Her Secret Service (Jane Roe 1)

by Jason Letts

  They took the path down to the cabin complex that made up Camp David, one that Jane was familiar with after coordinating plans many times but had never dreamed of actually setting foot in. She’d had no reason to, as this was a place of historical significance for presidents and foreign dignitaries the likes of which no billionaire could ever buy. Peace accords had been signed here. The bedrock laws of their society were crafted here. And evidently there was brunch too.

  A Secret Service agent named Swathman was stationed at the north entrance as they approached. Although he had glasses on that completely obscured his eyes, and his face was expressionless, Jane had the distinct sensation that he was in shock Jane was accompanying the president for a purely social purpose. Jane nodded with a half-smile as they passed him, knowing that as soon as they were out of his sight everyone at headquarters would know what was happening.

  “I’m looking forward to trying out the pool once summer hits,” Alex said as they stepped inside, another perfectly normal comment that Jane struggled to find a normal response to. For being someone who always believed she had a gift for gab, she was strangely tongue-tied.

  “It’s hard to imagine summer being any more gorgeous around here than it is right now,” she said, hoping it wasn’t too lame a statement. Alex had moved to the back of the room where a large window looked over the upper terrace and the south side of the estate. The wooden paneling, beams running along the length of the ceiling, and the pea-green carpet all gave off a very sixties vibe.

  Dedan had followed them in, and Jane was going to have to check her charts but was pretty sure he had managed to switch duties with someone outside the compound so that he could come in and watch her make a fool of herself in front of the president. He was the closest thing she had to a friend at work, and despite his lack of expression she had the distinct impression he was thoroughly amused by her fish-out-of-water situation.

  “Do you smell that? Looks like they’re setting up a table for us on the terrace,” Alex said. She smiled brightly as he glanced back at her, but in her head she was trying to juggle not sounding stupid to the president with not being inappropriate to everyone at headquarters while feeling completely squeamish about Camp David staff waiting on her and the Secret Service detail she managed looking after her.

  When she spotted a bathroom in the corner, it looked like a welcome respite.

  “I’m just going to wash up a little bit,” she said.

  “Good idea,” Alex responded, and for a second she took his meaning to be that she was in such an unkempt state that she needed to wash up until he went in the direction of the bedroom to do likewise.

  Once she’d shut the door and had a few square feet to herself, Jane anxiously turned on the faucet and doused her face with water to get some of the caked-on sweat off. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized that being under the watchful gaze of the Secret Service for just a few minutes was already getting to her. And this was what Alex had to live like every second of every day. Now Jane had a little more sympathy for what Bethany Morrin felt like.

  It would’ve been nice to use the shower and get really clean, but with nothing to change into simply being less grimy had to suffice. Luckily when she exited she saw that Alex hadn’t made her the only one still wearing clothes from their ride.

  Standing by the terrace doorway, he tilted his head with a smirk as he nudged the door open, gesturing for her to come outside as his blond hair caught the light. Jane had to admire the way he looked, and it only made her more curious why he cared for her to be there at all. It couldn’t all be some kind of nostalgic attempt to recreate his old riding routines.

  “This looks amazing,” she said when she saw the spread on the table. “I know better than to be surprised, but it’s still impressive.”

  Stacks of waffles and pancakes, enough fruit to fill a grocer’s aisle, and a big jug of Vermont maple syrup. And somehow through no work of her own it was something she got to share in. If only for a little while, she was going to have to find a way to not just enjoy the amazing food but enjoy herself and the minuscule time she had with someone who fascinated and puzzled her.

  “Yeah, the chefs do an amazing job. Everything they make is an art form.”

  It was easier to feel more like she was returning to her senses once she’d sunk her teeth into a thick Belgian waffle covered in syrup and strawberry compote.

  “It’ll be hard not to stuff myself so full that I’ll need to go for another ride,” she said, drawing a grin from Alex, who had already inhaled an entire waffle.

  “You’re starting to sound like a real cyclist. If only you hadn’t spent so much time running,” he said.

  Jane glanced upward as she pondered that one.

  “I can’t regret my time running though. Feeling your feet on the pavement, being running on trails between the trees and up hills. Still, I get the appeal of riding and there are certainly some benefits with less gravity involved.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?”

  Jane looked askew.

  “Well, it’s nice to have a little less bounce in your step,” she said, trying not to sound too suggestive about it, but the look in his eye as he glanced below her line of sight meant her reference had apparently been too good to resist. He downed half a glass of orange juice.

  “You know, I was tempted to spend that flight to Dayton in the plane’s gym on one of the bikes there. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t,” he said, but his smile faltered, and Jane could practically see the memories of the bombing and the emergency landing coming back into his mind.

  “I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

  “Me too,” Alex said. “Are they any closer to finding out who did it?”

  Jane sighed, wondering if this would turn into a work meeting after all.

  “I haven’t heard anything yet, but I know they’re working as hard as they can on it. You must be pretty shaken up about it,” she said.

  Alex leaned back in his chair, putting a finger over his chin before leaning back toward her.

  “Are you familiar with John Milton at all? He’s the poet and philosopher from the 17th century most famous for writing Paradise Lost. He spent his life studying all manner of things, and I heard a story once that he was the last person regarded to have known everything there was to know at his time. Can you imagine absorbing the combined knowledge of everything that came before you?

  “That’s what bothers me about these attacks and all of the threats. I think if these people knew any more about me, they’d see that I’m not a mastermind or architect of the world who has that kind of knowledge worth attacking. Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to figure it out each day just like everybody else, and that can mean mistakes happen, bad judgment strikes, or despite all the power of the presidency things can happen that I really have no control over,” he said.

  Jane found herself watching him as he spoke. It got her attention, showing some vulnerability she wouldn’t have ever imagined was there. Most of the time Alex acted just like he did when he was being recorded in public or speaking to a crowd, but little moments of humanity were seeping in that showed her that he had a reflective side.

  “What they’re trying to attack is the authority figure of the presidency,” Jane said, but she immediately regretted it. He’d tried to expose something he was worried about, and she’d papered it over with work talk.

  “Oh, I know that…”

  “But I understand what you mean,” Jane said, looking straight into his eyes. “We build up these ideas of maintaining control, but none of us has any control in a real sense. I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear from someone in charge of your Secret Service detail, but it’s the truth, and the sooner we all recognize that the better off we’ll be. Sometimes our best intentions and fervent effort are all we have to go on, and the rest is out of our hands.”

  Alex nodded solemnly, his hand returning to his chin in a way that wasn’t too different than the famous Thinker
statue.

  “I keep going back to JFK. The Secret Service recommended that two agents ride on the back of his vehicle as he cruised through Dallas, but he refused them because he thought it would look strange having people hanging onto the back of the car. Six seconds passed between when the first shot was fired and the one that struck him. He almost certainly would’ve lived if those agents had been there.

  “The point is that I have to take just as much responsibility for my safety as you do. And I’m not at all put off by you acknowledging that there’s no way to remain perfectly safe at all times with the constant stream of threats. Maybe I should be giving the people more credit as well. There are times when I feel like I know exactly what I need to do and times when visibly showing that I’m weighing conflicting pieces of information might not be a bad thing.”

  Alex turned his head to look out over the verdant landscape around them.

  “I think many people would appreciate that,” she said, and he turned back to her with a scrutinizing look.

  “And what would you think?”

  Suddenly flustered at the intensity of his gaze, the only thing Jane could fall back on was the core of her mission.

  “I think I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Not because it would cost me my job and it’s what I’m supposed to do, but because of what it would mean about myself and my capabilities. I’m not ready to accept that pure chance can ruin what I’ve spent so much time working to keep safe.”

  He looked down at the table and his empty plate for a moment.

  “Why do you care so much?” he asked, and she was so entranced in her thoughts that she said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Because you’re the president.”

  Alex pursed his lips and something in his eyes changed. Whatever this had started out as, it was ending as a work meeting, and being reminded that all of his security and the threats requiring it had to do with his position wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

  “Well, I’m very glad for your support in that respect,” he said, though that brought to mind a truth that was even worse than the one she just uttered. At least this time she managed to keep something in that she could never speak aloud, but that left her without anything to say. Definitely nothing that could fix what she just broke.

  “Alex…”

  The door to the terrace opened beside them and a young male aide stepped out and approached the president. Jane sat feeling guilty and rueful while he whispered into Alex’s ear. Her riding partner’s eyes flashed. Something was happening, and he took one last glance at Jane before getting up.

  “I’ve got something to take care of.”

  Jane hastily stood up as was proper when the president departed a room, and after that all she could do was watch him slip back into the palatial cabin to attend to whatever urgent matter had been brought to his attention. It was a good reminder that no matter how close she got there would always be deeper layers she would never reach, but right now there was a hole in the pit of her stomach over how something that might’ve been happening between them fell apart. At least chance and outside influence weren’t to blame; it was all her fault, and her conversational skills that she prided herself on had failed catastrophically.

  Keeping her head down, she couldn’t even look at Dedan as she passed through the living room to the front door on her way out.

  The silent ride back to her apartment in D.C. was full of self-chastisement. It was one thing to put her foot in her mouth, but now that the brunch was over she found herself feeling ridiculous having expected that anything was supposed to come of riding and eating waffles together. What, was he going to decide that she was the one he wanted when he could have pretty much any woman on the planet? And surely he was acutely aware of the promise of a scandal with the president propositioning a female federal employee.

  But back at her dreary apartment building in her tiny apartment with the paper-thin walls on the couch with the ratty fabric, she found more things to suddenly be dissatisfied with. She wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and it struck her that she’d spent enough of her life living in slum-like conditions on the pretense of saving some money.

  After stepping into another world at Camp David with private chefs and expansive and manicured grounds, she didn’t think she had a right to any of that, but maybe she could find a way to raise her standard of living even if it left her bank account a little lighter. On an agitated whim she wrote to her landlord letting him know that she’d be breaking out of her month-to-month lease at the end of April. That gave her a few weeks to find a better place to live, which couldn’t be that hard even if she rented someplace else sight unseen.

  Doing something about her own life that had been long overdue made her feel good, and she wondered why she hadn’t done it before. The answer came quickly when her phone buzzed, and she realized it had to be someone from work. That was why. Ditching her cheap place to live when she was likely to find herself out of a job any day may not have been wise.

  But she couldn’t make herself regret deciding to leave her apartment, even if she didn’t see another paycheck for years. If she was reaching a sink or swim moment in her life, she could embrace the challenge and find a way to keep her head above water.

  Her phone ended up being a text from Nathan with something startling that told her she wasn’t the only one making mistakes and going through a rough patch in her life.

  He’d sent her a link to a tell-all interview with Leslie Hodge that had just been published called “My One-Night Stand with the President.”

  Gritting her teeth, Jane couldn’t bring herself to read more than the first line, which called Alex “needy” and “careless with other people’s hearts.”

  Setting the phone down, she thought it sounded a lot like herself.

  10

  The Washington Post

  1301 K Street NW

  Washington, D.C.

  Oliver was at work doing some video editing with Heath in the screening room when the call he’d been dreading from the FBI came. But it wasn’t to his phone.

  “Let me just see who this is,” Heath said, picking his phone up from the desk. Oliver had only glanced at the number with no identifying information for a second, but he already knew that the authorities had finally circled back to them. Unlike a journalist like himself who was used to getting random calls, nobody dialed a technician out of the blue, unless he was a witness to a bombing on Air Force One.

  Oliver didn’t say anything as Heath left the room to take the call, his mind already reeling with frantic thoughts about what he should do and if he should start running now. He thought he’d been home free after a nightmarish day when the bomb went off early and they were all interrogated in isolation before being released. Half the plane’s press contingent had their luggage ruined, and he had given an Oscar-worthy performance of obliviousness, but even though he’d gone back to his apartment and resumed his life as normal there was always a sinking feeling that they’d figure it out.

  Were they calling Heath to get some additional information about him? For all he knew, the FBI would try to have Heath detain him at their workplace now that they had enough evidence. With a good fifty pounds on Oliver, Heath wouldn’t be that easy to fight through. No matter what the odds were, Oliver Ip wasn’t the type to give up and hand himself over.

  The closest thing to a weapon in the room was a corded microphone he took in his hand. With enough surprise, he could slip it around Heath’s neck to silently take him out before exiting the building and starting his life on the run.

  When Heath came in sight of the doorway, Oliver could see a dramatic change in Heath’s disposition. He comported himself differently, walking in a daze with his phone held so limply in his hand it was a wonder it didn’t slip out and fall to the floor. Oliver watched him approach, wondering how to get him close enough for the cord to reach and turn him around to be able to get him from behind.

  “It was Agent
Tanner,” Heath said in a spacey sort of way.

  “Why don’t you come over here and tell me about it? And I think I saw a string or something stuck to your back. I’ll get it for you,” Oliver said, but Heath didn’t budge.

  “He told me not to go anywhere and that a van was coming for me in five minutes. They have to be thinking I did it. Can you believe it?”

  Oliver’s jaw dropped open as the world suddenly felt like a different place. He could see it all. Heath had carried the bomb straight through the terminal every step of the way himself. The boom mic was a piece of equipment that the Post usually only gave technicians access to. They probably figured Heath had intended to be a suicide bomber taking out the president and himself in the process. A gasping breath coincided with Oliver’s sense that a door was opening up before him with precious time to get through it.

  But so much of it depended on continuing to cover his tracks and how deeply in trouble Heath got. Oliver furrowed his brow in astonishment.

  “Oh, Heath, how could you? Are you insane?”

  Heath’s eyes widened and his expression slackened at what he heard.

  “Are you kidding me? I didn’t do this. How long have you known me? I would never, never, ever…I wouldn’t even know the first thing…”

  Oliver shook his head and sighed.

  “Look, this is going to be hard. They wouldn’t be calling you if they didn’t already have you. The best thing to do is just admit it and take whatever plea bargain they’ll give you,” Oliver said.

  Heath looked around anxiously, the unmistakable signs of fear manifesting in his every movement and facial contortion.

  “This is just unbelievable. You have to help me. You know I didn’t do it. What is my wife going to think when I don’t come home tonight?” he said with his hand on his head in agony.

  “She’s going to think you tried to blow up Air Force One. Everyone will. You’re going to have to accept it too. Lying and saying you’re innocent will only make them angry,” Oliver said, breathing deeply.