Connor waited nervously in the large oval reception room on the ground floor of the White House. He was alone, apart from a discreet Secret Service agent, who stood stock-still and silent by a set of double doors as though he were part of the furniture. The soft gold-and-blue decor of the stately room did little to alleviate Connor’s worries. Despite the distraction of the stunning panorama of American landscapes that circled the entire room, Connor couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about his first encounter with the president’s daughter.
How should I act? Formal or casual? Or should I just be myself? What am I going to say? And what if Alicia takes an instant dislike to me? How am I going to do my job then . . .
As all these concerns whirled through his mind, the double doors opened and President Mendez stepped through, followed by his daughter and two Secret Service agents.
“Connor, welcome to the White House,” greeted the president, warmly shaking his hand. “I’m so glad we could arrange your stay. Please allow me to introduce my daughter, Alicia.”
For a moment, Connor was speechless. Alicia was even more attractive than the photos had suggested. Her striking sunflower-yellow dress made her bronze complexion almost seem to glow, and he found himself mesmerized by her deep brown eyes . . .
Connor pulled himself together. These weren’t the thoughts of a professional bodyguard. He wasn’t here to admire his Principal. He was here to protect her.
“Hi . . . I’m Connor,” he finally managed to blurt out, and for some reason, he bowed.
“Pleased to meet you too,” Alicia replied with an amused smile. “But there’s no need to bow.”
“Well . . . you are the president’s daughter.”
“True, but I’m not royalty!”
Connor’s cheeks flushed a little with embarrassment at his mistake in etiquette.
President Mendez glanced from one to the other and waited for either to say more. When neither did, he prompted, “Well, now that you’ve met, I suggest, Alicia, you give Connor a tour of our home.”
Alicia nodded dutifully.
President Mendez turned to Connor and shook his hand. “Sorry I can’t join you. I have to get back to running the country! But I do hope all goes well during your stay with us,” he said, shooting Connor a knowing wink.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Connor replied as the great man took his leave, the two agents remaining behind.
Once Alicia’s father was gone, there was a moment of awkward silence. Connor exchanged a strained smile with Alicia as they each tried to think of something to say.
Then Alicia began. “So . . . this is the Diplomatic Reception Room.”
Her hand swept around the decorated walls.
“Um . . . Jacqueline Kennedy had this pictorial wallpaper put up in the sixties. That’s Niagara Falls over there . . . New York Bay . . . Boston Harbor. And this old fireplace is where President Franklin Roosevelt broadcast his famous fireside chats.”
Connor nodded politely. Although he’d never heard of Roosevelt’s broadcasts, he was more than happy for Alicia to take him on a guided tour, since it gave him the opportunity to get to know her. As a bodyguard, it was important to quickly assess a Principal’s character and manner so that one could work efficiently and agreeably with them.
“In the past, this room housed a furnace and boiler,” she explained, “and before that, it was used by servants for polishing the silver.”
Maintaining the formality of the occasion, Alicia guided him next door to the China Room and showed him its priceless displays of ivory-and-burnished-gold china. Next, they moved on to the Vermeil Room with its extensive collection of silver-gilt tableware; the wooden-paneled Library with its unusual lighthouse clock; and, to Connor’s great surprise, a bowling alley in the basement. Then they climbed the Grand Staircase up to the State Floor. The first point of call was the East Room—a magnificent ceremonial hall with long gilded drapes, a marble fireplace and antique glass chandeliers hanging above a Steinway grand piano. As they traipsed through the furniture displays in the Green, Blue and Red Rooms, Connor was struggling to maintain his interest. Impressive as the White House was, there was only so much antiquity and artwork he could take.
Alicia noticed his eyes glazing over and stopped talking.
“Sorry,” said Connor, attempting to stifle a yawn. “Must be jet lag.”
But, rather than take offense, Alicia grinned at him. “Shall we skip the boring parts?”
Connor nodded eagerly. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said, visibly relaxing in his presence. “To be honest, I hate doing these official tours. I just thought that was what you expected as an official guest.”
“No, I’d prefer to do what you want,” Connor replied.
“Cool,” said Alicia, smiling. “Then I hope you don’t scare easily!”
34
“You mean, he could be watching us right now?” said Connor, unnerved by Alicia’s story. The two of them had headed for the infamous Lincoln Bedroom on the second floor. He scanned the room and looked out through the window at the slowly setting sun.
Alicia nodded, her face drawn into a mask of fright. “Don’t you feel his presence?” Her voice was almost a whisper, her dark eyes wide as she pointed a trembling finger toward the door. “I think . . . that’s him . . .”
Connor could see a faint shadow moving along the narrow gap at the foot of the wooden door. Silently, he crept across the plush emerald-green carpet. His fingers clasped the brass handle; it was cool to the touch. The movement outside ceased. With a quick twist, Connor yanked the door open, and a startled Secret Service agent leaped away in shock.
“That’s not Abraham Lincoln’s ghost!” Connor exclaimed with a grin.
Alicia laughed as the agent recovered his wits. “No, but it could have been. Over the years, numerous sightings have been recorded. President Reagan’s first daughter said she saw Lincoln standing at that window peering out across the lawn. Harry Truman, the thirty-third president, once wrote in a letter that he heard footsteps up and down the hallway at night, as well as knocking on his door, when no one was there. Winston Churchill even refused to sleep in this room after coming face-to-face with Lincoln’s ghost. The White House is definitely haunted.”
“Aren’t you scared?” asked Connor.
“A little,” admitted Alicia. “But he’s a friendly ghost . . . I think.”
Connor examined a holograph copy of the Gettysburg Address, President Lincoln’s best-known speech, displayed on a desk by the window. “It must be amazing to live in the White House,” he remarked.
Alicia smiled proudly. “Yes, and the Mendez family are now part of its history.”
Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper so that the Secret Service agent outside in the hallway wouldn’t overhear. “But to be honest, Connor, sometimes I hate it. It’s a museum, not a home. I’m almost too scared to touch something in case I break it! And thousands of people come through the house on tours every month. It’s not like I can leave my things anywhere I want.”
She glanced toward the agent.
“And there’s no privacy either. A Secret Service agent is stationed in almost every room. Sometimes I think they’re the ghosts—haunting my every step.”
Connor smiled sympathetically. “It must be hard,” he said. Although he realized that if anyone was a ghost, he was—as her secret bodyguard.
“You don’t know the half of it. It’s like living in a cross between a reform school and a convent.” She laughed weakly at her comparison. “Just going to meet my friends to hang out is a mission in itself. Literally anything I want to do outside the White House requires advanced planning by the Secret Service.”
Alicia sighed, then shrugged in a what-can-you-do-about-it way.
“Sorry, you don’t want to be hearing all this,” she sai
d, perching herself on the end of the Lincoln bed.
“No, it’s fine,” replied Connor.
“It’s just that I don’t often have many people my own age around here and . . . you seem pretty easy to get along with. I do realize how fortunate I am. I mean, the White House has its own movie theater, bowling alley and swimming pool. And I get to meet some truly amazing people—kings and queens, heads of state, famous musicians and movie stars. I have to pinch myself at times. I even met the Dalai Lama once. He told me, ‘Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions.’” Alicia quickly cheered at the thought. “And there are a few rooms in the White House where I can be left alone. Come on, I’ll show you my favorite.”
She led Connor out of the Lincoln Bedroom and up the stairs to the third floor, the agent discreetly following behind. This level, as Connor already knew, was where the first family relaxed and also where the guest bedrooms were housed, a maid having shown him to his room earlier.
As they turned left up a ramped hallway, the agent stopped shadowing them. The two of them entered the solarium, a private chill-out space with comfy sofas and glass walls that offered unbroken views of the Washington skyline.
“Welcome to the fishbowl!” announced Alicia. “This is about as free as it gets.”
Opening a patio door, she stepped out onto the rooftop terrace. She took a deep breath and opened her arms.
“FREEDOM!” she cried.
But Connor only saw the high stone balustrade that shielded the terrace and solarium from general view. Glancing up at the apex of the roof, he caught a brief glimpse of a black-uniformed sniper. Then he peered between the thick white pillars of the balustrade at the expanse of the South Lawn. From his vantage point, he could spy the Secret Service agents patrolling the grounds and the boundary fence where swarms of tourists gathered in the hope of spotting the first family.
Connor began to understand Alicia’s plight. The White House was as much a prison as a home. No wonder she was desperate to escape the perpetual shadow of the Secret Service. She was like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.
35
Connor had never arrived at school in such style. Cushioned by soft leather seats and comforted in air-conditioned luxury, he and Alicia were driven through the downtown Washington traffic right up to the steps of Montarose School’s main building. After a brief surveillance sweep by Secret Service, the limo doors unlocked and he and Alicia were ushered from the car like movie stars.
“We’ll collect you at 1500 hours,” said the broad-shouldered agent with a courteous smile.
“As always, Kyle,” Alicia replied, waving good-bye.
Kyle, as Connor had discovered, was the primary bodyguard in the first daughter’s protection team. He was also one of the few select agents to be aware of Connor’s role—and, surprisingly, the most receptive to it. Upon being introduced, Kyle had taken the time to explain the team’s key security procedures and action-on drills. He’d even covered details such as the small hexagonal lapel badges all Secret Service agents wore. These were a security measure; their color routinely changed to reduce the likelihood of infiltration by an outsider.
As Connor stepped from the limo, Kyle gave him a subtle nod as if to say, Over to you now.
Connor knew he wasn’t being left entirely alone in his close-protection duties. The grounds of the private school were security patrolled and cordoned off with high fences. Also the Secret Service agents would be stationed just a short distance away throughout the day. But, that said, Alicia’s immediate safety was now in his hands.
Connor followed Alicia up the steps into the main foyer. The corridors were packed with students.
“Alicia!” cried a voice, and three girls came running over just as Connor finished signing in at reception.
They all embraced and kissed one another’s cheeks.
A black girl with a bundle of dark hair and a diamond-white smile glanced over Alicia’s shoulder. “Is that the English boy you were talking about last night?”
Alicia nodded.
“Cute,” the girl whispered to her friends, and they giggled.
Connor offered an embarrassed smile. “Hi there.”
“Ooh,” sighed a girl with long blond hair tied up in a ponytail. “Say something else.”
Connor frowned in puzzlement. “Like what?”
“Anything.”
Connor shrugged. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
The girl clapped her hands in delight. “I just love that English accent,” she cooed. “I’m Paige. You can talk to me like that all day.”
“And I’m Grace,” said the black girl, dazzling him with her smile.
Alicia urged her other friend forward. “This is Kalila,” she said, introducing a girl with olive skin and almond eyes, who wore a light purple hijab.
“Hello,” she said, her voice soft as a breeze.
“Hi,” replied Connor. “Are you all in Alicia’s class?”
The girls nodded.
“Connor’s joining our class for the rest of the semester,” explained Alicia.
“Cool!” said Grace. “You can sit next to me.”
Alicia’s eyes flashed her friend a good-natured warning. “Connor can sit where he wants.”
“But there’s a spare seat right beside me,” replied Grace innocently.
Connor looked to Alicia. “Um, where will you be sitting?”
“I’d be right in front of you.”
“Well, that sounds fine,” he replied casually. In fact, the positioning was perfect. From the perspective of a bodyguard, he could protect her back if necessary, observe any threat approaching from the front and easily grab her to provide body cover or escape in the event of an emergency.
Alicia’s schoolbag buzzed, and she pulled out her cell phone to read the text message.
“Hey, that’s a cool phone case!” said Paige.
Alicia grinned, pleased that one of her friends had noticed. “It’s a present from Connor.”
“Lucky you—that’s a limited-edition Armani!” Grace exclaimed, admiring the red butterfly logo.
The girls crowded around to have a better look.
“Just a thank-you gift,” explained Connor, worried they’d read too much into it. But the girls were more interested in comparing phone cases and lucky charms.
The school bell rang for class.
“Come on,” said Alicia, grabbing her bag and looking at Connor. “First period is history. If you can survive this, you can survive anything!”
36
History wasn’t one of Connor’s favorite subjects, but the class was made even more challenging by the double life he was leading. Protecting the president’s daughter meant he had to be on constant alert—Code Yellow. But that was hard to maintain when a teacher was asking questions and there was classwork to be done. It was only his first day, and Connor already felt like he was performing a constant juggling act with his attention.
The open window. The teacher. The other students. Alicia. The unanswered workbook on his desk. The person passing in the corridor . . .
As the bell sounded for lunch, after the first three periods of history, Mandarin Chinese and math, Connor was glad to be able to concentrate on just one role—that of being a guardian.
Alicia and her friends collected their bags and headed for the cafeteria with Connor in tow. As they wandered down the corridor, Connor kept a careful eye out for potential threats. Although it was tempting to relax—since they were within the relatively safe confines of a private school—Colonel Black had reinforced in him during training that “assumption is the mother of all screwups.” A bodyguard could never assume that an area was totally safe or an individual was not a threat. Vigilance was required at all times. This meant that although the Secret Service would have vetted anyone in direct contact with
Alicia, there was always a chance one shark could slip through the net. This could be a teacher; an office clerk; one of the kitchen staff, custodians or groundskeepers; a delivery driver; or even a fellow student. Everyone was a suspect.
But the threat need not be an assassination. As Alicia’s bodyguard, Connor was to protect her from all forms of harm—from everyday bullying to a simple accident. So although he didn’t expect there’d be any potential assassins among the students, if Montarose School was anything like his own in East London, there’d certainly be a bonehead or two.
As if on cue, two boys strolled up to their group as they waited in line for food. One was well built, with dark wavy hair, a square jaw and a confident swagger. He looked like a young Clark Kent who’d forgotten to put on his glasses and was still Superman. His friend was bigger—a bulldozer of a boy with a short crew cut and what looked to be size-ten Converse sneakers.
“Hey, Alicia!” drawled Superman. “What’s up?”
“Hi, Ethan,” she replied, smiling coyly as her friends gathered to one side to give them space. Then, “Ethan, this is Connor from England.”
The boy gave a brief nod in Connor’s direction. “Right!”
Then he turned his attention back to Alicia before Connor had a chance to reply. “So, what are you doing this weekend?” he asked.
Alicia glanced sideways at her giggling classmates. “My father’s asked me to take Connor to the National Mall on Saturday. Want to join us?”
“Nah, it’s just a bunch of old museums and monuments,” snorted Ethan. “Anyway, I’ve got baseball practice.”
“Ethan’s the top hitter on the school team,” Grace whispered to Connor, handing him a lunch tray. “He’s also the star quarterback.”
Connor nodded. Judging by the boy’s attitude, he certainly thought himself a star.
“Are you going to the school dance?” Ethan asked casually.
“Maybe,” replied Alicia, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger. “Depends who’s asking.”
Bodyguard--Recruit (Book 1) Page 12