by Roland Smith
She did as he instructed. And when she looked at Pat’s face, he had removed his sunglasses. His eyes were bright, clear, and filled with thinly veiled ferocity.
Holding his coffee cup in front of his mouth as if he were about to take a drink, he spoke. “Anyone who wants to hurt Angela or Q will have to go through me. And I don’t go down easy. She’s an agent’s daughter. That makes her one of ours. I’ve got this. Now you need to go.”
He didn’t need to say anything more. They were comrades-in-arms. Protecting people was their job. That protection extended to their families. Pat would die before he let anyone harm Angela or Malak.
Casually, he stood and strolled away to the street corner and waited for the light to change. She watched as he crossed, then turned toward the hotel. Angela had disappeared inside.
There was nothing left for her to do. She stood up and walked away, trying and failing to keep the tears from running down her cheeks.
New Rules
“I told you we should have stayed at the Hilton,” Buddy T. shouted. Buddy T. was usually yelling about something. People in the lobby of the Four Seasons were staring.
“You only want to stay at the Hilton so you can get the Gold Club points,” Heather Hughes said quietly. I often wondered where Heather found the patience to deal with Buddy T. Just being around him was exhausting.
Things got louder when the desk clerk told Buddy T. his room “wasn’t quite ready.” His face could turn so many different colors. He yelled a lot more, but some of the wind finally went out of him and he just threw his hands up and stormed off toward the restaurant.
We each held a room key and were about to head up to the elevators when a voice stopped all of us.
“How do you put up with that guy?” I turned around and there was Agent Callaghan. I had to remember to act surprised to see him, but Boone had told Angela and me he was coming here.
My mom spoke up first.
“Agent Callaghan? What brings you to Chicago?” she asked.
He smiled and walked up to Heather and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I had some vacation saved up,” he said. “And I really like Chicago. Thought it might be nice to spend a couple of days here.”
Heather was speechless. But there was a happy smile on her face. And her cheeks colored a little bit. Back in Washington, D.C., she and Agent Callaghan had “hit it off” as I heard my mom say. And I felt instantly better just seeing him. After what happened in Texas I thought it was a good idea to have an extra set of eyes around. If he’d brought a battalion of marines with him, I’d have been downright overjoyed.
When Pat stepped through the group to get close to Heather, I noticed him do something, though. As I’ve said before, someday I want to be a magician. And to be a good one you have to watch people and notice their little quirks and mannerisms. Passing by Angela, Pat very quickly winked at her and the corner of his mouth lifted just for an instant. It was so brief you almost couldn’t see it. But I did. And more important, so did Angela. I figured out right away that it was his way of telling her that her mother was fine. Angela visibly relaxed.
My mom is a romantic at heart. It’s reflected in her music, the way she sings, and everything she does, really. She beamed from ear to ear when she saw the look on Heather’s face.
“Pa—uh … Agent Callaghan, it’s so nice to see you again. I … we … what a surprise!” Heather stammered.
He just looked at her, and everyone was quiet, waiting for one of them to say something. Mom finally spoke up.
“All right. Let’s get to our rooms and let Pat and Heather get caught up,” she said.
Heather snapped right back into business mode.
“Wait, Blaze. We have the interviews and then the sound check, then …” Heather said, but she never took her eyes off Pat.
“Nonsense. Marie and Art can help us with all that. Q and Angela have homework, anyway, so they’re going straight to their rooms.” She gave us that same ominous look she’d used on the plane this morning.
“Where’s Boone?” Pat asked, keeping up the charade. He knew Boone was on his way here.
“With the coach. Should be here in a couple of hours,” Art said.
My mom was maneuvering Agent Callaghan into a tough spot, and, of course, she had no idea what she was doing. He was supposed to stick to us like glue. Now my mom was playing matchmaker. Boone had warned us if we tried to ditch Agent Callaghan, he’d tell our folks and pull us off the tour. But Agent Callaghan couldn’t just let us go up to our rooms. And he couldn’t ask Art or Marie to watch us, because they had to guard Mom and Roger. Besides, Mom and Roger thought Art and Marie were just personal assistants. They had no idea the two of them worked for Boone.
“Heather, before we grab our coffee, do you mind if I do a security inspection on all of your rooms? Just to be safe. I’m on vacation, but I’m never really on vacation, if you know what I mean. Since Boone isn’t here yet? I mean he’s in charge of your security, right?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sure everything is fine,” Mom said. “You and Heather go and—”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, “but my boss, who I believe you’ve met, asked me to make sure everything was okay. J. R. Culpepper is not a man you want to disappoint. It won’t take long. In fact, I’ll start with Q and Angela’s rooms.”
Pat didn’t wait for an answer. He took my room key from my hand and headed toward the elevators across the lobby. We followed behind. I had a feeling once we got there we were going to get our second lecture of the morning.
All in Good Time
Eben was in a bit of a huff. They were tailing Malak all morning while she ran errands. Ziv was the most meticulous, suspicious, observant countersurveillance operative Eben had ever seen. The old man missed nothing. No car escaped his notice. No pedestrian passed by without inspection. What’s more, those he watched had no idea he was observing them. Ziv seemed to have a sixth sense about which building Malak would enter, which train she would take, and where she would get off. Together, they had worked out a system over the years. Eben had still never seen anyone quite so thorough as Malak in all his days in Mossad. No wonder the Leopard had been so hard to catch.
Eben had nearly blown their cover when they were watching Malak sitting on the bench beneath the tree on the corner as Agent Callaghan approached. Eben reached for his gun with one hand and the door handle with the other. Ziv grabbed his arm before he could leave. For his age, his grip was surprisingly strong.
“No,” he said. “It is only Agent Callaghan.”
Eben peered down the street at the bench. He focused a small pair of binoculars on Malak and then on the man sitting next to her. The man wore a baseball cap, an oversized sweatshirt, and jeans. A large pair of sunglasses hid most of his face. But now that Eben studied him carefully, he recognized Pat Callaghan. Still, he could not believe Ziv had known who it was from this distance without a scope or field glasses.
“How did you know?” Eben asked.
“Allah blessed me with great visual acuity,” Ziv answered.
Eben sighed. “Seriously, Ziv, how did you know?”
Ziv said nothing. He and Eben had been together for only a few days. They had undertaken many perils together. Ziv had actually found Eben to be a pleasant companion. But Malak was his daughter. And her life was his responsibility.
Ziv would not tell Eben he was unable to determine Callaghan’s exact identity from this distance. His eyes were not that good. Instead, he watched Malak’s reaction. She tensed, but almost immediately relaxed. That was the first clue. Initially, Ziv wondered if someone from the ghost cell was making contact. Had it been a threat, the Leopard would have attacked. But as Pat sat on the bench and they talked, his manner and movements, which Ziv had observed and memorized, told him who it was.
But it was better to keep a little mystery. Let Eben wonder about Ziv’s nearly “mystical” powers. His daughter, his family came first. He would trust no one else with their safety.
> Eben huffed. “Seriously, Ziv, how do you know?”
A few moments later, Callaghan walked away just after the group arrived at the hotel. Malak departed shortly after. Ziv started the car.
He pulled up the arm of Eben’s jacket, revealing the Omega Seamaster watch given to Eben by the president of the United States. Ziv turned his arm, making sure the light coming through the windshield glittered on the crystal face.
“All in good time, my young friend, all in good time.” He put the car in gear and drove down the street to follow Malak.
Eben groaned and rolled his eyes. However, he could not argue. Turnabout was fair play.
Why Doesn’t Anyone Trust Us?
We followed Agent Callaghan down the hallway to our rooms. All of us were on the same floor. Mom and Roger had a suite at the end of the hall. Angela and I had adjoining rooms next door to their suite.
Angela and I waited while Pat went in and checked for intruders. “Clear,” he said from inside.
We walked into my room to find the adjoining door to Angela’s room open. He was inside it, holding a small black plastic box with a bunch of green blinking lights on the top of it.
“What is that?” Angela asked, instantly curious.
“It’s classified. Let’s just say it makes sure no one is watching or listening.” He turned slowly in a circle and waved his arm up and down. Satisfied, he turned it off and slipped it into his pocket.
“Seriously? How would they even know we’re going to be here?” Angela was incredulous.
“How do they know anything? We haven’t made the hotel accommodations for Match public. But it only took your mom a few minutes on the Internet to find out you were staying here. She just watched you unload from across the street,” he said.
“My mom was here!” Angela said as she rushed to the window.
“Yes, but she’s gone now. And she’s fine. Eben and Ziv are watching the safe house. It was pretty dangerous for her to show up here. Which brings me to my next point. I can’t tell your parents that Boone asked me to keep an eye on you without tipping our hand. So here’s the deal. I’ve got a special Secret Service tablet here in my pocket,” he said. He pulled it out to show us. It was slightly smaller than the usual tablet. There were three icons on the screen and I’d never seen anything like them before. He touched one and the screen split into four smaller screens. On one of them I recognized the lobby doors at the hotel’s main entrance.
“There are exactly four ways out of this hotel that won’t set off an alarm. I have eyes on all four.” He wiggled the screen in his hand for emphasis. “So I’m putting you on notice. Right now I’m pretty sure you’re soft targets. By that I mean, I don’t think the cell would risk another chance at trying to grab you. But I don’t know for sure. I’ve been looking and watching and I haven’t seen anyone actively following you. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t. And it doesn’t mean they can’t be watching some other way. Anyone inside the hotel, a room service waiter, front-desk clerk, or concierge could be part of the cell. So you’ve got to be cautious.
“I’m going down to the restaurant to catch up with Heather. You’re going to stay here and take it easy for a while. If you need to go out before Boone gets here, send me a text and I’ll tag along. The cell tried grabbing you in San Antonio, so they’re not going to be too suspicious if you go out with a bodyguard. In fact they would expect it. But I’m warning you: Do not try to ditch me. I will find you. I don’t mean to come down hard on you guys. You’ve been through a lot. But that just means you’ve got to take everything seriously. So no freelancing. Agreed?”
Secret Service agents who’ve been on the presidential detail, like Agent Callaghan, spent most of their days instantly ready to die in order to save the life of the most powerful man in the world. It was pretty hard to say anything but yes to him.
“Okay,” Angela said. The tone in her voice made me want to make sure she wasn’t crossing her fingers behind her back. For once, I kind of agreed with her. I was starting to develop an aversion to hotel rooms. That happens after you’ve been taken from one at gunpoint. I knew Angela would rather be out scouring the city, looking in every nook for a clue or a … terrorist.
“No problem,” I said.
“Okay,” he said, giving us a little wave and heading for the door.
We stared at each other. For a moment it felt like we were really stuck. In San Antonio the ghost cell had kept a Chevy Tahoe filled with explosives in a warehouse. It gave all of us something to focus on, waiting for the moment when they made a move to use it. And Malak had found out about Miss Ruby right away. We knew who she was and what she looked like. As they say in the spy game, we had intel. Here in Chicago, we had no idea who or what we were even looking for.
“Now what?” I asked Angela.
She slung her backpack on the bed and removed her laptop.
“Send P.K. a text and find out if he’s discovered anything else about our ‘White House’ project,” she said.
“P.K.” was the Secret Service code name for “President’s Kid,” Willingham Culpepper. After his sister, Bethany, was rescued, he’d been feeding us info on Boone he had uncovered in the National Archives. I sent him the text.
“What are you doing?” I asked Angela. Her fingers were flying over her keyboard.
“Putting our down time to good use,” she said. “Looking for more information.”
“Information about what?” I asked.
“P.K. has his methods. I have mine,” she said. “Boone still hasn’t answered all of our questions. I’m going to do some looking on my own.”
One thing you can say about Angela. She doesn’t quit.
“Aren’t we supposed to be doing our homework?” I asked.
Angela didn’t answer.
Rude Reception
“Boone, I think we got company,” Felix said over the phone speaker.
Boone sat forward in the seat and peered into the coach’s big side mirror. The reflection showed a black Hummer rapidly accelerating behind them. Croc jumped down from his seat at the table and trotted back and forth.
Boone watched the mirror for a few seconds, cracked open the window, and let some air in. Who could this be? Paparazzi? Some fans that wanted to follow the bus into the city? Unlikely. Somehow they had been tracked. But how? X-Ray ran sweeps for electronic surveillance and tracking devices at regular intervals on all of their vehicles.
“Easy,” Boone said, “might just be a tourist. Maybe some enthusiastic fans. Hoping to get a glimpse of Roger and Blaze.”
“Don’t seem like tourists,” Felix said. Over the phone Boone heard the ratcheting sound as Felix readied an automatic weapon to fire.
Croc huffed and then barked quietly. For just the briefest moment he disappeared and then reappeared in the same spot. Vanessa, intent on her driving, never noticed.
Trouble confirmed.
“All right, Croc,” Boone said. “Vanessa, we’ve got company. Keep alert. They’re going to try and box us in.”
“Because your dog barked? You’re taking Croc’s word over Felix’s?” she asked. Vanessa strained to look in her side mirror but didn’t have as clear a view of the accelerating vehicle as Felix did.
“Croc knows stuff.”
“So does Felix.”
“Very true, but …”
Boone never got to finish. Vanessa suddenly applied the brakes. Up ahead, about half a mile distant, two big black Suburbans leaped out of the cornfield and parked facing the coach in a V shape. A half dozen men with weapons jumped out and took up positions behind the vehicles.
“Hold on!” Vanessa shouted.
The coach fishtailed on the pavement. Vanessa steered into the skid, trying to keep it facing the blockade head on. The assault team knew what they were doing. The tour bus outweighed their vehicles by several thousand pounds. But it couldn’t maneuver as well as they could. And they were experienced enough to park facing the bus, which would make it harder to brea
k through the barricade. The heavier coach might succeed in busting through, but it would be damaged, and it could tip over or stop running. In which case the teams behind them would have a much easier time of things.
“Boone! What do you want me to do?” Vanessa shouted.
“Don’t try to ram through; we’re going to have to fight our way out of this!” Boone shifted his weight as the coach slowed, finally stopping no more than twenty yards from the front of the Suburbans.
Vanessa threw the coach into park and was already out of her seat, rushing to the rear. Boone crouched down below the dashboard and Croc edged forward and licked his face.
“Ready, boy?” he whispered.
Croc cocked his head, looking at Boone as if to say, “Seriously?” Then he was gone.
The windshield cracked and popped as bullets flew from a barrage of gunfire.
Caged Leopard
Malak paced back and forth in the safe house. No matter what she tried, she could not rid herself of the nervous energy she was feeling. She tried doing yoga, and meditating, but nothing worked.
“Get a grip, Malak,” she muttered to herself.
Finally, unable to focus on anything else, she decided to secure the safe house. Her morning of running errands had a secondary purpose. She took a plastic bag from a Walgreen’s drugstore into the upstairs bathroom. Malak had traveled the world the last few years as the Leopard. It never ceased to amaze her how many useful items could be found in an American drugstore.
She had purchased two burner cell phones. One was stored under the sink and the other was plugged in to charge. Additional items included a small bottle of baby powder, a roll of Scotch tape, and a few other toiletries.
Upon her arrival at the safe house yesterday, Malak had found the hidden surveillance cameras and microphones after an extensive search. She had also found the blind spots, which included the upstairs hallway and a few other places in the two-story house.
