by Tal Bauer
UN Headquarters
New York
The final vote on Jack and Sergey’s joint resolution was called Saturday evening, after the sun had set over Manhattan. The ambassadors to the United Nations, their delegates, and the heads of state who were personally representing their nations reentered the Security Council chambers, taking their seats at the semicircular table.
Jack’s foot jiggled. He gripped his cell phone in one hand, buried in his lap. Before he’d headed into the council chambers, he’d sent Ethan a quick text. Voting now.
His cell buzzed.
[Got the TV on. I see you.]
Jack smiled.
At his side, Puchkov arched one eyebrow as he spied the cell phone in his lap. He snorted softly. “It will be good,” he murmured, leaning into Jack’s shoulder. “You will both see.”
Jack nodded. “We’re going to change the world, Sergey. Together.” Puchkov slowly smiled and gripped Jack’s shoulder.
Azerbaijan’s ambassador, the current president of the Security Council, opened the session and spoke quickly about the responsibilities of the chamber and of the nations to secure peace and guide the world toward stability and harmony. He admonished the delegations, calling on them to search their souls for what was in the best interests of the citizens of the world and to let the pettiness in their hearts fall away in the face of humanity’s needs.
The voting began.
The nonpermanent members voted first. Azerbaijan cast their vote. Yes.
Brazil: no. Cameroon: no. Egypt: yes.
At Jack’s side, Puchkov nodded, muttering in Russian.
The Gambia: no. Germany: yes.
Jack turned his phone over and over in his lap one-handed, the other rolling a pen back and forth between his fingers. He kept his expression schooled, practiced neutrality, though his heart was hammering against his ribs, hard enough to ache.
Japan: yes.
Puchkov exhaled.
Nigeria: no.
Jack stole a glance sideways at Puchkov. Puchkov stared at the Nigerian delegation, at their president, as if he could wither the man away, turn him to bones and dust with just the force of his glare alone.
Pakistan: no.
Swallowing, Jack pressed one hand flat to his notes, spreading out his fingers. The papers grounded him, focused him, as he breathed.
The Saudi Arabian ambassador looked at Jack for a long, silent moment before he voted.
Saudi Arabia: yes.
Five yes to five no for the nonpermanent members. Jack’s teeth ground together, and at his side, Puchkov shifted, his first outward sign of nerves. They needed four of the five permanent members to agree, and none to cast a veto.
They had never heard which direction China was leaning.
Azerbaijan gave Jack the first vote, calling for the United States. Jack leaned into the microphone. “Yes, Mr. President.” Smiling, he sat back, his tongue pressing hard on the roof of his mouth.
“And the Russian Federation.”
“Russia proudly votes yes.” Sergey gripped the microphone, angling it toward him, and spoke firmly.
From there, the vote went in historical order. The United Kingdom: yes.
Jack inhaled sharply, and Puchkov did the same. One more yes vote was all they needed.
France: yes.
Puchkov broke into a wide smile, pounding his fist on the tabletop as Jack pressed his lips together.
There was still one more nation to go. China, with their mercurial nature. Would they blow it all up? Would they veto?
Azerbaijani’s president turned to the Chinese delegation. “And China. Your vote, please.”
The Chinese ambassador stared at Jack and Puchkov. He said nothing.
And then, he leaned in, speaking in Chinese into the microphone. The translator in Jack’s ear provided the translation a second later: “Abstain.”
And that was it. Azerbaijan’s president couldn’t hold back his smile as he pronounced the resolution passed. For the first time in decades, the UN had authorized and supported a global military alliance operation.
Puchkov leaped to his feet, applauding and shaking hands with his advisors, and then reaching for the delegates of the United Kingdom, Germany, and France. Then he turned back to Jack, reaching for his hand.
Jack stood and grasped Puchkov’s hand as he beamed. Laughing broadly, Puchkov pulled Jack into a quick hug before holding him at arm’s length. “We did it, Jack. We made history.”
“We’re making history, Sergey.” Jack gripped Sergey’s elbows. “This is just the first step.”
His cell phone buzzed in his hands, vibrating against Puchkov’s arm. Puchkov’s gaze slid to his phone. He smiled.
“Go. You have a phone call to make, I know. We will be speaking to each other much as we prepare, Jack. I will talk to you soon.”
Jack gripped his elbows one last time and started extricating himself from the mob of ambassadors and delegates. Daniels and Scott maneuvered him through the crowd. He shared handshakes with the United Kingdom and Germany, and stopped for a longer handshake with the Saudi ambassador. The Gambia, Cameroon, and Nigeria had already stormed out of the council chambers. The Chinese delegation was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, he escaped, heading for the elevators, surrounded by his detail and his staff behind him.
He swiped his phone on.
[I knew you could do it, love. :) ]
Jack’s heart flip-flopped. He thumbed over Ethan’s text, over the word he’d used. Love.
Now that was a nickname he could get behind. He smiled again, his cheeks aching, and rolled his top lip between his teeth.
I would have face-planted during my speech if it weren’t for your help, love.
[Don’t sell yourself short. You’re amazing.]
The elevator deposited them at the garage, where Scott had called for the motorcade to wait. They hustled Jack to the SUV as the NYPD met the motorcade at the UN’s garage entrance. In moments, sirens blared as they drove through the streets of New York, back to the airport and Washington DC.
Now comes the grueling part. I’m going straight to the Situation Room when I get back. I’ll be there for days.
[You’ll get that pasty Situation Room tan. ;) ]
LOL.
They took FDR up to the Queensboro Bridge, and Jack watched the gray waters of the East River lap at the snowy banks of Queens.
What are you up to?
[Was watching TNN and waiting for the vote. They replayed your speech a dozen times. Other than that, just hanging out in my apartment. Thinking of you.]
Jack bounced in the back of the SUV as they hit a pothole. Miss you. I wish they’d voted on Thursday.
The motorcade sped through the streets of Queens, through Astoria, flying through traffic lights. On the streets, cars honked, drivers waved at the SUVs, and people snapped pictures from the sidewalks.
[I’d just be a distraction. You’re going to need this time with your staff. You really will be in the Situation Room for days.]
Exhaling, Jack gnawed on his lip again. Ten days until I see you again.
[Can’t wait, love. :) ]
“Mr. President, we’ll be arriving at LaGuardia in three minutes.”
“Thanks, Scott.” Jack grabbed his briefcase and texted Ethan one last time. About to get to the airport. Text you soon, love.
[ :) ]
Seemed their new nickname was sticking. Jack grinned as he shoved his cell into his jacket pocket. He could live with that.
11
Des Moines
“Everybody! In here!” Shepherd’s harsh voice broke over the bullpen of Secret Service agents on Monday morning. He waved to his office. “Hurry up!”
Becker fell in beside Ethan. “What now?”
Ethan shrugged.
“Hey.” Becker squinted at Ethan. He leaned in, speaking softly as the other agents crowded in beside them. “You didn’t go to DC this weekend?”
He shook his head.
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Becker frowned, sipping his coffee. When they got to Shepherd’s office, Becker moved off, leaning against the windows overlooking the bullpen and leaving Ethan alone on the side wall. A gulf separated him from the other agents; they clustered around the chairs and windows.
“Listen up.” Shepherd stood behind his desk, his arms crossed. “You all saw the news from over the weekend. The president is preparing to go to war. While he’s in DC, VPOTUS is heading for Chicago to meet privately with the ambassadors from Egypt, Saudi, Jordan, Turkey, and Lebanon. Chicago’s office is putting out the call for additional resources. We’re sending a team of six agents.” He read off four names, and the four called out smiled. Time away from home and protecting the vice president. It would be a treat for many of the guys, a taste of life on the other side of the Secret Service.
“Reichenbach, stay behind. The rest of you, get out of here.”
Silently, the rest of the agents filed out. Shepherd stared him down, folding his arms across his chest.
“The vice president has specifically stated that he does not want you to be on his detail.”
No surprise there. Vice President Green hadn’t been the warmest or fuzziest of men, and he’d distanced himself fast and furious from Jack after his and Ethan’s relationship had gone public. Ethan stayed quiet.
“But… you’re still the most experienced agent in the Midwest region. And Chicago has been specifically ordered to keep these meetings entirely out of the media’s spotlight. Which means we need a delicate touch and someone who knows what they’re doing managing something that needs to be kept secret.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“So I’m sending you and Becker. Put your case on hold for a week. Becker will work the detail. You’re to stay in the command post. Partner with Becker. Help him get his legs underneath him. VPOTUS is operating out of the Ritz up there. You are to go from your hotel room to the command post at the hotel and back to your hotel room. Order room service. I don’t want you seen anywhere. On the streets, at Starbucks, anywhere at all. Got it?”
Ethan looked Shepherd dead in the eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Get going. Tell your partner. You need to be in Chicago by tonight.”
The next week passed in a whirlwind.
Ethan grabbed Becker and told him the news, and they left early, heading home to pack for a week in Chicago. Ethan drove back to the office and hopped into Becker’s car. Ethan ducked down out of sight of the reporters as they made their way out of town.
When they got to Chicago, Becker checked them both into the hotel, and with his head down and ball cap pulled low, Ethan lugged his duffel to his room, connected to Becker’s with a slip door.
They headed for the command post after that, set up in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Becker was like a puppy let loose for the first time, wide-eyed and taking in everything. His first protective detail. His first taste of the other side.
Other agents weren’t as thrilled with the assignment, or with Ethan’s presence. In the command post, eyes slid sideways, lingering on him.
They got their rotational assignments and their radios and headed back for their rooms, where Becker talked Ethan’s ear off while they sipped beers from the minifridge. How cool the command post was. What the different ambassadors were going to be like.
Ethan didn’t have the heart to stop him.
He and Jack Skyped late that night, both too tired for a long conversation. But Jack smiled and blew Ethan a kiss, a simple ritual that had become the foundation of his nightly routine. Ethan went to sleep with a smile on his face.
Each day, the newspapers dissected Jack’s actions in the White House, prognosticating and pontificating on what his and the generals’ battle plans were likely to be, and how close he and President Puchkov were becoming. In Chicago, Ethan sat in the command post and listened to Becker grouse about the rude delegations and the boredom of the detail as the vice president and the nations’ ambassadors ensconced themselves in discussions for hours.
“This sucks,” Becker breathed into his mic, keyed to a private channel for Ethan. “How the hell did you do this for twelve years?”
“It helps when the protectees are better people.” Becker snorted, completely undignified.
“For those of us who aren’t looking to bang the protectee, do you have any other advice for how to make this less soul-crushing? I swear I can see the paint peeling off the wall.”
Ethan chuckled into his coffee cup. “Welcome to protections, Becker.”
“Is this what it’s like at the White House?”
“No.” Ethan leaned back in his chair, glancing around the dark command post. The lights were dim, most of the room’s illumination coming from computer monitors and laptops open on long lines of tables set up in rows. It was the middle of the night. Ethan and Becker were holding down the overnight shift again. “At least, not most of the time. There’s always so much going on, between the president’s daily schedule, visitors, special events, and then travel. There’s always a thousand things to take care of. And DC―and the White House―is usually keyed up and extra anal, anyway―”
Becker snorted again.
“―so there’s usually not enough time for boredom.”
“Well, this sucks,” Becker said softly. “The ambassador has six escorts in the hotel suite with him. Sometimes I can hear them.” Something that sounded like Becker shuddering floated over the line. “Between that and this very empty and boring hallway, I think I’d actually rather be back in Des Moines chasing down counterfeiters.”
Ethan grinned. “What? Financial crimes not high-speed enough for you?”
A long sigh as Becker deflated. “I wanted to work my way up to something. Something… badass. Meaningful. Like what you did. The presidential detail. Man…”
Ethan’s heart clenched.
“But…I’m not sure anymore.” Becker sounded off. Dejected, and something else. “Maybe I’m in the wrong agency. I mean, what’s going on in there, with the ambassador, isn’t even really legal, and I’m a sworn agent. This is messed up.”
“Happens all the time. Sad to say.” Ethan leaned forward, balancing on his elbows as he hovered over his coffee. “Every year, we all hear about the stories from the agents detailed to New York for the UN General Assembly. Our guys provide detail protection for all the heads of state who come in. What they do when they’re here…” Ethan shook his head. “But there’s a lot of good in the job, too. We make a real difference. Every day should be boring if we’re doing our job right. Everything should be controlled. Stable. Safe. And everyone is relying on you to deliver that. Everyone, not just your protectee. The whole world counts on us to keep our people safe. Doing that right… There’s a lot of meaning in that.”
“Sounds like you miss it.”
I miss Jack. “Yeah,” he grunted. “But, you know. This is what it is.”
Silence, again, heavy with Becker’s unasked questions.
“Gross,” Becker hissed. “Ugh, I can hear the ambassador going at it. And the girls are obviously faking.”
Ethan chuckled.
“Dude, quick, tell me some stories. Block out these sounds. Gotta help me out here, man. That’s what partners are for, right?”
Grinning, Ethan launched into a story of him and Scott pranking Daniels at the White House. And then the Easter Egg Roll when Scott had pulled the short straw and had to dress up as the Easter Bunny. The time he’d slipped one of Jack’s predecessors a glass of vodka instead of a glass of water during his holiday photo line, and the mischievous smile the president had given him in return. Hours later, the president was as red-faced as Santa Claus, but he was having the time of his life, and so were his guests. Days spent in training at Rowley, running counterattack scenarios in the motorcade with the special tactics squads, breaching drills, counterterrorism exercises, and simulating the worst day in the world for a Secret Service agent: their protectee coming under attack.
> “Was it anything like training when it did happen?” Becker interrupted softly. “In Ethiopia?”
“No.” Ethan’s voice choked off and his throat clenched. “But that’s on me. Because―” He swallowed. “Because in training, you’re distant. And in Ethiopia, I already loved him.” Silence. He didn’t need to say more. The training both he and Becker had been through had emphasized, over and over again, how important distance was between them and their protectees. How any personal attachments could be the difference between success and failure. Objectivity blown, what choices would a compromised agent make? What hesitations, or rash decisions, would be made, and who would pay the price when it all came apart?
Ethan’s throat stayed tight, memories and pain hammering him hard. Ethiopia had been desperation and bitten-off prayers, doing everything he could to get Jack out alive. His objectivity had been shattered, and he hadn’t cared if he’d lived or died.
“When I called that night…” Becker trailed off. “Who did you think I was?”
“Who do you think?”
Shuffling. “The ambassador is finishing up. Finally,” Becker grumbled. “I need to get these girls down and out the service entrance.”
“I’ll send a team to meet you at the elevator.” Ethan switched over to the main comms channel and routed a waiting team to Becker. No one talked back to him over the open net, but there was a little too much hesitation, a little too much dead air, between his tasking and their acknowledgement.
Ethan listened to Becker herd the escorts out of the hotel, and Becker falling in with the other agents in the ready room. No one talked to Ethan for the rest of the night.
They were cut loose from Chicago after the vice president and all the ambassadors had left for the airport. Other agents stuck around to help break down the command post and close up shop with the Chicago agents, but not them. Ethan hung in the background, standing apart from the crowd of agents filling the briefing room, and Becker traded business cards and handshakes as he made his goodbyes.
