by Jason Letts
Pulling open the large tinted doors, they stepped inside the Secret Service’s Live Monitoring Station, where data and footage of all of their protectees coalesced under the direction of the Watch Commander. The nerve center of their entire organization, it had light panels on the walls displaying code names and locations next to a huge screen with a map currently tracking the president’s movements.
They’d arrived just in time to see the panel for Cold Turkey change from “White House” to “In Transit.”
Watch Commander Matthew Winger was a longtime veteran of the Secret Service with time spent in the military in what now must’ve seemed like a previous life. Though he was in his late sixties with sunspots on his forehead, he had a stout figure and looked strong enough to push over a tree. It was hard not to be a tad intimidated, especially when he turned from a few agents working at their computers to march over to Jane and Nathan.
“Do you have any idea what this sudden departure is about?” Winger asked loudly enough for it to echo throughout the entire chamber. Jane wished she had a better answer, but no doubt they already knew everything she did.
“It’s Friday night and apparently the president wants to go out,” she said, swallowing. Winger’s face was growing visibly red even in the dim light of the Joint Operations room.
“But where…and doing what…and with whom?” he asked, seemingly flabbergasted.
In one sense a guy going out to meet a lady somewhere shouldn’t have been so eye-raising, but when that guy was the president of the United States and there were twenty-five professionals in this room tracking him, not to mention the fifteen agents and drivers on the ground, any unexpected movement was a big deal and a grave cause for concern.
While the Secret Service could forcibly move the president in a potentially harmful situation, they were also expected to give him wide latitude to conduct his life the way that he wanted. The trouble was nobody else knew what that entailed, and now that Alex Morrin evidently felt released from his marriage they were all about to find out.
An agent with a headset on working at one of the computer stations turned to them.
“Evans has learned that they’re on their way to pick up a woman who the president has been exchanging communication with over Messenger,” she said.
The map taking up most of the wall showed the presidential caravan creeping north through the city. Watch Commander Winger looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Can somebody call in an emergency medical team? No, not for the president. For me, in here. Because I’m about to have a heart attack. The president has started sending messages to people through social media that we haven’t known about? This is outrageous. I’m tempted to hand this over to the Director’s Crisis Center.”
While Winger’s mention of the Director’s Crisis Center may have been tongue in cheek, it had the effect of ratcheting up Jane’s nerves tenfold. That was the office that took over in the case of the direst emergencies, like 9/11 caliber events. Considering the unmonitored communications and possibility for unprecedented exposure, maybe it was necessary. That was up to the Watch Commander.
“The president is giving directions to his driver one turn at a time like he’s riding in the back of his buddy’s car. We don’t know what their destination is,” the agent with the headset said.
All they could do was watch as the presidential limo, nicknamed the Beast, wound toward the Colombia Heights neighborhood and turned onto smaller and smaller roads. They were getting close to somewhere, and they came to a halt at a place on Taylor Street not far from an elementary school. It was a suburban part of town, and a feed came up immediately of a three-story apartment building of a modern style with patios and red shutters by the windows.
“Evans is exiting the vehicle,” the agent said. At least the president wasn’t trying to get out and approach a strange building himself. But Jane watched in anticipation as Evans entered the building in search of the person the president was attempting to meet. Whoever she was—if it even was the same person that the social media account represented—Evans would put her through the wringer. A thorough body search, some pointed questions, and more.
“I don’t like this at all,” Winger said, and Jane could sympathize with his consternation. Every day she got up wondering if this would be the day the president would be killed, and the odds of it actually happening on this particular day kept going up.
A minute later the screen changed from the map to a huge blown-up image of a District of Colombia driver’s license for an individual named Leslie Hodge. Jane’s eyes couldn’t help but go straight to the headshot of a woman with flowing dark hair, thick eyelashes, and big lips. It was hard to look good in a driver’s license photo where smiling was prohibited, but she was pulling it off. 5’6”, roughly the same height as Jane. One hundred and thirty pounds. Twenty-nine years old. Jane had to hand it to President Morrin. As best she could tell he had managed to score himself quite a tryst.
Watch Commander Winger, however, wasn’t at all ready to congratulate anyone on setting up a hot date. When he turned to them, his dark glowering was very nearly terrifying. Thank goodness he had his eyes on Nathan.
“Someone from the Investigative Division standing around like he has nothing to do? You have five minutes to tell me everything about her.”
Without squandering his time by uttering a response, Nathan turned on the spot and dashed out of the room. Meanwhile Leslie Hodge was being escorted to the president’s limo and shown inside. For all they knew she could be an enemy spy, but at least she was unarmed and would share the vehicle’s cab with a pair of Secret Service agents.
Jane imagined with a note of trepidation what it would be like to meet a man in his car and have his two federally appointed security guards there staring a hole in her every second through their dark sunglasses. How could she manage to relax and enjoy herself for even a second, let alone be the kind of fun and flirty companion would take to get close to someone? She’d need to ask Evans what happened the next time she saw him…for research purposes, professionally.
“The driver’s being directed back into town,” the agent said. Winger wiped his brow back over his receding hairline.
“Alright, enough is enough. We need to know what the plan is before this goes any further. Have Evans put the question to him.”
“Yes, sir,” the agent at her desk said.
They waited and watched the dot on the map move along the streets. Throughout the room, the air felt thick with tension. The president had already put himself out on a limb, but how far was he going to go? Maybe he had a restaurant in mind for a nice first date that they could clear out and secure. That sounded pleasant.
“They intend to grab a quite bite to eat downtown and then go out for drinks and dancing.”
When Winger heard that, his head twisted around on his neck so fast it seemed like it would break. A nightclub. The president wanted to go out drinking in public at the kind of place where fights and attacks happened all the time anyway. An ulcer seemed to form in the pit of her stomach.
Before anyone could say anything, Nathan came rushing back into the room. His chest expanding with each deep breath, he also looked like he wasn’t ready to put fifty miles in on a bike. Jane and the Watch Commander turned to him, and she caught sight of a warm grin on his face.
“Leslie Hodge, originally from Ann Arbor, Michigan. Went to Arizona State and works in D.C. as a public relations assistant for a nonprofit focusing on environmental advocacy. No priors or criminal record of any kind. No evident connections to any foreign governments. No legal history. Let’s see, what else? She apparently dabbled in modeling at one point. I didn’t find anything suggesting she had any kind of combat or weapons training. Risk assessment is extremely low,” he said, catching his breath and standing a little straighter.
Just a regular girl…who’d done some modeling, Jane thought.
The Watch Commander still appeared torn.
“It’s no
t her I’m worried about. It’s everyone else,” he said, looking bitterly at the screen as the Beast inched closer to downtown. He again cast his eyes in Jane’s direction, seemingly searching for thoughts or ideas. As it so happened, she had some.
“Sir, we’ve trained to protect the president even in live combat situations. Are we really going to be able to look him in the eye and tell him that we can’t handle downtown a few blocks away from the White House? I’d trust the agents on the evening shift to walk him through the courtyard of a maximum-security prison without anyone being able to lay a finger on him,” she said.
Winger peered at her for a moment, causing her to wonder if she’d been too bold, but then a sly smirk appeared on his face before he turned to the agents throughout the Joint Operations Command.
“You heard Agent Roe. We’re going to do this. Let’s show the president a good time tonight. That’ll start with getting some plainclothes agents into the area. We order the food and have it ready before anyone knows who it’s for,” he said.
In a way it wasn’t too different from how they were involved in what the president normally ate. White House chefs still got their food from grocery stores in the area like anybody else, although the Secret Service had a systematic way of constantly changing the stores they went to. The idea was that no one would be able to ever predict what particular item on a shelf somewhere the president might eat and have a chance to tamper with it.
“Let’s reach out to a club owner and let them know they’re going to be having a special customer shortly. Their bouncers can take the night off, because the security is going to be getting an upgrade. Every person in the building gets searched. We’ll have an agent in there for every other person present. Make sure one of them can mix a decent cocktail, because we’ll be manning the bar.”
Winger’s booming voice echoed across the floor, and Jane smiled as everyone around them sprung into action. Maybe this wasn’t the typical mission the Secret Service undertook, but it was a nice change of pace from the dire and grave situations they normally had to deal with…so long as everything went smoothly.
“Makes me wish I had hundreds of people backing me up every time I took a girl out,” Nathan said as they watched the scene in action.
“You don’t seem like you need the help,” Jane said, smirking.
“Neither does the president. There are a lot of people who think the First Lady is bonkers for leaving him,” Nathan said.
“She has her reasons and without stepping into her shoes I can’t say she’s wrong. It’s her life.”
Matthew Winger scratched his neck.
“I just hope this doesn’t become a regular thing. Back when I first started, the old bulls would tell me about their early days with guys like Kennedy and Johnson. The White House was a madhouse back then and they were constantly chasing women. People didn’t know about it because the papers felt like it wasn’t something they were supposed to cover, but everyone around knew and these guys just acted like they could do anything they wanted. This might be the tip of the iceberg,” he said.
Although she’d only spoken directly to Alex Morrin once, a conversation she’d dissected in her head a hundred times, Jane was skeptical that he was the type to get wasted every weekend, regardless of how he acted back in college at Ohio State.
“We’ll find out what’s in his heart,” she said.
“And make do regardless,” Winger added in a low voice.
Although Jane’s shift had long ago ended, she found herself strangely fascinated by what was playing out in front of her. The president was really only a few blocks away from their headquarters, close enough for her to see what was happening with her own eyes if she wanted, but that wasn’t her place. She belonged to her job, and watching from afar was her place.
There was a part of her though that kind of wanted to get a glimpse of how the president danced, and she wondered if any footage from inside the nightclub would make it to the screens of the Joint Operations Command. By the time the president and Leslie Hodge finished their meal, Nathan had decided he’d seen enough and left, leaving Jane leaning against the side of the doorway with her arms crossed, like she had snuck into a movie.
There wasn’t anything special going on at her apartment anyway that couldn’t wait. Her refrigerator and shower needed cleaning. All her riding was making her think about actually getting a bike of her own and sticking with the hobby on her days off. Or maybe she’d find a way to get back into road racing.
When the president and his date visited Ultrabar on F Street, the building had essentially been transformed into a government building in the past hour. Jane listened in as agents at their stations handled everything from running background checks on every patron to taking deliveries being dropped off in the back.
To her disappointment, she didn’t get a good look at the president’s dancing, whether he was awkward and jerky or at least comfortable and enjoying himself. Guys had it easy when it came to dancing anyway and could more or less stand there and sway a bit. Jane couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually gone somewhere with the intent to dance. A friend’s wedding a few years ago, perhaps.
The president remained for a couple of hours, during which time he had a good five or six drinks. Watch Commander Winger kept looking over at Jane, seemingly surprised that she was still there. Jane began to wonder why she hadn’t left herself now that the confusion and tension of earlier in the night had dissipated. The whole operation was going off without a hitch and it looked like the evening was going to be winding down. The president was safe, but she still felt she was waiting for something.
“Driver is right out the door with the engine running,” the agent said at her desk.
“I think we’re in the clear to wrap this up,” Winger said.
Despite the comforting words, the pit at the bottom of Jane’s stomach came back with a vengeance as the president climbed into the vehicle and started moving down the street.
At first the Beast progressed north in a way that suggested that it might be returning to Colombia Heights, but then it turned east onto the next street.
“Driver has been instructed to head directly to the residence,” the agent said. Oh, he was taking her home.
That was what she had been waiting for, and now she pushed off from the wall and slipped out the door so that she could go back to her lonely apartment. A lucky lady would be staying over at the White House tonight. Deep down Jane had suspected that such an outcome was not only possible but probable, but it still stung.
6
Catocin Mountain Park
Hauvers, MD
Jane was straddling her bike at 7 AM the next morning on the end of the Camp David loop, ready to ride through the brisk but fresh air with compression shorts and riding jersey on, not to mention the gun and radio strapped to her. More than anything she felt ready to tackle a new challenge and appreciated the opportunity to do something a little different.
Dedan waited a few feet away as well, and the two of them shared a nervous glance about what they were in store for. Although there were a dozen other agents and emergency medical personnel positioned about the loop, if the two of them didn’t perform adequately they really would need to hire a professional rider for the job.
The president arrived forty-five minutes late. They watched the Beast cruise into the secluded hideaway at a noticeably slow speed, crawling around the turns. When it came to a stop and Alex Morrin awkwardly stumbled out in baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt, Jane immediately noticed his bloodshot, squinting eyes. He hardly seemed like the same person she’d seen before, and as he came over a little of his smell hit her.
She knew he’d left the nightclub in no position to drive, but that seemed like only the beginning of the drinking and whatever else had gone on. There was no need to ask any of the agents what they’d seen or heard. She could fill in the blanks herself. For all she knew Leslie Hodge would be permanently relocating to the residence now.
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“Sir, we don’t have to…” Dedan said haltingly while Jane stared blankly. She’d braided her hair in a way she thought would appear nice under her helmet, but he probably couldn’t even focus his eyes in his current condition. At least he wasn’t swaying or anything in an indication that he was still drunk. The president waved off Dedan’s comment.
“Nonsense. I’m good to go. Every great training regiment has to start off by toughing out a hard first ride. Let me just…I should’ve eaten more bread last night. Is there water in this thing? You guys think of everything,” he said.
Morrin went over to the bike leaning against a tree that had been prepared for him and grabbed the water bottle from the holder, seeming to suck down half the contents. After a deep breath, he went about changing his shoes and pulling the bike onto the road. Jane had spent weeks preparing for this moment, and now that it had come it was somehow nothing like what she’d expected.
While on the one hand seeing the president like this was off-putting, on the other hand her position gave her a sense of sympathy. His wife had just left him after eight years of marriage and a courtship lasting another ten years before that. That was half his life. She could only imagine what kind of rediscovery process he would have to go through after that to reacclimatize himself to life, and perhaps unsurprisingly some of it wouldn’t be pretty and considering his looks there was likely to be a number of women involved. And this was all happening while he occupied the White House.
She gave him a faint smile as he rolled up between her and Dedan. Alex—could she even think of him by his first name?—was so close but still so far away.
“I should’ve hydrated more. Funny the things you forget, like it was my first night out again. Doesn’t college seem like a lifetime ago?” he said to her in a wistful way she found intriguing.
“Sir,” she said with the slightest nod. Jane’s job wasn’t to be there to talk to the president. As an agent on duty with the president’s Personal Protective Division, the only thing she was supposed to be doing was to keep him safe. That meant if something happened, it was her responsibility to address it. If shooting broke out, she would have to cover him with her body.
