“The Secret Service agent.”
“Nope. Never seen him before.”
“Well, he sure is staring at you. And it ain’t the secret admirer stare either.”
Calvin didn’t have to tell her that. She could feel the agent’s gaze burning twin holes in the back of her head.
“So, how about you teach me how to play darts?” she said.
It was all she could do to keep from glancing over at the agent and his companions as she and her co-workers played game after game of darts and ate some of Hullabaloo’s famous apple pie. She watched the clock, waiting for the hour when the White House settled in for the night.
When she finally did look toward the front of the bar, she was surprised to see the agent’s table occupied by a different group of people.
The conversations had moved to personal relationships and the latest reality series Jenna didn’t have time to watch if she wanted to, so she took the opportunity to make her exit.
“See you all tomorrow. I’ve got to get home and catch a few winks.”
“Party pooper,” Calvin said but winked at her like he had Pippi earlier. Of all the people she’d met since walking into the White House under an assumed name, Calvin was one of the ones she most hoped didn’t have anything to do with the plot. He was a fun guy and even someone she could see herself keeping in touch with after her true identity was revealed. Or would it be? Would she just disappear from this place with no explanation to her co-workers? For some reason, that depressed her. That she could make such a potential impact on the fate of the president and no one except the few people at the agency would know. This must be what it felt like to be in covert ops.
The thought brought back the memory of her father’s face, not the one on the screen holding the paper but the one of him in his uniform just come home from some tour of duty overseas. She’d spotted him as soon as he’d walked out of the plane, and she’d wriggled out of her mother’s arms and run to her daddy through a sea of camo-clad legs longer than she was tall.
He’d grabbed her up as if she’d weighed no more than a piece of paper and lifted her high into the air, making her giggle.
Jenna waved to Calvin and the others and made her way quickly from the bar. She walked two blocks before she sank onto a concrete step and stared out into the night. She could see the Washington Monument lit up in the distance. She remembered asking to go to the top when she was a child and her mother telling her no, that they didn’t have time to stand in a huge line just so she could see the same thing she could see from the ground.
Even now Jenna wanted to tell her mother that her reasoning was faulty, but what good would it do? It wouldn’t even make her feel better. For the umpteenth time, she wondered how her parents had ever gotten together. They were so different that the opposites attract theory didn’t even make sense.
A car coming down the street caught Jenna’s attention. The slow speed at which it was traveling put her instincts on high alert. That’s how cars moved when a drive-by was about to happen. She rolled off the step and dashed into a dark alley barely big enough for two people to stand side by side. But no shots rang out. Had she moved in time to prevent being detected, or was she simply bringing paranoia to a new level?
She leaned her head against the brick wall and took a deep breath. She should have gone into something boring like accounting or insurance where she wouldn’t have needed to make herself invisible and invite the spooks into her life.
But then she would have never known about her father, not been given a second chance to give him a second chance.
She took advantage of the darkness and left her visible self behind. Tonight, she had to step up her search and hope luck looked on her kindly. Her goal — the residence of the most powerful man on Earth.
CHAPTER TEN
Jenna lurked in the corner nearest the door and scanned the living area of the presidential residence. No one was home, for which her heart rate was thankful. It had pumped fast enough for two people earlier, thank you very much, and it needed a chance to beat normally. Well, as normally as could be expected under the current circumstances. She felt like one of the burglars she’d busted on occasion and wondered if the powerful surge of adrenaline bursting in her veins was what kept them coming back. Good thing she wasn’t an adrenaline junkie. Personally, she’d like to be the most underworked cop out there because then no one would be getting raped, robbed or killed. She could spend more time saving animals instead of people. But it was about as likely that crime would disappear as it was the sky turning purple with pink polka dots.
She listened to make sure the Secret Service agent who’d accompanied the maid through the residence earlier and thus allowed her to slip inside wasn’t moving outside the door. No footsteps or rattling of doorknobs. Good sign.
Careful not to bump any furniture, Jenna eased across the room and perused the titles on the bookshelf. Histories of countries all around the world, large volumes about the art of masters such as Renoir and Degas, biographies of presidents. Nothing surprising for the personal collection of a high-placed family, even if it didn’t show much originality.
She moved on to the president’s study. Here, a bit of personality showed. The wall bookshelves were filled with western novels — classics such as Shane, what appeared to be the entire works of Zane Grey and Louis Lamour, and more recent hits by Larry McMurtry. The walls were covered with western décor — lariats, a huge panoramic photograph of Glacier National Park in the president’s home state of Montana, and a framed Frederic Remington print.
Definitely not the style of some blue blood presidents. Jenna shook her head. How did a man who grew up on a ranch marry a woman whose family had bluer blood than the Kennedys and the Vanderbilts combined? Wasn’t love strange?
Feeling like a criminal, she opened first one, then another desk drawer and rifled through their contents, careful not to leave fingerprints or any hint that she’d been there. After several minutes of searching, she’d read documents she knew no regular citizen would ever see but nothing that lent itself to a motive for assassination.
The framed photos in the bedroom showed the president and first lady sailing, another of them and their two children decked in skiwear at Vail, and yet another of them squinting into the camera during a white water rafting trip. They looked happy in them, genuinely happy. Jenna was determined to keep them that way.
It seemed so incredibly wrong to spy on people in their private quarters, but it had to be worth it if the information gathered saved the president’s life.
The sound of the front door opening sent her heart leaping into her throat, choking off her air. Oh Lord, she wasn’t ready.
Jenna backed into a corner, hoping that whoever came into the bedroom wouldn’t shut the door and trap her inside with them. She never wanted to spend another night like she had in Patti’s office. Just the thought made her palms sweaty and her head woozy.
The footsteps came closer, a man’s from the sound of them. Oh my God, she was about to see the president up close without him even realizing it.
But it wasn’t the president who strode into the room but the Secret Service agent who’d become one of her biggest worries. He stopped in the doorway and scanned the room. Okay, it was just a normal sweep, that’s all. Maybe they did this before the president could come inside? Although who in the world could breech this inner fortress?
Her, that’s who. She’d been told that few people knew of the agency’s existence, but the president was one of those people. Did he know about her? Not that she was in place in the White House, but did he know about her and her unexplainable ability?
If he knew, maybe he’d called for these sweeps to be certain no one got in. But if he’d done so, that meant the person doing the sweep would have to have the ability to see the unseeable. Was it a coincidence that this Secret Service agent was the one across the room from her now? She’d give her life savings if she could melt into the paint on the wall.
> But he didn’t even pause when his gaze moved past her. She closed her eyes for a moment and sent up a prayer of thanks.
“I can’t see you, but I know you’re here.”
Jenna’s heart stopped, then began to beat so frantically she feared she might have a coronary and die right there. Had he really said that or had her fears manifested themselves to the point that her brain had played the awful trick on her?
If he couldn’t see her, how could he possibly know she was there? And if he worked for the agency, why would he try to scare her like that? Dumb question. Hadn’t everyone there done his best to scare her into submission from the word go?
Maybe he considered her more of a threat than a help.
Jenna held her breath, afraid he was going to capture her and turn her in. She was forced to breathe or risk turning blue and fainting. She let her breath out as slowly and silently as possible, and still he looked her direction.
But he didn’t tackle her or radio for backup. Maybe he was just trying to put a little extra fear in her. As if she needed any more.
The front door opened again, drawing his attention away. Fate had never been kinder. The noise of another entry into the residence covered her gulp of air.
The agent snapped to attention. “Good evening, Mr. President.”
Lord, here she was going from the proverbial frying pan to the fire. She was not in a state to do her best sleuthing, not when someone was aware of her presence. Would he tell the president, and would they seal off all escape routes? Why couldn’t she be even more like one of the X-Men and have the ability to walk across the ceiling or go “poof” and transport herself to a different room?
“Good evening, Rennie.”
Rennie. Knowing his name made him no less threatening.
Jenna didn’t know what she expected of a conversation between the president and one of the men who guarded his life, but it was more than what she heard. The president continued reading the documents he held as he moved from the living area into the bedroom where she stood.
She wondered if the president ever truly got to relax? He probably woke up to security briefings, spent his lunch talking about his upcoming trips, afternoons discussing political strategy and, from the looks of it, even took work home and perhaps even to bed.
Jenna watched as the president loosened his tie, making a face as if it were the noose many men likened them to. He tossed it on the bed but kept reading. He flipped the page and shook his head. “I can’t believe these people,” he muttered.
“Sir?”
Jenna’s heart leapt again when Rennie appeared in the doorway.
“Nothing. Just muttering over the fact that some nations seem bound and determined to bite the hand that feeds them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rennie could use some vocabulary enhancement. Or were Secret Service agents told not to carry on extensive conversations with their boss for fear they would be talking instead of watching the surroundings?
The front door opened yet again, and Ken Harmon sauntered in. Rennie moved into the other room, which allowed Jenna to breathe a little easier.
“Have you read this yet?” the president asked as he snapped the papers with his fingers.
“Yeah. Makes you want to teach them some gratitude, doesn’t it?”
Dang it, who were they?
“We send them tons upon tons of food and medicine, which I’m not one hundred percent certain even makes it to the people who need it. And when I mention cleaning up the aid program, they have the nerve to complain about us being a rich and greedy country. Sometimes I feel like we’re waging an unwinnable battle in the world’s eyes.” He tossed the report down on the bed and sank into a recliner in the corner opposite where Jenna stood.
Harmon sat on a bench at the foot of the bed. “How do you want to respond?”
“You don’t want to know that right now.”
“Let me rephrase. How will we be responding? A speech at the United Nations? A call to Tumeri?”
Tumeri, that rang a bell.
The president rubbed his rough hand over his face. “I don’t know yet. Let me sleep on it.” In the nonpublic moment, he looked more like the ranch hand he’d once been than the politician he became after a dare in college sent him into the race for campus president.
Harmon stood. “Give some thought to the call. I’d be interested to see how Tumeri talks himself out of this one. Especially in light of some of the rumors we’re hearing out of Cardoma.”
The president made an expression that said he had no doubt this Tumeri would surely try and had probably done so before.
“What are you hearing?”
“That Tumeri is making suspicious inquiries, meeting with less than savory characters. That he might be considering a power play.”
“Great.”
“We have no definite connections yet, but we’ve got people on it 24-7.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, Mr. President.”
Harmon left the room just as the front door opened again. What was this, Grand Central Station? Were they playing a White House version of Chinese fire drill?
Jenna edged around the room to where she was closer to the bedroom door. If the president started shucking clothes, she was out of there. Eavesdropping in the name of the mission only went so far.
President Thomas picked up the report again and flipped back to the first page. A murmur of conversation came from the outer room, and Jenna peeked around the edge of the door. The first lady and Harmon stood close, carrying on a low conversation Jenna couldn’t hear.
“Liz, is that you?” the president asked.
Mrs. Thomas said one last thing to Harmon before walking into the bedroom and pulling off her designer heels. “I hope you’re not planning to give Tumeri a tongue lashing like I know you’re dying to.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Leave it be.”
“I’m the president, Liz. I can’t leave it be. You have to stand up to the school yard bully or he keeps picking on you.”
“Mindu might be a small country compared to the U.S., but Tumeri is a powerful man. And his employees are not nice people. He’s been in power since before my father became ambassador. You don’t stay in power that long without silencing dissenters.” She paused, watched her husband. “And I know about the rumors that he might be behind the notes.”
“They’re only rumors.”
“But what if they’re true?”
“Liz, you knew this job wasn’t without its dangers. We’ll deal with them.”
The first lady was a strong, powerful woman, but at the moment she looked like a concerned wife.
Jenna’s skin prickled with excitement that this might be a true clue to the note writer’s identity. She needed to find out more about this Tumeri and his possible ties to the threats.
The president looked at his wife, then crossed to the phone. He punched a single digit. “Yes. Could you bring us some warm chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk?”
A small smile tugged at the edges of the first lady’s mouth despite the worry still clouding her eyes.
Okay, time to go.
Jenna slid slowly toward the doorway to the bedroom. When Rennie escorted the lady with the cookies and milk into the residence, Jenna increased her pace and made it out the door just ahead of him.
She froze when Rennie stepped out and looked down the hallway in her direction. How did he keep doing that?
Then in a low voice he said, “They may trust you, but I don’t. Make one wrong move, and I’ll catch you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Since she was fairly certain the Secret Service wasn’t about to let her stroll into the Oval Office, Jenna went to the restroom during her first break the next morning and locked herself in a stall.
After a quick check to make sure no one else was in the room, she closed her eyes and concentrated. As she finished the transformation, someone
came into the room. Jenna nearly stopped breathing. What if the other woman did the under-the-door check and picked the stall in which Jenna stood?
Footsteps sounded on the tile, coming closer. Jenna didn’t dare breathe, swallow or move in any way. She had a one in four chance of being discovered. She stared at the lock on the stall door. It was locked, but if the woman chose this one would she wonder why an empty stall was locked?
She mentally shook her head. Even if the other woman wondered, it wasn’t like she was going to alert the nearest Secret Service agent. A locked stall door in the women’s restroom wasn’t a call for a state of emergency.
When the other woman chose the stall two down, Jenna relaxed as much as an invisible woman in the White House could. She waited until the woman locked her own stall before unlocking hers with care not to make any noise. She eased out of the stall, thankful her uniform shoes weren’t of the squeaky variety. Though free of the stall, she still had to wait for the other woman to leave before she could sneak out the restroom door.
There had to be a better way to do this.
After the woman — one of the junior staffers — opened the door, Jenna slipped out in the seconds before the door closed. She headed straight for the Oval Office, aware she couldn’t be gone forever.
For a moment, she was awestruck when she entered the Oval Office. How many gigantic, world-affecting decisions had been made in this room? She tried to imagine Kennedy, Roosevelt and all the other great presidents sitting behind the desk where President Thomas now sat, leaning back in his chair with a serious expression on his face.
Out of Sight (Project Athena) Page 11
