His assistant shakes her head but can’t help laughing.
Livingood retired in 1994, after thirty-three years in the Service. The next year, he became the sergeant at arms of the House of Representatives. As the House’s chief law-enforcement and protocol official, he was responsible for maintaining security on the House side of the Capitol complex, as well as on the floor of the House.
He held the office for seventeen years, many fraught with deep challenges. The 9/11 terrorist attacks, the shooting of Representative Gabrielle Giffords, and the anthrax mailings all happened on his watch.
“An example of class and humility, Bill has led us through the unthinkable,” Speaker John Boehner said at an event for Livingood’s 2012 retirement.
As important as his role in Capitol safety and security was, most Americans might only know him as the man who introduced the president before a State of the Union address and escorted him to the podium.
“Mr. Speaker, the president of the United States!”
These eight words gave Livingood butterflies every time he had to say them, although it got easier with time.
At the Alexandria restaurant, he leans in toward his lunchmates and lowers his voice, not wanting to disturb a couple having a romantic meal at the next table.
“As a police officer I don’t mind going through a doorway when there are bad guys on the other side. That’s easier than standing up in front of all these cameras and introducing the president, even though it was an honor. I was just nervous. If I messed up, millions would see.
“I practiced and practiced. I practiced while I was driving. I tried to practice when no one was around. And my press secretary—I had a press secretary in my office because I had ten or fifteen press calls a day—she said, ‘Don’t tell them how many times you practice!’”
His assistant remarks that he really is more comfortable behind the scenes.
“It’s true,” he says. “Like when they asked me to form the canine program. I’ve done a lot of things in my career, and that was extremely special and gratifying.
“There’s no telling the difference that these brave men, women, and dogs have made. They love what they do so much, and they work so hard.”
In fact, as he spoke those words in late August 2015, the dogs and handlers of the United States Secret Service were gearing up for one of the busiest months in their careers, and in the history of the Secret Service. It would put all their training and dedication to the test.
CHAPTER 5
SLEEP TIGHT, POPE FRANCIS
Tuesday, September 22, 2015, 10 P.M. In the main courtyard of the sprawling Herbert C. Hoover Building, through its grand arches, and past its majestic black gates, Loren S. is briefing three dozen Secret Service officers and other federal security experts about their overnight missions to secure the area for Pope Francis.
A dog barks. Another one echoes. Their handlers quiet them.
“Dog handlers, you’re going to be splitting off on different floors here, two teams of dogs and EODs get two floors each,” says Loren, a Secret Service physical security specialist. “Later, when you get to the African American history museum, be careful with your dogs. There are a lot of chemicals, solvents, scaffolding, and limited lighting.”
There are hundreds of rooms to check in the Hoover Building alone. The dog teams will be sweeping only the offices along the papal parade route on Fifteenth Street NW. But the building is more than one thousand feet long. That’s a lot of sniffing.
Loren wraps up his talk with a few words about vigilance.
“Remember: It is the pope. He is loved by many, hated by some.”
The security teams filter out in various directions. Dog handler Jon M. gets instructions that he and his dog, Rex, are going to sweep the fourth and fifth floors.
“OK, Rex, let’s do it!” Jon says. His ninety-pound Malinois, who had been sitting patiently during the briefing, comes to life. He jumps up and wags his tail. There’s a distinct bounce in his stride as he heads into the building alongside Jon. When he sees elevators, he pulls toward them, tightening the leash.
A building security specialist laughs when he sees the dog’s response to the elevator.
“He loves elevators,” Jon explains. “They mean a lot of things to Rex. They can mean he’s going to work. They can mean he’s going outside for a break. Either way, it’s all good!”
On the fifth floor, Jon meets up with the rest of his team: two Army EOD techs, a couple of security officers who know the building inside and out, and another dog and handler.
As they discuss how the dogs will efficiently hopscotch each other down the corridors and secondary corridors of offices, something catches Rex’s interest. He stares across the hall at another dog, a black Labrador retriever accompanied by her DHS police handler.
She is young, shiny, and calm. Her name is Lola.
Rex fixes his gaze. His right ear angles slightly forward toward her, but his left ear flops off to the side. Some find this endearing, but Lola doesn’t even seem to notice him, much less his cute left ear.
This doesn’t discourage Rex. The Explosive Detection Team dog may not have found a bomb, but he seems to have found a bombshell.
Lola’s handler tells Jon that he wants the two dogs to keep their distance. Jon nods in agreement and doesn’t mention that Rex is one of the nicest, friendliest, most unflappable dogs he’ll ever meet. All anyone has to do is look at Rex with a smile and he’s likely to come over and lean on them. He may even try to climb on their lap if they’re sitting down.
He may also try to lick their shoes. Rex has a thing about shoes. Any kind of shoe. He may lick a shoe being worn by someone if he has nothing else interesting going on. But if he finds shoes with no one wearing them—coveted empty shoes—he stops and breathes them in as if they’re a rare and mesmerizing bouquet.
In Jon’s experience, offices like these will have plenty of empty shoes under desks. He’d have to watch that the footwear didn’t slow their progress. They were going to be pulling an all-nighter as it was.
Their work tonight would be just one small part of the advance work for Pope Francis’s six-day U.S. tour. The wildly popular “People’s Pope” had landed late that afternoon at Joint Base Andrews and would be making his first public appearance of the tour the next morning outside the White House.
The pope is expected to attract hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of onlookers as he greets crowds in the nation’s capital, New York, and Philadelphia. Everyone who attends his parades, masses, and other events will be subject to a security screening.
Keeping the pope safe will be a massive intergovernmental undertaking. The U.S. Secret Service is taking the lead for this DHS-declared National Special Security Event—a significant event that could be a target for terrorism. The Service is coordinating with the FBI, U.S. Coast Guard, National Park Service, FEMA, and dozens of other federal and local agencies to make sure the pontiff’s visit doesn’t turn into a global nightmare.
September is always an exceptionally busy month for the Secret Service. Protecting the approximately 140 world leaders who gather every September in New York for the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) is a tremendous undertaking. Everyone who works for the Secret Service knows that September is not the month to request vacation time. It’s all hands on deck every year.
This September, with the arrival of a beloved pope plus a high-profile U.S. visit by Chinese president Xi Jinping, schedules are going to be even more daunting. But for the energetic dogs of the Secret Service, it’s a walk in the park. Sometimes literally.
While Jon and Rex hunt for explosive devices in the Hoover Building, Secret Service dogs are letting their noses guide them around places like the Ellipse, the Washington Monument, and other grassy park areas in the secure zone. (Outdoor duty is convenient, because when nature calls, the answer is just a tree t
runk away.)
It’s going to be a long night for everyone. Many of the Secret Service EDT dogs and handlers are on the schedule from 9 P.M. until early afternoon. If lucky, they may be able to clock out after the parade, around noon. But there won’t be much downtime. Some will have to drive to New York early the next day to help with pope security setups or UNGA, and then it’s off to Philadelphia.
As tireless as Rex usually is, he isn’t used to pulling all-nighters. If he starts getting tired while he’s in detection mode, he may not be as vigilant in his searches. That could be a problem. He has to stay alert and focused, and unlike the humans around him, he can’t rely on coffee and Red Bull.
Jon plans to let him nap in the van whenever the crews break. But if Rex starts flagging during a search, Jon knows how to recharge his batteries. It’s easy with Rex. All Jon has to do is let him rest for a minute or two while he pets him or lets someone else pet him. The loving attention revives Rex, and he’s good to go.
But as they start their night, it’s obvious Rex won’t need a recharge for a long time. He pulls Jon down the corridor, wanting to work, wanting to find something. In this situation, pulling ahead is just what Jon wants him to do. The partners have a lot of ground to cover in a relatively short amount of time. The searches need to be fast, but not so fast that accuracy is compromised.
Even with Rex leading the way, Jon can easily guide his dog. They pause in the main corridor as a building security officer unlocks a door to a suite of offices. An EOD tech says something about how enthusiastic Rex is to work.
“I’m really lucky,” Jon tells him. “All he wants to do is make me happy. Right, boy?”
Rex looks up at him and then whips his head back to stare intently at the door, as if willing it to open.
When they enter, Rex moves like liquid. He pours into the large office with multiple desks, quickly covering all areas. He misses a spot Jon thinks he should cover.
“Check back!” Jon says, guiding the leash in its direction. Rex streams toward a corner with a trash can and, finding nothing of interest in it, glides back, ready for the next office. An EOD tech follows and does a quick check.
Office after office is unlocked before Rex. In some offices, computer cables dangle and loop and connect to other equipment in a way that would be easy for a fast-moving leashed working dog to snag. But somehow he avoids entanglements.
Whenever Lola passes on the other side of the corridor, Rex slows and gives her a look. But she continues to convey a “Talk to the hand, dog!” message.
Rex pants, his long Malinois tongue hanging straight down like it’s weighted at the tip. Jon knows it won’t affect his detection capability, because Rex usually pants while he’s in working mode. He’s a phenomenal explosives detector, mouth open or closed.
Suddenly, behind a desk in a small office, Rex’s mouth closes and he draws in deep, rapid breaths. What’s this? Could this be a suspicious device?
He’s not sitting to alert his handler—yet. Jon looks unconcerned. He knows his dog’s every move and expression. “I’m with you more than I’m with my wallet,” he sometimes tells him.
Still, Jon steps up to look at what could be of such interest to Rex. He can’t take any chances.
Under a table covered with papers he sees what has caught his dog’s fancy. It’s not an explosive. It’s a short row of footwear: low black pumps, purple running shoes, and floral rain boots. Rex inhales over and over, transfixed. Jon lets Rex sniff a little more before moving him along—a small reward for his hard work.
All would-be bombers, but especially shoe bombers, are out of luck when Rex is around.
—
About ninety minutes into the sweep, Rex is still going strong, but the leash is slightly looser than it was earlier. Jon stops at a watercooler. He fills a little clear plastic cup and leans down to offer it to Rex. Rex sticks his big snout in it and slurps it up. He licks Jon’s face for good measure. Jon offers an ear rub, Rex accepts with enthusiasm, and they bound down the hall to continue their work.
The neoclassical Hoover Building is home to the U.S. Department of Commerce, with more than 3,300 offices. By some clever space-saving arrangement, the main corridors often lead to locked doors that open to secondary corridors with suites of offices tucked along the side. Everything has been going smoothly, with the building’s security staff able to unlock locked offices, so there’s almost no delay as the dogs approach.
But at one of these suites, a row of four windowless offices is locked, and there doesn’t seem to be a key. Someone apparently didn’t get the memo about leaving certain doors unlocked tonight.
Security is able to pick a couple of locks, and Rex inspects, followed by EOD. Just two offices to go. It would be easy to assume they’re fine and move on. But assuming is not something that’s being done here.
Security and EOD discuss their options. An athletic-looking security officer walks into the office next to a locked room and stands on the desk. He jostles a couple of large white ceiling tiles out of their frames. In an impressive show of strength he pulls himself up through the rectangular opening and, in a flash, jumps down into the locked office through a tile he removed on that side. He lands on his feet, like Superman coming to save the day, and unlocks the door from the inside.
Rex and Jon don’t move in for the sniff yet. There’s one more office to unlock. This time an Army EOD tech gets to work. He’s shorter than the security guy but agile as a cat. His strategy is to enter from the outside along the corridor, since there’s already a table in place. More ceiling tiles get displaced, up he goes, and then down he leaps into the office. He unlocks the door.
Rex goes in and sniffs around, then the EOD tech gets to work. No sign of explosives.
But if the people who work in those offices come back in a couple of days and see their uprooted ceiling tiles and chalky particles on their gray carpet, they may wonder.
—
Wednesday, September 23, 2015, 1 A.M. The Washington Monument glows with a buttery hue against the overcast amber sky. Only law-enforcement officers and people with approved ID badges remain in the area. Secret Service cars and other police vehicles are parked everywhere, whether in real parking spots or improvised temporary ones.
The papal parade starts in ten hours. There’s much to do before people start arriving en masse in a few hours for the parade and an earlier ceremony for ticketed guests at the South Lawn. There are magnetometers to be brought in, buildings to finish securing, screening areas to be set up, and a long list of other security measures to complete.
A Secret Service dog chases a Kong near the Ellipse during a break. It flies by her but she manages to leap and catch it, returning it to her handler for another round.
By now Rex is making his way around the construction inside the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Other EDT dogs are still searching buildings along the parade route.
If Pope Francis isn’t suffering from jet lag, he should be fast asleep at the Apostolic Nunciature of the Holy See to the United States—basically the Vatican’s embassy—in the nearby Embassy Row neighborhood. Among the agencies guarding both him and the building as he slumbers is the Pontifical Swiss Guard, one of the world’s oldest armies.
Secret Service ERT dogs and handlers are posted in strategic pope-protecting areas as well. If the pope could see a demo of the way they train, he would surely sleep extra soundly knowing they have his back.
—
Wednesday, September 23, 2015, 5:30 A.M. Small clusters of people walk swiftly along G Street NW toward where the pope will be making his appearances later in the morning. It’s still dark, with hours to go before the 9 A.M. arrival ceremony or the 11 A.M. parade. But to these early birds, getting up at zero dark thirty and racing others to the starting line is a small price to pay to see this pope.
About two blocks from the Wh
ite House, they’ll pass a row of homeless men and women sleeping near an entrance to Macy’s. They’re laid out close together, side by side. Some nestle in sleeping bags, others are wrapped in blue camping tarps or just sheets of plastic.
A leather-skinned man wriggles his torso out of his tarp and props himself up on his elbows. He blinks a couple of times and settles in to watch his own private parade.
—
Wednesday, September 23, 2015, 5:35 A.M. The tickets for those lucky enough to be attending the White House arrival ceremony state that the gates open at 5:30 A.M. But the line is already a long snake, serpentining along Pennsylvania Avenue, past the Treasury Building, and curving down Fifteenth Street NW. Hundreds have already passed through an initial checkpoint, but now the line is stopped.
A man holding a powerful megaphone and a twelve-foot-high triple-decker sign blasts his message to his captive audience before the first checkpoint. His sign declars that THE POPE IS THE HEAD OF A CULT! and JESUS IS “THE HEAD” OF THE CHURCH!
He drives home his views of the pope through the megaphone.
“The man is evil to the core! He’s a sodomite and a pedophile!”
Not the kind of speech you’d expect to start your day at a pope celebration, but the White House area is known for attracting protestors who don’t mince words.
People do their best to ignore him. They glance ahead, to where the fortunate ones who got here even earlier are lined up farther from this guy.
“Look, Michael,” a woman in line says to her companion as she points across a barricade. “They even have dogs on the other side!”
He looks up, grateful for any distraction.
A couple of black Labs bounce along Pennsylvania Avenue beside their Secret Service handlers. One dog walks far from the crowd, wagging his tail in a relaxed, easy manner. The other sticks close to the crowd-control barriers and seems to be sniffing for something while trotting along.
“I wonder what they’re doing,” he says.
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