down the door.

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