by Kim Baldwin
Though uncertain exactly how much time had elapsed—they had knocked her out after getting her out of the elevator and she’d woken up here—she surmised from the meals they’d given her that she’d been missing for at least three days or so. She was growing more pessimistic with each passing minute. Her kidnapper’s demands must be unreasonable ones for it to be taking so long to free or find her. Like many previous presidents, she held to the dictum that America didn’t negotiate with terrorists and had said so to the world in her inaugural address.
If her vice president agreed, and if the nation’s top law-enforcement officials were unable to discover her whereabouts, what would happen to her?
*
The White House
Ryden looked out her bedroom window at the preparations taking place on the South Lawn. So far, her public appearances had been contained to small venues. Today, she’d have to perform in front of some twenty-five thousand people, who all wanted to get a good look at the president to shake her hand or have their picture taken with her. Ratman had told her that Elizabeth Thomas’s family would be there, too.
She felt nauseous at the thought of having to see them. Surely a family member couldn’t be fooled, definitely not one as close to Thomas as her sister. She’d been nervous enough just telephoning Nancy after the assassination attempt to assure her she was all right. Nancy had wanted to chat and hear a full report of what had happened, but Ryden was able to cut the discussion short with excuses that too much of importance was demanding her immediate attention. She’d promised to call back another time for a lengthier visit but had yet to follow up.
What if Nancy or her other family realized she wasn’t Elizabeth? Ryden had visions of someone pointing at her and screaming, like they did in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Would she have time to run and escape, or would she be shot down on the spot? The lawyer had said that if she told anyone or tried to insinuate something publicly or otherwise, she’d be terminated…but what if she was discovered or suspected against her will? Would they still shoot her down?
She had no doubt they would. She suspected they’d make it look like a public attack on the president, though they’d have to replace her body at the morgue with that of the real president because certainly an autopsy would be done, as with JFK. She would leave this world as silently and unwanted as she’d entered it, and perhaps she’d be sealing Elizabeth Thomas’s fate as well—if she was even still alive. Her only hope in the event she was exposed was to run—find a way to get out and keep running, but this new guard dog Kennedy, her primary, would make it even more difficult.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Maybe she was just being paranoid. With the surgeries and other improvements, even she couldn’t tell the difference between them now. Ryden Wagner had disappeared somewhere under Elizabeth Thomas, and the only inconsistency was well hidden under her clothes: a birthmark on her lower back that they couldn’t laser away like they had other moles and freckles, but fortunately a difference only Thomas’s deceased husband could have caught.
Ryden jumped when she heard a knock. “Yes?”
“Madam President, it’s Kennedy. I’d like to review your schedule for today.”
Damn, this woman wouldn’t leave her alone. “Just a minute, please.” Ryden threw a robe over her nightgown, hurriedly put in her contacts, and opened the door. “Come in.”
Shield forced herself not to stare at the president’s disheveled hair and face still devoid of makeup. She’d always considered Thomas a striking, proud-looking woman, but only now did she realize how attractive she really was. Without the in-house stylist’s coiffure and perfect cosmetics, she was even more Harper’s type—a natural beauty.
The president sat at her vanity table and looked at her through the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. When Shield didn’t immediately elaborate on why she was there, Thomas got up and faced her. “Well?”
Shield looked down at her folder but remained at the door. “Today…the Find Your Sport event.”
Thomas walked to the window. “Oh, that’s today?” She looked outside. “And I’ve been wondering all morning what a beach-volleyball court and temporary soccer field are doing out on the lawn.” Turning back to Shield, she said wryly, “I see why you come highly recommended.”
Oh boy, this is not going to be easy. Thomas clearly did not relish having her as her bodyguard.
“I was about to say, should you want to depart the festivities for any reason, please refrain from doing so on your own. Thousands of people will be here today, and although every single one of them will have been scanned and checked, we can never be too safe.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re done.”
Shield started to leave but hesitated at the door. “Madam President…” She turned to look at her. “My abilities to guard you are not compromised because of my gender.”
“That’s wonderful,” Thomas replied flippantly as she removed her robe and tossed it on the bed.
Shield quickly averted her eyes but not before she got a good look at Thomas’s rather sheer, cream-colored nightgown, trimmed in lace, which allowed a far-too-revealing view of the slender figure beneath. This woman was not only frustrating but also distracting as hell. “Is your dislike personal?” Joe had told her back in Greece that the president was distant, but he hadn’t said she treated him with cold indifference, and the expression on the woman’s face in Greece was anything but cold.
“Men are less chatty. Are you usually this talkative with your subjects?”
“No, Madam President.” For someone who advocated gender equal rights, Thomas was doing a miserable job at setting an example. “If you have any doubts, however, I’m sure my boss can have me replaced.” Shield wanted to tell her to go to hell. She’d worked too long and too hard and had put her life on the line more than a few times to protect self-proclaimed important people to have to put up with this ungrateful woman.
“This boss of yours,” Thomas said, her voice edged with contempt, “who would he replace you with? A mute, perhaps?”
“I…” Shield was getting very close to not giving a damn about whether this woman lived or died, but she did care about what Pierce would say if she walked. She’d given an oath to do her job to the best of her abilities. She forced a smile. “Have a good morning, Madam President,” she finally said, and left.
She went back to her own room and had to force herself not to slam the door. Great. Another snobbish bitch. Although she’d studied the White House and its environs through maps on her way to Washington, she had been up most of the night while a guard from the Uniformed Division stood outside the president’s door. She wanted to familiarize herself with the grounds and all possible exits, as well as everything planned for the next day. As a result, she hadn’t gotten more than two hours’ sleep, and that, combined with Thomas’s attitude, was really making her cranky. Shield just wanted to get on the first plane to Tuscany and never leave Italy again.
She paced, listening for sounds from the other room indicating the president was nearing departure, and an hour later, her phone rang.
Thomas was short and to the point. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Nine
Inspired by Team USA’s #1 showing at the 2012 London Olympic Games, Elizabeth Thomas had made Find Your Sport the theme for her version of the Democratic initiative to solve childhood obesity within a generation, following in the footsteps of the Obama Let’s Move campaign. A host of Dream Team medal-winning athletes would be on hand to participate in interactive sessions with the kids, designed to help them discover sports and activities that would motivate them to lead more active lives. Ryden hoped that having Michael Phelps, Gabby Douglas, and Missy Franklin here, in addition to many other favorites, would take some of the attention off her.
The thousands of children and parents who’d been invited all had to pass through even more extensive screening than usual because of the assassination
attempt. In the last administration, the First Lady had spearheaded the day’s fitness festivities, but since Thomas’s husband had recently passed away, it was up to Ryden to make up for the absence of a First Spouse. That meant she would have to rotate among all the activities to mingle with the visitors. Her schedule had been cleared of everything else for the rest of the day.
She stood behind the closed door that would take her out to the crowd, with just Harper Kennedy in the room with her. Considering that scores of media representatives and Thomas’s family would attend, it would certainly be her biggest challenge to date. Ryden took deep breaths to steady her rapid breathing, but that didn’t help calm her nerves. You’re going to do fine, she kept telling herself. Just remember your training. No one will…
She suddenly felt a little light-headed, but even as that fact registered in a slight blur of focus, she felt a sturdy mass against her back and a steadying arm around her waist.
“Are you all right, Madam President?”
“I…I think so.” Ryden blinked hard. “What happened?”
“You almost passed out.”
Ryden remained against Kennedy’s body, still too shaky to move. “I didn’t touch my breakfast,” she lied. “Not very wise.”
“Maybe you should sit down.” Kennedy helped her to an armchair. “Get the president a glass of orange juice,” she said into the communications device in her sleeve.
Very soon, a sweet middle-aged woman named Betty, one of several domestics who attended the chief executive, came through the door with a full glass. “Is Madam President not well?” she asked.
“A dizzy spell, that’s all.” Ryden’s head was clearer now, but her hands still shook.
Ratman barged into the room. “What’s going on?”
“The president is unwell,” Betty replied.
“I don’t remember asking you,” he said sharply. “Please, return to your duties.”
“Of course.” Betty hurriedly left.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Ryden.
“I got dizzy. It’s nothing serious.”
“Good. It would be…disappointing to stand all these people up.” He shot her a warning glance.
If her hands were shaking before, they were almost out of control now. She had to do something before Ratman and his watchdog considered her incompetent. “I’m much better now.” She got up and Kennedy rushed to her side. “I’m fine, Ms. Kennedy. No need to fuss over me.”
Ryden went to the door, took another deep breath, and walked out to meet the thousands waiting outside. As soon as she emerged and stepped toward the microphone, the noisy crowd quieted. Except for some of the children, all eyes were on her.
Shield stayed very close to the president while remaining out of her way as Thomas kicked off the first two events, lacing up sneakers for a brief run with Allyson Felix, then shedding her footwear entirely for a little beach volleyball with Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh. In keeping with the theme and informal dress code for the day, Thomas had opted for designer activewear, but Shield didn’t want to blend in. In her dark suit and sunglasses, she wanted to make it clear to anyone watching that Elizabeth Thomas was being well guarded.
The president had transformed herself into her smiling public persona the instant she greeted the crowd, leaving any trace of worry or nervousness at the door. Shield could understand the dizziness having been due to low blood sugar, though she seemed fine now. However, the chief executive’s rattled nerves really puzzled her. Thomas was a veteran at national politics and this event was far less demanding than her other duties, yet her hands had been shaking so badly, Shield thought they might come loose.
And the shaking had intensified when Kenneth Moore walked in. And although he seemed genuinely concerned about Thomas’s well-being, something about his attitude and close scrutiny of the president didn’t make sense. Even now, he constantly stood a few feet away from Thomas and at all times was within earshot. Was this extreme behavior toward her because of the attempt on her life? That, combined with the loss of her husband, could be why he was so watchful of her. Shield knew presidents usually got close to their private advisors and vice versa, so maybe he was being overly protective because of her probable fragile state.
As if on cue, Moore approached Thomas and whispered something in her ear. The president smiled and waved across the lawn to a woman Shield recognized as Thomas’s sister, Nancy Payton. Nancy waved back enthusiastically and, with her husband, son, daughter, and family dog—a German shepherd mix—made her way toward Thomas.
Shield followed the president as she headed to meet them. She stood a few feet away as Nancy wrapped her arms around Thomas and kissed her on the cheek. The rest of the family took turns doing the same, and the young children jumped up and down, excited to try out some of the activities.
“How you doing, Peanut?” Nancy asked, her expression one of sisterly concern. “I can’t stop thinking about the attack.”
Thomas seemed to be considering how to answer when the little boy grabbed her hand.
“Did Michael Phelps bring his medals? I want to see them,” he begged.
Thomas smiled and put her hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “Yes, he did. And I bet he’ll even let you hold them.”
“Hey, you never said hi to Toby,” the little girl said excitedly.
Thomas looked down at the dog and bent over. “Hey there, buddy.” The dog sniffed the air. “What, no hello for me?” Thomas took a step closer, and the dog growled, then barked a warning.
Shield intervened immediately by putting herself between the president and the dog.
“Toby only barks when strangers try to pet him,” the boy said. “He’s never barked at you before, Auntie.”
“Maybe he’s just nervous from all the activity,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you take him for a walk, guys, and let him get familiar with the surroundings?”
Thomas kept smiling. “Poor thing,” she said, her eyes still on the dog. “Go have fun, Toby.”
The dog turned around at his name and started to growl again. The boy pulled him back. “Bad dog.” He headed away with the animal, his sister close behind, toward a cordoned-off area nearby to watch Kayla Harrison in a judo demonstration.
“I don’t know what got into him. He’s gaga about you,” Nancy said.
Moore stepped in. “Like you said, just too much going on for him. We might have to lock him up.”
Thomas turned to her special advisor. “That won’t be necessary. He’s harmless.”
“That may be so, but that scene got people’s attention,” Moore insisted.
“I said, that won’t be necessary.”
Shield noticed the subtle shaking of Thomas’s hands just before she clasped them behind her back. Thomas turned to Nancy and her husband and smiled. “Come on, guys, let me show you around.”
Shield stayed alert behind them as the president walked the couple through the tourist route, showing them the grounds and where all the activities of the day were scheduled, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with the dog. She’d been around canines ever since she moved to Italy and had never witnessed anything like that before. Her own dogs were her friends, as well as her property guards. They would get aggressive only when on guard and nervous only if a stranger approached—never a friend or someone they’d met before.
Shield stared at the president, who was walking a few steps ahead. Thomas’s sister and brother-in-law were completely engaged in the tour and the little facts Thomas was telling them, mostly nonspecific information readily available on the Internet. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to share anything less generic, even if it was to family.
Moore generally walked beside Thomas, looking very alert. But when the president and her family stopped to chat in the still-dormant Rose Garden, he waited off to one side, near Shield.
“There’s plenty of security,” Shield told him. “She’s in good hands.”
“I’m sure she is. What happened at th
e fund-raiser was organized. Whoever was behind it knew what they were doing.”
“A terrorist’s cunning or expertise doesn’t exclusively reflect someone else’s incompetence. Very often, their ability to succeed hinges on having knowledgeable individuals to help them.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, I hope the ongoing investigation leads to some satisfying answers.”
“Such as?”
“Per fas et nefas,” she replied.
Moore translated from the Latin. “In good and bad things.”
She nodded. “In other words, by any means necessary.”
“So?”
“The organization I work for trains us to believe the cause justifies the means.”
Moore looked at her. “And?”
“I suspect whoever helped the attackers is an insider, who believes in someone else’s reasons or has his or her own for doing so.”
Moore cleared his throat. “That’s a heavy accusation.”
“Are you surprised?”
Moore hesitated before he answered. “I guess not, but it’s a damn disturbing theory.”
“I don’t think it’s a theory,” Shield said. “That’s why I don’t intend to let her out of my sight.”
*
Near Colorado Springs, Colorado
Jack unfolded the stub and dialed Yuri’s Dratshev’s number from a phone booth. She had stopped using disposable cells since her last job and didn’t intend to get one now just to hear out the mob boss.
The Russian picked up. “Da.”
“It’s Jack.”
“Good. You got my message yesterday.” He sounded almost relieved.
“I got it last week.”
“No, that was another job, for other reason.”
“I haven’t looked for another message since,” she said.
