Radclyffe - (Honor 4) - Honor Guards

by Radclyffe

  Blair walked to the table and picked up Cam's cell phone.

  Cam regarded her quizzically.

  "I have to call Felicia."

  "Any particular reason?"

  "I need clothes." Blair punched in the number to command central and snapped, "Get me Davis at this number." Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and put the phone beside her.

  Curious, Cam asked, "Why Felicia? Stark's your lead agent."

  Smiling despite herself, Blair shook her head. "It's a girl thing. You wouldn't understand."

  "Probably not." Grinning, Cam sat down beside her and reached for her hand. With the other, she pulled the sheet across the bed and wrapped it around Blair's body. "The view is spectacular, but you're going to get cold."

  "Not while I'm this pissed off" Blair muttered, but she allowed Cam to cover her.

  "Do you understand my concerns?"

  "Yes." Blair entwined her ringers with Cam's. "But I don't like it. I'm scheduled for a tour of the breast cancer center at Institut Gustave-Roussy this afternoon. I was hoping that I would have a few hours to myself in the morning to sketch in the Tuileries gardens."

  "All of that may still be possible. Let me just get the updates on recent cell activity in the Paris environs and a look at what's breaking on the newswires." Cam lifted Blair's hand to her lips and kissed her fingers. "Just give me an hour or so to brief with the team and then we'll discuss the day's itinerary."

  Blair turned her head and studied her lover's face. Cam's dark eyes were tender and warm. "You never used to ask."

  "I know." Cam brushed the backs of Blair's fingers against her own cheek, needing the contact. "But that was before I fell in love with you."

  "Do you think the longer we're together, the more rope I'll be able to get from you?"

  "I don't think so," Cam said musingly, her eyes dancing. "I think you've gotten just about as much as I intend to give."

  Blair shifted closer, threaded an arm around Cam's waist, and rested her head on Cam's shoulder. "I'm very persuasive."

  Wrapping her in an embrace, Cam pressed her lips to Blair's forehead. "Mmm. Believe me, I know."

  At that moment, the phone rang and Blair snatched it up, "Blair Powell...Felicia?...I need an emergency makeup kit and something to wear. Yeah...slacks and a shirt will do. Can you raid my room and pack a bag?...Sure, half an hour's fine." At Cam's raised eyebrows, Blair pointedly ignored her. "Let me give you the address where we are." After giving Felicia the details, Blair closed the phone once more and set it aside. Regarding her lover seriously, she asked, "Shall we call down for breakfast or is there something else you'd rather do for half an hour?"

  Cam framed Blair's face with both hands and leaned in to kiss her lingeringly, enjoying the softness of her lips and the heat that rose beneath her palms. When she drew her mouth away, her voice was husky. "There's always something I'd rather do with you, Ms. Powell. But considering the circumstances, I think breakfast might be the safest choice."

  Blair ran her fingers down the center of Cam's bare chest. "I know you're not the type to play it safe."

  "You have severely tested my limits." Laughing, Cam caught Blair's hand and stilled her teasing movements. "So I'll have to decline the offer of other pleasures for the time being."

  "Oh yeah?" Blair planted both hands on Cam's chest and pushed her backward onto the bed, climbing astride her hips as she fell. Leaning over with her arms braced on either side of Cam's shoulders, she slowly lowered her head, her eyes fixed on Cam's. "We'll see about that, Commander."

  0635 16Aug01

  Query team leader: Do you read?

  Team Leader: Roger, RedDog

  Target located. Awaiting green light.

  Team Leader: Observe at the ready

  Roger. Strike team out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  T wenty-nine minutes later, a knock sounded at the hotel room door. When Blair started to rise, Cam caught her arm and stood quickly. "I'll get it."

  After pulling on her pants and shirt, Cam reached for her weapon, which was lying in its holster on the bedside table. She slid it out with practiced ease on her way to the door. There was no peephole hi the heavy wooden door, and she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Blair was not in the sightline of anyone outside in the hail. Then, her hand on the knob, she asked, "Who is it?"

  "Davis, Commander."

  Automatic held down at her side, Cam inched open the door for identity verification, then stepped aside and allowed Davis to enter.

  Felicia stopped at the foot of the bed, her eyes face front, appearing to take no note of the rumpled solitary bed or the fact that the first daughter sat in the middle of it with nothing on but a bedsheet.

  Blair held out a hand for the overnight bag. "Thanks."

  "You're quite welcome, Ms. Powell." Turning away, Felicia returned to the door. "I'll take the hall, Commander."

  "Very well." Once again, Cam blocked the sightline to Blair as her agent opened the door and slipped out.

  "Do you do that on purpose, just to make me crazy?"

  Cam turned, returning her automatic to the holster and securing it to the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. Ordinarily, she wore a shoulder holster but had found it difficult to camouflage in the evening jacket she'd worn the night before. "What?"

  Blair blew out an exasperated breath and stood up. "Never mind."

  Cam fingered die studs from her pocket one at a time and began to fit them into her shirt. "What?"

  "Put yourself between me and even the remotest possibility of danger."

  Frowning, Cam looked up. "You mean just now?"

  "Yes," Blair said slowly, cocking her head and giving Cam a look. "I mean just now."

  Cam opened her fly, tucked in her shirt, and zipped up. "That's just SOP. I don't even think about it."

  Blair regarded her lover contemplatively, not angry, but curious. "How do they teach you to do that?"

  "What?" Cam slid both arms around Blair's waist and kissed her softly. "What?"

  "You're being unusually dense this morning." Blair rested her forearms on Cam's shoulders, watching the colors swirl in Cam's eyes.

  Cam grinned. "Too much sex."

  Despite herself, Blair smiled. Then her expression grew serious. "How do they teach someone to be willing to die for a paycheck?"

  "It's not about that," Cam murmured. "You know that."

  "I don't understand why you do it."

  Cam rested her forehead against Blair's and took a long breath. "It's an honor."

  Blair made a small sound and pressed her face to Cam's neck. "Oh God. I do love you."

  "I'm so glad." Cam kissed her once more, still softly, but this time she allowed herself the luxury of lingering- She traced her tongue over the soft surface of Blair's lips and into the warm welcome of her mouth, knowing that it could be hours or even days before she might do so again. Then, resolutely, she released her hold and stepped away. "I love you, too."

  "I'll be ready in just a second." Blair was subdued as she turned away to sort through the clothes Felicia had packed for her. Even though she would be with Cam for almost the entire day and probably most of the evening, it would not be the same. She would not be free to touch her without thinking, or to smile or laugh or cry with her without restraint. Even though their relationship was no longer a secret, her behavior was still under scrutiny, and the personal was about to become very public.

  "Blair," Cam said softly.

  Blair looked up, a question in her eyes.

  "I miss you, too."

  Oddly, the admission lifted Blair's heart. Knowing that she was not alone in her longing gave her the strength to banish the loneliness. "Thank you."

  Nodding solemnly, Cam shrugged into her jacket and checked to be sure that she could access her weapon without interference. Satisfied, she said quietly, "I'll wait outside with Felicia."

  "Of course. I'll be out shortly, Commander."

  The short ride in the Pe
ugeot, one of the regulation French security vehicles, passed in silence. Felicia drove while Cynthia Parker, the newest member of Blair's detail, rode shotgun in the front passenger seat. Parker was on temporary loan from the White House security division, replacing Ellen Grant, who was recovering from an injury sustained while thwarting an attack on Blair. Parker, in addition to having ten years in the protective division, had worked in counterterrorism, and Cam had requested her specifically for the Paris detail.

  In the backseat, Blair and Cam sat wordlessly side by side. As the car turned into the wide driveway fronting the Hotel Marigny, Cam murmured, "I'll call you as soon as we're done briefing."

  Blair reached out and rested her hand on Cam's thigh. "I need to shower and change. Just come when you're done."

  Covering Blair's fingers with her own, Cam squeezed lightly. "Fine." Then she released her lover's hand and checked the activity streetside before opening the car door. Two agents, Hernandez and Michaels, approached and, once they flanked the rear door, Cam stepped out. She looked up and down the plaza, then to the hotel entrance, and finally up the building's exterior, checking every window. Most modern hotel windows did not open, but it was a simple matter to cut out a square of glass through which to extend a rifle barrel. With luck, the glint of sunlight on steel would give an early warning, but many weapons had a matte black finish that prevented precisely that kind of reflection. She saw nothing amiss and turned to lean into the vehicle. "We're ready for you, Ms. Powell."

  As soon as Blair stepped out, the two agents immediately closed in on either side. Cam walked slightly ahead, and Blair knew without looking that Felicia was right behind her. The phalanx of guards escorted her inside the building, across the lobby, and into the elevator. They rode to the top floor and into the east wing where two penthouse suites had been reserved for Blair and her security team. The second suite had become the command base while she was in Paris, and the agents, including Cam, slept in rooms one floor down. In the hall outside Blair's room, Cam murmured, "I'll see you soon."

  Blair watched her lover disappear into the room opposite hers, and then she opened her own door and stepped inside. Felicia took up a post in the hallway outside. Alone, Blair wearily stripped and headed toward the bathroom. She didn't regret the loss of a night's sleep, because the hours with Cam had more than made up for it. Her weariness now was not from fatigue, but rather from the long years of the restricting routine. Nevertheless, reaching in to turn on the shower, she felt a surge of happiness. She remembered falling asleep, and much more importantly, awakening, in Cam's arms.

  Cam shed the evening jacket as soon as she walked into the temporary comm center. Laptops were open and running on every available surface, and an entire bank of monitors displayed images of the hallway outside and the interior of all the elevators that serviced Blair's floor. A youthful-appearing blond man in his early thirties, wearing dark chinos and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his mid-forearms, sat in the center of the U-shaped array of electronics. He had a healthy complexion and cornflower blue eyes and might have passed for Brad Pitt on one of Pitt's less scruffy days.

  "What have we got, Mac?" Cam asked as she walked over and dropped into an adjacent chair.

  "Good morning, Commander," Mac Phillips said with a friendly smile. If he took note of the fact that his commander was still wearing the clothes she had worn to the embassy gala the night before, he showed no sign of it. "The data information service from the NSA gave us early warning that the...news release regarding Ms. Powell was due to hit the streets this morning." He glanced at his watch. "In approximately four hours now."

  As soon as Blair had given Mitchell the interview, Cam had advised her team of it, leaving out most of the details but warning them to prepare for increased media attention at any moment.

  "Let's get the team together so we can review the adjustments we need to make in the rest of the itinerary." Cam glanced at her watch. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll be in my room if you need me."

  "Very well, Commander."

  Cam left to shower and change, wondering just how much she was going to have to disappoint her lover. When she returned to the comm center, dressed now in her usual work attire—dark suit, white shirt, black tasseled dress shoes—all of her agents except those currently detailed to Blair were present. Most she had worked with since she had assumed command of Egret's personal security detail nine months earlier. There were a number of new faces—several agents who had been assigned temporary duty due to the increased security required when Egret traveled abroad and one replacement for a core team member absent due to injury.

  Cam accepted all of them at face value because she fundamentally believed in the integrity of the Secret Service. On the other hand, she trusted fewer than a handful implicitly. Those agents had been tested under fire with her—more than once—and those select individuals she trusted without reservation. Those were the only people she would entrust with Blair's life, and she counted on them to take command in the event that anything were to happen to her. She had given the responsibility of shift rotation to Mac, with the understanding that at least two of these unofficial "core" agents would be present on every detail.

  "Commander," a number of voices called as she entered.

  Nodding to her team, Cam walked to the corner credenza. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a pot that sat brewing twenty-four hours a day and carried it to the center of the room where two aluminum catering tables placed end to end served as their conference table. She set her cup down and surveyed the waiting agents. Felicia and Reynolds—one of the newbies—were absent. Both were stationed outside Blair's room. After the morning briefing, those who were just coming off the abbreviated night shift would be off duty until their next rotation. The exception was Paula Stark, who as Egret's lead agent worked swing shifts—part of the day and part of the evening shifts—when Egret was most active.

  "Good morning, all. Let's have the routine updates first." Cam slipped her PDA from her inside pocket, opened it, and powered up. She glanced briefly at Blair's itinerary for the next two days, although she knew it by heart.

  Mac shifted printouts, then succinctly and efficiently reviewed the timetable for the day's scheduled events along with the personnel assignments. He opened a window on his laptop and a sectional map of Paris came up on a 42-inch plasma screen monitor at the end of the table.

  "This is the planned motor route to the hospital. Two cars will be placed here," he highlighted an intersection, "and here, for backup and evacuation."

  He tapped the keyboard, and an image of the front entrance of the massive hospital appeared. "Egret's ETA is 1600 hours. The advance team will vet the lobby and do a walk-through of her tour at 1300 and again at 1500, then detail here," he highlighted a point just outside the main doors, "to escort her inside with the primary team."

  "What do we have on the surrounding topography?" Cam asked.

  "Three structures within critical range and with sightlines to the entrance," Phil Rogers, the advance team coordinator, interjected. "All are commercial buildings, all open for business today."

  Internally, Cam winced, because that meant dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people could potentially access a point from which to see, photograph, or fire upon the first daughter. Her face remained composed. "Anything turn up on the occupants?"

  "No, ma'am," Rogers replied. "The French ran the leases and corporate ownership records when they got the advance itinerary from us last month. Nothing popped."

  If the preliminary checks had revealed anything the least bit suspicious—a lessee with a criminal history or a business with strong ties to anti-American interests—deeper checks, including surveillance, would have been requested from "friendly" intelligence operatives in the region, most often CIA or their French counterparts.

  "Employees?"

  Rogers frowned. "Harder to evaluate. The French aren't so much uncooperative as lousy record keepers...their computer archives are even
less capable of interfacing than ours back home."

  Cam sighed. It was common knowledge within the intelligence community that the dozen or so U.S. agencies involved in information gathering and analysis often didn't talk to one another— and even when they wanted to, their data storage and retrieval systems were often antiquated and/or incompatible. As a result, interagency intel exchange was often impossible. Internationally, where diplomatic relationships with the host countries were often volatile at best, the situation was even worse. The upshot was that safeguarding political figures on foreign soil was more often than not a nightmare. "How many people are we talking about?"

  "Fifty."

  "Do you have teams on-site?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Rogers glanced at his own PDA. "The Service de protection des hautes personnalites will deploy operatives to all three locations at 1200."

  "Interior and exterior?" Cam asked sharply; She hated relying on any security forces other than her own, but it was neither practical nor possible to travel with the numbers of personnel truly required to protect an individual from all potential avenues of harm. A car containing explosive devices could careen through a roadblock and ram Blair's car; a suicide bomber could walk up to her on the street and self-detonate; a shooter could rent a room across from her favorite restaurant or salon and just wait. Eventually they would get a clear shot. Protection service relied on meticulous, exhaustive planning for any and all contingencies, but the save often came down to instincts and intuition.

  "Yes, Commander."

  "Risk assessment?"

  "Low," Mac said. "Friendly government, economically stable, little in the way of recent unrest. Egret is popular, plus she has ties to a number of well-positioned people—diplomatically and socially—from the time she lived here." He smiled. "The French love her, Commander."

  Some of the French a little too much. Cam considered the obvious attentions of the French ambassador's wife, whom she knew to be a former lover of Blair's, toward Blair at the gala the previous night. Cam's mouth quirked but she did not smile. "Very well—the hospital tour is a go."