by Andy McNab
As the gates closed behind him, I could see Josh parking in line, nose in to the pavement, about fifty meters up on the left-hand side.
There was a big round of applause to my right and the roar of excited children's voices coming from a huge marquee that had been erected in the rear White House gardens. Davy grinned.
"There are about two hundred of them in there. Been practicing all morning." He screwed up his face as the applause continued.
"At least they think they're good."
I could see more clearly into the gatehouse now that we'd gone through the fence, turned right and were standing by the metal detector. Just beyond that was the turnstile. Two bodies were inside the gatehouse. The door opened and one of them came out. An electric buzz came from the turnstile as Josh came through to join us. The guard was white and in his forties. His Secret Service uniform was a very sharply pressed white shirt, a black tie, black trousers with a yellow stripe and black patent-leather belt kit, holding a semiautomatic pistol and spare mags. He couldn't wait to have a go at Josh.
"Things must be getting desperate around here if they're bringing you back!"
Josh laughed; he'd obviously had this for years from this guy, because he gave him the finger as he replied.
"I've been sent to get rid of all the dead wood, so you'd better watch out, lard-ass."
Everybody contributed to the banter as the fat one slapped his stomach.
Sarah and I were the gooseberries in this, so we just kept our mouths shut and concentrated on looking awestruck at standing so close to the official residence of the most powerful man on earth.
I could see that Lard-ass and a younger black guy who was still inside the gatehouse were also responsible for manning a bank of TV monitors and radios. Davy got hold of a clipboard and went through the signing-in procedure.
"Nick, surname please?"
"Stone." Being with Josh, there was no option but to reply truthfully.
"OK, S-to-n-e." There was a few seconds' pause as he finished writing.
"And Sarah?"
"Damley."
He frowned, and she spelled it for him as she wiped her new glasses with a tissue from her pocket.
"OK, if you can just sign here and here for me, please."
The first signature was for the ID card, the second for the entry log.
Josh then signed himself in as well. Davy gave the clipboard back to the guard, who handed Sarah and me each an ID card. Lard-ass smiled at Sarah as he passed her card over.
"You're not going to let these two losers show you around, are you?"
"I guess I'm stuck with them for now."
He smiled and shook his head.
"The only place these two know is the canteen. You'll just be eating doughnuts and drinking coffee all day, and look what that did for me!" He looked down at his belly.
We joined in the laughter. Mine was out of sheer relief at getting even this far. It appeared that we weren't quite in the Good Lads Club because we didn't have our cards on nylon straps we had clips, with a black V on a white background, not for visitor, but volunteer. It must have been part of the deal, today being busy: no visitors. It seemed Davy and Josh had made a real effort for us. I hated that. It made me feel even more guilty, but I'd live. At least, I hoped I would.
Our IDs looked quite different from the ones Davy and Josh were wearing.
Theirs had a blue edge surrounding their pictures, and some red markings underneath. We clipped ours onto our jackets and Davy clapped and rubbed his hands together.
"OK, people, let's do this thing." He walked around the detector and waited with Josh as we walked through it.
As we all went through the turnstile I didn't know which feeling inside me was stronger, elation at getting past the first hurdle, or concern that I was now fenced in and the clock was ticking.
We walked north along West Exec Ave. We weren't inside the actual grounds yet, as the iron fencing that stretched away from the gate divided the White House from the road. We seemed to be aiming for an entrance about fifty meters farther up, which opened onto the front White House lawn. Looking through into the gardens, I could see the rear of the main building and the marquee. A member of the Emergency Response Team was standing under a tree, talking into his radio as he watched the road, and us. He really looked the business. He was dressed from head to foot in black: black coveralls, black belt kit, body armor and boots. He had a baseball cap with ERT on the front and a pager that was hooked onto the leg strapping that went around his thigh to keep his pistol and holster in place. It looked as if his main weapon, probably an MP5, was covered by a black nylon support across his chest.
Josh took a back seat as Davy started to give us the brief while we continued toward the gate.
"Regardless of what people think, this place is basically just an office complex. Over to the left-hand side" we looked over at the old Exec Building in perfect unison, like a group of Japanese tourists "that's where the VP's office is, and that's also the Indian Treaty Room. It's a fantastic sight, I'll try and get you in there later on, especially if our little tour the other side of the fence is cut short."
We carried on up the road between the two buildings, basically just listening to Davy Boy. The more you listen, the less you have to say and the less you can fuck up and the more time you can spend looking for anyone who looks remotely like a dark-skinned Al Gore or Bill Gates.
Walking purposefully between the two buildings, via the gate, were men in conservative suits and women in identical two pieces, each with an ID card dangling on a nylon cord. Television and power cables snaked across the tarmac, and at the top of the road, where it met Pennsylvania Avenue, satellite trucks were jammed onto every available square inch of space.
As we got to within ten meters or so of the gate I saw Monica Beach in front of me, on the White House side of the fence. I looked at Sarah. She'd seen it, too. Multicolored umbrellas were pitched high to keep the light out of the camera lenses. Spotlights were rigged up for the reporters to look good in front of the cameras, and there were yet more power cables.
They seemed to have a life of their own. The whole place looked like a Hollywood location.
Beyond Monica Beach I could see another gatehouse, which I guessed was the press entrance point from Pennsylvania Avenue. Throngs of people with videos and cameras jostled against the railings to get a good shot of the building. They seemed to be photographing everything that moved, maybe in the hope of capturing some celebrity to show the folks back home. If this all went to rat shit in a few hours' time, I guessed the police would be appealing for them to hand in their footage.
Davy continued to give us the general picture as we stood at the gate.
There was a bit of a bottleneck as ERT and uniformed Secret Service security scrutinized the IDs of everybody who was waiting to go through.
"The White House can be broken down into three main parts. The east wing"--he pointed to the far side of the main house; we looked, but I was more intent on scanning the faces of the news crews that were walking from the building up to the beach--"then, in the middle, the executive mansion. That's the part you always see in newsreels. As you can see, just outside, on the lawn, is where the ceremony will take place. The kids will be doing their thing in front of the stage."
Arranged on the stage were a couple of rows of chairs, and two lecterns emblazoned with the presidential seal. The flags of Israel, Palestine and the United States were being unfurled on flagpoles. The scene looked idyllic.
Sarah was watching the hordes of tourists poking their video cameras through the fence.
"Isn't it dangerous to be so exposed to the road?"
Davy shook his head.
"No, they'll close off Perm Ave soon." He pointed to our side of the executive mansion.
"This here is the west wing, used mainly for administration and press briefings, as you can see." He nodded over to the TV crews behind us.
We turned, and it gave both of us an opportunity to have
a good look at the personnel. I couldn't see anyone who looked remotely like our targets.
In any case, these guys were technicians sorting out camera gear, not reporters.
We just had to get back to playing the tourist.
"The Oval Office is in the west wing and not in the executive mansion," Davy went on.
"That's why these guys"--he pointed at the crowd by the fence--"never get to see him. They're always looking at the wrong place and from the wrong side. The Oval Office overlooks where all the kids are at the moment."
Still we waited, shuffling forward toward the security. Now and again Josh and Davy waved at somebody they recognized. We moved out of the way so that a group of sharply dressed men and women could come through the gate onto the road. One of the women recognized Josh.
"Well, Mr. D'Souza! What brings you to town?"
Josh stepped to one side with a larger than normal smile on his face.
"I
thought I'd just drop in and say heyyy." We stood and waited for a few seconds so that he could finish his conversation. I could hear him talking about his kids being part of the ceremony. Sarah suddenly remembered something.
"Oh, no, the camera. I've left it in the car."
Josh heard and turned his head.
"Hey, no problem, I'll open the truck."
Sarah didn't want to mess up the conversation.
"That's OK, I'll do it."
She held out her hand for the keys and Josh presented them.
I'd forgotten it, too. We were going to need it, as we were tourists on a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Josh looked at me as if I was a mop head
"We now know who's the one with the smarts!" Then he turned back to his conversation.
We waited until Sarah ran back to us with the camera in her hand, and Davy continued the tour.
"Come on, I'll show you something that you see on the news every day." Following yet more power cables, we were walking along the pathway that led from the gate to the front of the east wing. We went down a few steps and past a door with a small white semicircular canopy over it. More power cables spewed over the ground and a portable generator was chugging away to my left. Every time we passed groups of people, I watched Sarah for a reaction. She was the only one who could give a positive ID on these people. I could make only possibles.
"Here we are." We'd arrived at a large glass-paneled door. I looked to the left and saw a satellite truck backed up against the side of the main stone staircase, which was the North Portico of the executive mansion. Under the staircase were open doors leading into the ground floor. A flight above it led to the first floor and the main entrance. Davy ushered us through and we were immediately confronted by a very familiar sight, the lectern with the presidential seal from which I'd seen so many White House statements delivered. The room looked very purposeful and businesslike, but was much smaller than I'd imagined. Facing the lectern were plastic chairs, arranged in rows with a center aisle. It looked more like the setup for a community meeting in the local village hall, except that there were wires everywhere on the floor, with camera crews sorting out TV equipment and mikes. I was busily scanning the room, looking at the dozen or so people who were in a frenzy preparing for the afternoon's events.
Josh looked at us both.
"You got your camera?"
I played dumb.
"What?"
"Your camera?"
There was a big laugh. He said, "Go on, get up there!"
Sarah and I looked at each other and I thought, Fuck it, we've got to do it, it would be unusual not to. Josh took pictures of each of us at the lectern, and one of us together; we put our arms around each other for it and smiled. He threw the camera at me as we walked toward him.
"Something to show your grandchildren!" On cue, Sarah and I exchanged the expected coy smile.
We came out of the press conference area and back onto the pathway.
Davy was looking at the satellite truck. Josh was still saying hello to everyone he knew and explaining to them why he was here. Davy had made up his mind.
"Hey, you know what? I think we will go around the other side. It's kinda busy in there." Shading our eyes from a sudden burst of brilliant sunshine, we started to walk up the small flight of stairs that would take us to the same level as the main entrance staircase.
Still no Al or Bill, but we were a bit early. What we were going to do when we pinged them, I hadn't actually worked out yet. It all depended on the situation. I hoped we could get Josh to take action, alert him that something was wrong, or maybe I'd say that I'd seen people I could positively ID as terrorists. Whatever, it didn't matter, as long as these people stopped them. All we had to do was find them first.
I asked, "Davy, when do the rest of the media arrive, mate? Do they go anywhere to get instructions and stuff like that?"
He pointed back to the press room.
"The media get a briefing in there at noon. The TV presentation guys won't pitch up until then. They just have their sound and lighting people rig up first."
I looked excited.
"Would it be possible to see the briefing? I'm a bit of a media junkie, I really like that sort of thing."
Davy looked at me as if I was mad. How could something like that be interesting?
"Sure, no problem."
I looked over at Sarah as we walked. She knew what I was doing. All we had to do was keep this up until midday. If the players were going to show, they'd be at the media brief.
We'd reached the bottom of the stairs of the North Portico leading into the mansion. Davy pointed to the stage on the grass opposite, still receiving its finishing touches. He nodded toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
"The cameras will be on that side of the stage, with the TV reports made from the media area we passed earlier." We both nodded and looked extremely interested, which wasn't difficult. Josh wasn't so enthralled. He asked Davy, "Where to now?"
"You wanna see the alley?"
We continued to walk past the executive mansion toward the east wing.
The drive we were walking on went from the white gatehouse the press used and swept in a semicircle to the far right of the lawn, where there was a similar security post. An ERT guy was walking toward it from a line of black Chevy pickups parked in line on the driveway. Their red and blue light racks, darkened windows and antennae made me remember that there were probably more guns within a 200-meter radius of where we were standing than Jim's had sold in its lifetime. We would have to be careful not to get zapped ourselves when they took on the players.
We now had an uninterrupted view down into the lower area on the other side of the staircase. I couldn't help noticing the paint. It was more cream than white, and it was peeling. We moved a bit farther along and went down some steps that took us below the level of the grass. At the bottom, Davy turned and walked backward so he could face us as he explained, "This is the part the public don't get to see." We bent down to get past some large steel ventilation pipes. He pointed at the executive mansion.
"This is really the ground floor. Behind this wall are some of the state rooms, like the Diplomatic Reception Room, the China Room, that kinda thing." He indicated the area below us.
"But this is more interesting... the basement, that's where it's at. In fact, there are two basements. Bowling, rest areas, paint shop and repairs. There's even a bomb shelter down there."
Looking to the right, I saw windows that opened onto rooms under the White House driveway and lawn.
We came to a white, glass-paneled double door. Actually, it was more gray than white, now. You could tell this was the admin area. Davy kept the door open for me and Sarah. Josh followed.
We were now under the main staircase. Across the way the satellite crew were working under the eagle eye of an ERT escort. Davy gave him a wave.
"Hi, Jeff, good to see you, man."
Davy steered us toward the door that was nearest the other entrance, into which all the cables seemed to lead. Once through
it, I was hit straightaway by the smell: the heavy odor of school dinners and cleaning products that I'd known as a child and that, as I got older, I came to associate with army cook houses or stairways of low-rent accommodation. We were in a hall about four meters wide, with polished floor tiles. The walls were stone, with a plaster skim and many years' worth of cream gloss paint. Grooves and concave shapes had been gouged into the plaster by carelessly pushed food trolleys, an empty one of which was parked up in the corridor.
Following the cables, we passed an elevator and staircase on our left, then went through another door. It was like walking into a different world.
We emerged into the opulent splendor of marble walls and glass chandeliers, hanging from high cross-vaulted ceilings. The smell had disappeared.
Blocking the view to our left were two tall brown screens, positioned like a roadblock. Davy and Josh muttered greetings to the ERT and two Secret Service agents who were in the area. One of them had a blue tie with golfers in various poses, the other had a yellow one covered with little biplanes.
Davy said, "This is the ground floor hallway. We can't see down it today as the president will be here later on. He won't want to see all this stuff trailing around." He was pointing to the cabling.
Sarah wanted to know more.
"Why, what's happening in here? I thought everything was going on outside?"
Two television technicians walked past from left to right, escorted by their ERT minder. Josh was still talking quietly to the two Secret Service guys.
Davy whispered, "At about eleven, Arafat, Netanyahu and the president will be in the Diplomatic Reception Room for coffee." He nodded his head toward the TV crew, who were now walking back toward us.
"These guys are rigging up a remote for CNN that's going to put out live coverage.
The leaders stay there for twenty to thirty minutes, then move out for an early lunch."
Sarah was trying to work out where the Diplomatic Reception Room was, pointing past the screens.
"That's the oval-shaped room down there on the right, isn't it?"
Davy nodded.
"Yeah, after lunch they then move to the Blue Room.
