Protective Measures

by Dana Marton

  He nodded. “This way, if we spot something suspicious, the target can be grabbed right then and there. With the long-distance cameras, by the time agents fought their way through the crowd, their man could be gone.”

  “Is that what those are?” She glanced to yet another row of screens to the right, monitored by the only other woman in the room.

  “Rooftop cams.” Danny stepped closer, putting her nerve endings on alert. “They can zoom in from as far as several city blocks, close enough to count the fingers on a man’s hand.”

  Harrison came in, grabbed some equipment from a desk then walked out. Thank God the man had recovered. Probably not enough to be here, but he had insisted, and she didn’t have the heart to say no. He had a giant chip on his shoulder about having failed to protect her before. He wanted desperately to prove himself.

  A continuous stream of pictures scrolled down a giant screen beside her and drew her attention again, enlarged faces of individuals from the crowd outside.

  “I’ve never been this close to the president’s detail before. Impressive.”

  “Or disturbing. Depends on how you look at it.” Danny shrugged. “There are all kinds of citizen groups protesting the cameras. A couple of cities are trying them for fighting crime.”

  She nodded, familiar with the privacy issues that saw much discussion in Congress. Where was the line between preserving the right to privacy and keeping people safe?

  “The walking cams are clearer.” She looked between the two sets of screens, his nearness driving her crazy.

  They hadn’t had a chance to be alone since last night. How did he feel about it? Did he have any regrets?

  Did she?

  A million.

  And yet, she wouldn’t have changed a second of what had happened, not for the world.

  “They fill in the blanks,” he was explaining, as professional as could be. “The rooftop cams have limited coverage. They can’t see around corners or behind street-vendor carts. That’s where the agents come in. They can follow someone into a building, whatever.”

  “Whenever I’m inconvenienced by my security detail, I try to think of the president. Can you image this many people watching you twenty-four hours a day?”

  He shook his head. “Wouldn’t want the job.”

  She kept her attention divided among all the screens, although she had given descriptions of everyone she had seen at the compound. Danny had done the same. Now they watched and waited.

  “Have you heard on the two guys we brought in?” she asked.

  “They’re not talking. Their lawyer is deliberately throwing up roadblocks to questioning. The bastards are playing for time. Wouldn’t be surprised if the lawyer was in on this.”

  “Anything on Bobby Reznyck?” That was the name of the guy finally identified from the hospital video, the man who had kidnapped her.

  “Still missing. He hasn’t shown up for work in days, hasn’t been back to his trailer.” Danny sounded as frustrated as she felt. “Whatever’s going down, it’s going down here and now. The best we can do is to be prepared for anything.”

  And they were. Security on the street was massive. Blockades on every road except for the one on which the presidential motorcade would travel. The crowds were pushed back farther than usual. An increased number of uniformed and undercover security patrolled the area.

  “There,” Danny said suddenly and pointed to the screen. “See that guy?”

  The agent responsible for that particular screen zoomed in on the man without having to be asked. “Stop,” he spoke into his headset. “White male, dark blue jacket, short blond hair, straight ahead.”

  He didn’t look familiar. “I don’t know.” Kaye ran through the images in her head, everything she’d seen at the compound.

  “I’m going to take a closer look.” Danny checked his gun then pulled his shirt back over it. “You stay put. You’re safe here.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Always.” He turned to the man in front of them. “Location?”

  The agent on the street answered through the headset. “In front of Domino’s Pizza,” the desk man passed on the information.

  Danny gripped an earpiece from the desk, clipped a microphone under his collar. “Sit here.” He pulled a chair out for her and handed her a headset that was linked to the computer. He picked up a tiny button cam and stuck it over his top button, made sure it was steady. “Okay.” He ran his fingers over the keyboard, pulled up some moving image that was out of focus and fuzzy. He adjusted the camera, and she was surprised to see herself on the screen. “This way you’ll be able to see everything I do. You can talk to me through the headset. Sorry, all the cordless ones are individually assigned.”

  He adjusted the headset, smoothing her hair down, then let his hand run along her arm and squeeze her hand without anyone noticing. “I’ll be back.”

  She could see every detail of the staircase, then the front door as he exited. Sunshine washed the picture white for a second, then the computer program automatically adjusted, adding contrast and making the feed darker for better visibility.

  He moved through the crowd smoothly, the microphone picking up scraps of conversations.

  “…she doesn’t think like that. Very irresponsible…”

  “…couldn’t have. I know for sure…”

  “…like hell. I’m gonna kill him.”

  The movement on the screen slowed as Danny stopped and looked over the woman who was talking. Mid-twenties, petite, average-looking.

  “I’m not going to take his excuses anymore. Out with the guys, my ass. I know what he’s doing when he doesn’t get home till midnight…”

  Danny moved on.

  The next time he stopped, the screen showed the man he’d been looking for. Kaye didn’t recognize him. She looked him over, her gaze hesitating on his right hand, stuffed deep in his pocket.

  Danny was standing a few feet to the side. The man hadn’t noticed him yet.

  “Excuse me.” She heard another’s man voice. “Do you know what time it is?”

  A well-dressed middle-age gentleman was talking to their target. His voice came through her headphone with an echo. She was hearing it twice, both from his microphone and Danny’s. He was probably the agent whose button cam had first picked up the man.

  “No,” the guy said without moving his hand.

  The agent asked a nearby group of teenagers. They were more accommodating.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said and settled into a spot not far from the man they were watching.

  She could see the agent on the edge of the screen. Danny’s camera was focused on their target.

  “Is it him?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” came the low response. “Down in the gorge it was hard to see.”

  The man moved, turning into the crowd and walking toward the back. Danny followed. Now and then when he turned and the camera panned, she could see the other agent going with them.

  “Excuse me, Congresswoman, could I ask you for a moment?” Harrison was standing behind her chair.

  She’d been so focused on the screen, she hadn’t seen him walk up. “Of course.” She stood and pulled the headset off. The cord reached only a few feet. “How are you?”

  His lips thinned as he pressed them together. “Fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. Even the headache is gone.”

  She wished she hadn’t asked. He probably didn’t like to be reminded. The only sign of his injury now was the small bandage that covered the stitches on the side of his head. He moved toward the door and she followed him.

  “They said it was a bad concussion.”

  “That was days ago.” He sounded impatient, very much like Danny who had, of course, also refused to be pulled from active duty. “One of our agents pulled a man off the street. He fits your description. Would you mind taking a quick look to confirm?”

  “I am here to help.”

  “You won’t even have to be in the same room wit
h him. We’ll just walk by the glass door.”

  They took the elevator down to the first level.

  “This way.” Harrison walked through a set of metal doors.

  They were in some kind of an abandoned storage area, littered with metal and plywood shelving that reached to the ceiling. Dust covered everything, twitching her nose.

  “Hang on. Let me see if they’re ready for you.” He walked across the large room and went out the door on the other side.

  She looked around while she waited. It seemed such a waste to have all these huge buildings stand abandoned while in the inner cities thousands of homeless people slept on the streets—an issue she had addressed in D.C. with very little success. They needed better incentives for socially responsible corporations. Maybe once this was all over she could try again.

  She touched a shelf and the dust made her sneeze.

  “Gesundheit,” a voice said behind her, and she spun around, startled, stared at the man who had appeared out of nowhere. “You scared me.”

  He came closer, his boots scuffing on the floor. His clothes looked worn and not entirely clean, as did his black hair and the stubble on his cheeks that had to be at least a few days’ growth.

  “I’m waiting for Mr. Harrison,” she said, a little jumpy, not liking the shifty look in the man’s watery green eyes.

  Was he another agent? She must have met a hundred, coming and going all morning at the command center, waiting for the president’s arrival. This one wasn’t wearing his tag. Within the building, even the undercover officers had to wear one.

  She stepped back, her instincts prickling. “I’m supposed to ID someone.” Where was Harrison?

  “Oh, we think you’ve done quite enough, Congresswoman,” the man said.

  And then finally the voice clicked, and she knew without a doubt where she had heard it before, where she’d seen that face—with blond hair and without the beard.

  At the hospital.

  Bobby.

  She turned and ran for the door, her heart in her throat. A few more feet. Almost there. She slammed against it, but it held. Locked. She banged on the metal.

  “That’s no use. There’s just the two of us here,” the man said behind her.

  She spun around, searched the room for any possibility of escape. “There are dozens of agents in the building.”

  “Not on this level.” He flashed a smug grin. “The three guarding the elevator and the front and back entries have been called away.”

  “Mr. Harrison will be back in seconds.” She skirted the wall, hoping to put a few rows of shelves between herself and the man.

  He pulled his gun casually. “Lucky he wasn’t seriously hurt the night your house was broken into.”

  What was he saying? Harrison couldn’t have anything to do with this. She knew Harrison. Harrison had kept her safe.

  “If he was working for you, he could have killed me himself. He’d had plenty of opportunity.” She inched back.

  “He couldn’t blow his cover, could he? Took us a while to get a man into a position with that high a clearance. We’ve got all kinds of plans for his future. You were just the beginning.” He sneered. “Not even that. More like an unexpected detour.”

  Adrenaline was rushing through her, making her jumpy. She made a point of acting as calmly as possible. Slow measured movements. Make the man think you’re accepting his victory, make him think you’ve given up, then when his guard is down fight back with everything you’ve got. Danny’s words were coming back to her from one of their training sessions. She would stay calm. She could do it.

  Then the man pulled back what she figured was the safety on the gun, and her resolution went out the nonexistent window. She ran for the back of the room and dove for the protection of the shelves.

  Harrison was one of them. The thought ricocheted through her head. She refused to give in to the sense of panic and betrayal.

  “Let’s not drag this out.” He was coming closer. “I’ve got other things to do.”

  “It’s not going to work.” She had to distract him, rattle him enough to make a mistake. “Secret Service knows all about your plans for today. Why do you think they have all the extra security?”

  He laughed. “It’s not going to make any difference. We know they know.”

  Of course they would. Harrison. She had trouble getting her brain around that. It was impossible, wasn’t it? Nobody had ever infiltrated the Secret Service before. Or, apparently, not that they knew of.

  Could she have known? Had there been signs?

  The pop of the first shot made her cringe. She forced her limbs to keep moving.

  “In a few minutes our misguided president will realize just how much the people of this country object to his selling us out. America should be for Americans.”

  “I’m American,” she said.

  “Not in my book.”

  The second bullet slammed into the concrete floor just a few feet from her.

  She could have pointed out that her grandfather’s ancestors had been dragged into this country by force—kidnapped—and hadn’t simply floated in on a pleasure cruise and decided to stay for the amusement of it. Her grandfather’s family might have been in the country longer than his. But she understood the situation enough to know that reasoning with the man would be pointless. He’d been brainwashed too much for that. Fanatics had little use for logic or truth. She searched the floor for anything she might use as a weapon. She had to let him get close enough—without getting shot—so that she could fight back.

  Her fingers closed around a two-foot-long metal bar, a fallen piece of shelving. Somehow she would have to disable him, then make a run for the other door, pray that it wasn’t locked.

  The shelves towered above her like benevolent giants. Bobby was on the other side somewhere. That gave her an idea.

  She got up and leaned against the shelf in front of her, putting her full strength into the effort. The structure swayed. She pushed harder then pulled back. Maybe rocking would do the trick. She pushed again, every muscle in her body burning. The metal cut into her shoulder. It didn’t matter. Harder. Now.

  The first shelf fell over, but was caught by the second, they stood for a moment before giving way and pushing into the third.

  Unfortunately, the domino effect stopped after the fifth row. A dozen or so standing shelves remained between her and Bobby.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He squeezed off another shot.

  The bullet ricocheted off a metal support just a few inches from her face. How could he see her in this jumble?

  She moved forward, crawling on her stomach. The door was less than a hundred yards away. Eighty. Sixty. She pulled forward a few more feet, then reached the edge of her cover. From here she’d be out in the open.

  She couldn’t see Bobby.

  With a little luck, he’d gone to the back to look for her and didn’t realize where she’d gone.

  She came up into a crouch and ran for it, grabbed onto the doorknob and twisted, pulled, rattled. How could it be locked? Had Harrison gone around?

  “Game over,” Bobby said behind her.

  She spun around and stared at the gun in his hand. He was five or six feet away, ready to shoot her point-blank.

  “Don’t do it.” She looked into his eyes, hoping to see some hesitation.

  There wasn’t any.

  “You’ve climbed too far. It’s not right.”

  Time slowed. She registered his body tensing as he got ready to pull the trigger.

  No rules. Never give up. There’s no such thing as a hopeless fight.

  She threw the metal rod at him as hard as she could, diving forward at the same time.

  The attack must have surprised the man because the shot went wide.

  Then her head connected with Bobby’s stomach and the next moment they sprawled, the gun skittering out of reach on the cement floor.

  She got in one good punch to the face before he flipped her and had h
is hands around her throat. He wasn’t messing around. The pressure on her windpipe was overwhelming, her lungs burning as he struggled against him.

  The eyes.

  She went for them without hesitation, didn’t look to see what damage she’d done when he howled. She focused on her follow-up.

  Refill the lungs.

  Knee to the groin.

  Shove him off.

  He was trying to roll away from her. No, not from her. He was going for the gun. And he was closer to it. She slid in and kicked the weapon across the floor, under the shelving, the second before he would have reached it. He was grabbing for her ankle, but she shoved him off and made a run for the gun.

  How far could it have gone? She scanned the rows one after the other. The weapon was midway in the fifth or sixth row, right where her shelf domino had stopped. She rushed between the rows without hesitation. He was right behind her.

  She dove for the gun and reached it, spun around and squeezed off a shot blindly. She didn’t hit him, but he jumped back, knocking into the shelves behind him. They groaned, rocking and creaking.

  With everything she had in her, she ran toward the end of the row. He was swearing at her and following, but not fast enough. He didn’t realize what was happening.

  She flew out the end and sprawled on the floor just as the shelves toppled over, sandwiching Bobby’s body between them. He screamed once, high-pitched and long. Then he gave no other noise.

  Kaye ran for the door. Could she break the lock? The gun. She was still holding it. She shot at the lock a couple of times then kicked hard. Then she was through the door and out in the hallway, running for the elevator.

  No. Bad idea. She turned. She couldn’t go back up there to command central. Harrison was up there somewhere. He would stop her.

  Danny. Danny was just a few hundred feet down the street.

  For a second she considered keeping the gun then discarded the idea and tossed it into the waste bin by the door. This was not a good day for running out into the street with a weapon. If Secret Service saw it, they might take her out before they realized who she was. She had to look disheveled enough to be a madwoman.