by Jason Letts
Thirty-seven Secret Service agents have died in the line of duty. For the first time she’d put herself in position where she could be next.
Alex clicked his feet into place and started riding. Jane now had enough practice doing this that it was like second nature, and soon she’d gotten even to him and was staring out at the long winding road. For a while she felt like the president must’ve been taking a lengthy warm-up, but she came to understand that this ride wasn’t going to be at all like the high-speed chase she’d been led to anticipate.
They moseyed down the road at such a lethargic pace that at times Jane had to just stop pedaling to keep herself from pulling away from him. Alex seemed to be nearly slumping against the frame of the bike, like it was propping him up rather than that he was riding it. His pedaling was slow and he was breathing heavily. Whatever workout he may have gotten last night was taking its toll.
As slowly as they were going, Dedan still had trouble keeping up with them. The casual pace was something of a shame too, since Jane found herself feeling really good and wishing she didn’t have to hold back. If she’d been free to cruise the forest roads on her own, she would’ve flown.
“I hope you’re not bored,” he said, surprising her.
“No, sir,” she said. He kept looking at her, like he was about to say more, but eventually he turned his sights forward as they continued around the loop.
When they reached the big hill, Jane wondered if he’d even manage to get to the top of it, but he climbed steadily all the way to the top. After seeing signs like that, she was sure with a better night’s sleep and less alcohol consumption he was a really impressive rider, but as it was every rotation of the pedals seemed to be more taxing than the previous one. They made it all the way around the loop again, but at the top of the hill Alex coasted to a stop.
Jane came to a halt, glancing back over her shoulder at Dedan, who looked at the end of his rope and hadn’t even reached the bottom of the hill yet.
“I guess I’d better not show up to the courtroom like this,” he chuckled, elbows propped against the handlebars. Jane blinked. It wasn’t her place to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do, and the appearance of the president of the United States in a courtroom was sure to be a spectacle regardless.
“Sir,” she said, and he sighed and sat up, hanging his head a bit.
“You know, half the fun of going out for a ride is being able to talk to someone about whatever. I completely get that you have a job to do, and I appreciate your service and that of everyone else who’s been involved with my detail, but aren’t there enough other people around for you to be able to just say something like a regular person? It’s Jane, right?”
She took a long look at him, his handsome cheekbones and somewhat windswept look after being on the bike for a while. The daze he’d been in earlier had mostly faded away, like being outside engaging in an activity like this had rejuvenated him, or at least woken him up. Her proper role was a giant presence in her mind, and there certainly wasn’t anyone coming onto the radio to give her the go-ahead, but something in her gut told her that in this case treating him like a human being and not an object with a codename was the right thing to do.
“You’re probably right. A lot of people will be watching,” she said with a faint smile, trying to be nice but reserved. He took a deep breath and looked around the area, where the buds on the trees speckled the grounds with the first hints of green.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. About last night, I mean. I can’t imagine myself doing that again. There are probably easier ways to find out you’re not twenty anymore,” he said.
Jane laughed despite herself, knowing that if she tried to recreate some of the experiences from her college days, all-nighters and such, she’d be wiped out for a week. Her bosses would be thrilled to hear that he wasn’t intending to storm D.C’s club scene anymore, but mostly Jane wondered why he was talking to her about this stuff, of all people.
“At least you had a good time,” she said. Alex’s head twitched in a moment of anguish.
“Did I? To tell you the truth it felt forced, like I was going through the motions based on what was supposed to be fun, but it never lived up to the expectations. Nothing really felt right. We just didn’t have a good vibe, if you know what I mean. I think she was overwhelmed. I doubt I’ll end up seeing her again,” he said.
“Oh,” Jane said, trying not to sound too surprised, though if she’d been riding the shock might’ve knocked her clear off onto the ground. If that was a bad date, what did a good one look like? The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by revealing exactly how much she knew about his personal life, but it was hard not to be curious how taking her back home and sleeping with her wasn’t enough to win Leslie Hodge a second date.
Alex chuckled to himself and spun his pedals backward as he looked over at her, his eyes drifting along the length of her body.
“I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this,” he said. Jane was so used to seeing unapologetic confidence verging on invincibility from the male agents she worked around and the men in the White House, and Morrin was known for being commanding and a decision-maker, that any sign of vulnerability was as rare and compelling as a blue moon.
She began to imagine that between people he worked with that were a generation older, like the vice president and the chief of staff, he didn’t have many peers that he could really share with. And it wasn’t like the president could go around venting to the interns without that turning into an apocalyptic disaster. With his wife—was it time to start calling her his ex-wife?—gone and all of his interactions consumed by his work, deep down he really may have been unambiguously lonely.
“No, I can relate,” she said, though explaining why she felt she could was a challenge. She’d made her own feelings and wants subservient to her work for so long that she’d basically forgotten what they were. It took a moment of introspection to search for them. “It can be difficult to balance doing what you need to professionally with what you need for yourself when you live your job.”
Alex laughed.
“Isn’t that the truth,” he said. Jane could hear Dedan’s huffing behind them as he approached the top of the hill, and Alex glanced over his shoulder as he noticed, before adding, “Maybe it’ll be easier after the hearing in Dayton. You’ll be coming, right? As a manager, of course.”
Jane’s eyes shifted to him, feeling put on the spot after the unexpected inquiry. What would he want her to come along for?
“Oh, logistics and staffing don’t usually go along on day trips.”
“But sometimes they do.”
Jane was at a loss for words, but conveniently Dedan crested the hill and rolled up alongside them. Sucking in air like his wide mouth was a vacuum, he looked over at them with sweat dripping down his face.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me.”
Although not nearly as fatigued as Dedan, the president was more or less done at that point as well even though he’d done less than half the mileage they’d planned. The three of them coasted around the backstretch of the loop until they returned to the starting point and got off their bikes. Jane nodded when the president thanked them for the ride before being whisked away to continue with his day under the care of Secret Service agents on the current shift.
She watched him go with a funny feeling that she’d seen a side of him that almost no one had gotten to see. As for her and the rest of her weekend, it wasn’t anything special that anyone would care to see. Feeling like she’d gotten a pass on her first ride, she now had another week to train to be ready for what would doubtlessly be the real thing.
Sunday morning she spent three hours on the roads south of D.C. along the eastern side of the Potomac. She felt like she was growing stronger, and it didn’t hurt that the sustained effort and the calories burned provided for some guilt-free treats. Even after shoveling down a bowl of her favorite butter pecan ice cream with
whipped cream and sprinkles, she couldn’t help but feel content with how she looked when she glanced at herself in the mirror.
Now if only she could do something about her driver’s license photo that looked like she’d just gotten out of prison.
When it was back to work on Monday, there was the other after-effect of her ride that occupied her attention. Once she had a free moment, she found herself drifting toward Chief Harold Vale’s office not exactly sure what she was doing or how she was going to say this. With his door open, it was easy to stick her head in and tap on the door like it was a quick thing.
“The president seemed to think I’d be tagging along on the Dayton trip tomorrow, so I guess I’ll be doing that,” she said, about to pull away from the doorway and vanish down the hall until she saw a skeptical look on his face that made her inwardly grumble. She had a good relationship with her boss, who had gone out on a limb and given her a big chance when it came to her job, but he was the kind that was very by-the-book and with nothing overlooked.
“That’s not really necessary, is it?”
Between his hooked nose, bowl-cut blonde hair he’d probably had all his life, and imperfectly tied ties, Vale was a bit of a misfit among the other senior staff members in a way she appreciated.
But the last thing she wanted was to dig deep into parsing her interest in participating in this trip. When it came to being in the Secret Service, keeping secrets was the part Jane was the best at, and there were some things she wasn’t ready to admit even to herself.
“Probably not, but it might be a good idea to get an on-the-ground view once in a while to keep myself informed about the detail’s needs.”
“How was your ride with the president?”
Vale caught eyes with her when he said that in a way that made it unmistakable that he’d bridged the connection. He had an investigator’s heart and hardly missed anything, but Jane wondered if he’d make any kind of implication about her that crossed the big red line questioning her professionalism.
“It was a success from a security standpoint, but he was a mess and didn’t ride for very long,” she said.
“It might be best if you stay here and continue planning his upcoming events.”
“I can just as easily do that on the plane or during the trip. It’s not like I’ll be watching the hearing.”
“Is there a particular reason you’re so adamant about going?” Vale asked her pointedly.
“No,” Jane said faster than her mind could come up with an explanation to go along with it. “Not that I don’t love the office, but I guess I’m feeling like getting out more and keeping closer tabs would be beneficial.”
Her boss stared blankly at her, either waiting for her to go on or even say the obvious that she wanted to go to be around the president. Dread set in that he’d say something about her age and appearance and how Alex Morrin might respond to that in his current state, which would force her to contemplate things she knew were better sealed off.
“Alright. I don’t want any of your detail requirement documents to be a minute late,” he said.
“Of course not.”
Jane slipped out, feeling at once oddly excited about going on a trip that had no practical purpose for her and subdued about how hard she’d fought to pursue it. Maybe she was tired of being a shadow in the background three steps away from the action. Up until now that was all she had, but a creeping suspicion seeped into her mind that her subconscious interests were leading her closer.
Now that she’d been cleared for the trip, she also felt foolish about taking it. Despite the president’s inquiry into her plans, she doubted he would even notice whether or not she was there. Odds of speaking to him were zero and he surely wouldn’t be in much of a pleasant frame of mind anyway considering he was going to a divorce hearing. Letting his off-hand friendly comment dictate her plans was unwise to say that least.
But as she went about packing a small bag and determining which of her suits would be most appropriate to wear, she didn’t see how it could lead to much harm.
7
5937 Central Ave
Capitol Heights, MD
When it came to making a bomb, Oliver did things the way he always did them, by practicing and checking everything over. He’d conducted his first two tests way out in the woods, even going so far as digging a deep hole to detonate them in so that there wouldn’t be much visible noise or flame to draw people’s attention.
Even before that he’d meticulously covered his tracks. Once he found out which book had the most suitable instructions for his purposes, he spent two days driving out to Iowa so that he could purchase it with cash in person rather than order over the internet and have it be traced. The time would come when he could dispense with the circumspection, but for now methodical secrecy was the order of the day.
In his cramped two-room apartment on the second floor above a laundromat, Oliver put together the device that he would use to assassinate the president of the United States. Sitting on the floor next to some half-empty pizza boxes, he mused that the trickiest part of this wasn’t even going to be getting the explosive near the president.
Slipping off the boom mic’s foam cover and using a screwdriver to get into the microphone casing, he recalled all the times luggage had been carelessly stuffed onto Air Force One. Since they all had security clearances, little more than an x-ray scanner was used to whisk things through, none of the dogs or other measures that security at the White House employed. A boom mic filled with explosives would look essentially the same as it usually did, something he knew after checking himself.
The trick was actually going to be fooling Heath, who would be most likely to know that the weight of the microphone was a little off and that it wasn’t working properly. That meant Oliver’s job directly prior to execution was to distract Heath so that he couldn’t run a soundcheck on the microphone.
Alas, in addition to the president, Heath and most of the other technicians clustering around when public remarks were given upon exiting the Dayton courthouse would not survive the event, but that was a necessary sacrifice he was willing to make. It wasn’t like Oliver cared for Heath personally even after they’d been working together for years, and one day he might even be appreciated for his small role in a historic moment.
The timer and fuse went in last, which after the microphone was turned on would leave a good two-minute lead time until the detonator went off. That would be long enough for the president to exit the building, answer a question or two, and then lights out.
It was hard for Oliver not to be enamored with his vision of the aftermath, and once the microphone casing was resealed and the foam cover replaced he went back to fantasizing about what it would be like when he stepped forward to claim responsibility. Looking perfectly, he would calm the scene by explaining that no more violence would occur.
Turning to his computer, he was sure that he would be arrested quickly, but that was part of the plan. A timer was also set on an upload to the Washington Post website, his special video exposing the president as a treasonous scumbag worthy of extra-judicial dethroning.
People didn’t know about the human experiments the government performed that he had found traces of. Once it all came out, it would take some time, perhaps a year or two, until like Nelson Mandela everyone arrived at the realization that he had not only done the right thing and should be released but deserved to be appointed to the presidency for his bravery and ingenuity.
Oh, he’d be re-elected normally for his second term. Democracy and all that. But the extraordinary circumstances of the moment called for previously unthinkable measures in order to keep the country from devolving into a morally bankrupt shell of its former state. Oliver’s true genius was to recognize the extreme needs of the current moment when no one else did.
The video was an incredible work in itself, one that he let play on a loop in the background. Every so often he’d glance at his screen to see Alex Morrin say something cheesy
about John F. Kennedy. That was Lee Harvey Oswald’s mistake, skulking away like a criminal. Oliver Ip took all the responsibility and all of the reward for his actions.
Cringing suddenly, Oliver decided that the video needed some additional tweaking. It just plain didn’t take its target down hard enough. More weight was needed, requiring Oliver to go back through his archive of the president’s clips. Most were from his time on the campaign trail and as a Congressman. When it came to sound bites Morrin gave about things like the need for research or innovations in science, there was an ocean to choose from.
One of Oliver’s more-prized skills was his ability to selectively edit and manipulate footage, and it was child’s play to slice out the bits that made the president sound sinister and domineering. Splicing in a few frames of him scowling or grimacing added to the effect perfectly.
A little window popped up on the screen. He would’ve made much faster progress if he wasn’t constantly being harassed by his exclusive coterie of internet sleuths, whose only purpose in life was to feed him little morsels of information. They were only a hair’s breadth better than the unwashed masses he despised, people who couldn’t be trusted to process information for themselves. Oliver knew that telling them what to think about the news wasn’t enough. He had to make the news.
Once the video was sufficiently condescending and incendiary, he uploaded it into the queue using a special file tag that would make it seem to the Post that it had already been reviewed and approved by the paper’s editors. They wouldn’t be disappointed anyway, as this fit into their usual schemes of gotcha journalism and clickbait.
It grew late and Oliver slumped onto a bare mattress and pillow with no pillowcase, still wearing his suit. He took dressing for the job he wanted, not the one he had, to the extreme and never slept without a jacket and tie on. Plus it saved time in the morning. Smart.
