by Jan Gangsei
“That bullet would have hit me,” Addie said in barely a whisper. “If you hadn’t moved the way you did.”
“Like I said, Ad, got lucky,” the president said.
“No,” Addie said. “That wasn’t luck. You saved me. Why?”
The president’s gray eyes held hers for a moment. “Addie, sweetie, are you sure you’re okay? There’s nothing scarier in the world to me than something happening to you. You’ll understand if you have kids one day.”
Addie felt her eyes fill up. How could she have asked him why? He would die for her. She knew that now. It was instinct—a parent’s instinct. She inspected his face, for the first time really seeing him since she’d gotten home—the flecks of gray at his temples, the lines around his eyes, the ready smile. Not a caricature, but a person. A man she had more in common with than she cared to admit: a man who was willing to risk himself for the people he loved.
She looked away, her lips trembling.
“Oh, honey.” He put his uninjured arm around her and pulled her against his broad shoulder. It had been Addie’s favorite place to rest her head when she was little, and she’d forgotten how good it felt. A safe place. She hadn’t even thought such a thing existed anymore.
“Dad…” she said, choking back a sob.
“It’s okay, peanut,” her father said. “I’d take a thousand bullets before I let anyone hurt you ever again.”
Agent Alvarez paced the reception area of the Secret Service director’s office. She’d been called here precisely two times in her career: once when she was offered the Adele Webster detail, and now, when she was pretty sure she was about to lose it. In fact, she’d be lucky if she was even sent back to ATM wire fraud. It was more likely she would be suspended while they investigated, then fired with cause. Number one rule in the protective services: never lose your charge.
Alvarez tried to distract herself by looking at the photos and memorabilia that lined the room. Pictures of past directors. Iconic photographs of black-clad agents guarding presidents throughout history. It only made Alvarez feel worse, seeing her lifelong dream displayed on someone else’s shelf. A dream she knew was about to be shattered.
She stopped in front of the framed blue-and-gold Secret Service flag, staring at the agency’s logo imprinted on the left side. It was a five-star gold badge, reminiscent of something pinned on the vest of an Old West sheriff. It reminded Alvarez of her favorite Halloween costume when she was a kid, the one she’d worn for three years straight. Alvarez was a grown woman now. But she really hadn’t changed. That badge meant everything in the world to her. She told herself it was okay: she could lose it and move on. But she knew she was full of shit.
The director’s administrative assistant entered the room, startling Alvarez from her thoughts. She stood at attention.
“Agent Alvarez,” the man said. “Director Wilson will see you now.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alvarez said, following the man into a large office with windows overlooking the busy downtown traffic. Director Robert Wilson stood from behind his desk and motioned toward the chairs in front.
“Agent Alvarez,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, Director Wilson.” Alvarez lowered herself into a chair, willing herself to keep her composure. It wasn’t easy. The cars passing on the street outside began to blur in Alvarez’s vision. She had to blink several times to focus.
“I’m sure I don’t need to explain why I asked to see you,” Wilson said.
“No, sir.”
“Good,” Wilson said. “I know you’ve spoken with investigators, but I want to hear it straight from you. What the hell happened out there this afternoon?”
Agent Alvarez drew in a breath and clasped her fingers together on her lap. The holster tucked beneath her jacket suddenly felt too tight, like it was squeezing against her chest, making it difficult to breathe. In a minute she’d have to take it off. Turn in her gun. She exhaled slowly.
“Yes, sir,” Alvarez said. “I was jogging on the National Mall with Ms. Webster. At her request.” Alvarez paused. “As we took the path by the Air and Space Museum, a large group exited, blocking our way. I tapped Ms. Webster and told her to go around. But she didn’t appear to hear me, and ran straight into the crowd.”
“Hold up,” Wilson said. “Didn’t appear to hear you?”
“That’s correct,” Alvarez said. It was something that had been bothering the agent from the moment she’d lost the girl. “She didn’t appear to hear me, but I can’t imagine she didn’t know why I was signaling her. It was an obvious shitshow straight ahead. Pardon my French, sir.”
“No offense taken,” Wilson said. “So if she did hear you, why do you think she ignored you?”
“I can’t say for certain, sir,” Alvarez said. “But it was almost as if she was trying to get lost.”
Director Wilson nodded. “Okay, continue.”
“So I chased after her, but got caught in the crowd,” Alvarez said. “And then someone tripped me.”
“You’re certain you didn’t just accidentally stumble over someone’s foot and fall down?” Wilson said.
“I’m positive,” Alvarez said. “I was tripped…” That was the other thing nagging at Alvarez’s brain. “And I’m pretty sure it was Addie Webster that tripped me.”
“What makes you think that?” Wilson said.
“Because I could have sworn I heard her say ‘sorry’ as I fell.” Alvarez shifted in her seat. She’d replayed the whole scene in her mind a thousand times, and it always came back to that one detail—Addie Webster had pushed her. And she felt bad about it. “I just don’t know why,” Alvarez said.
“You’re not the only one,” Director Wilson said.
“What?”
“Look, Alvarez,” Wilson said. “I know you’re a good agent. A competent one. But given any other circumstances, you’d be getting your ass handed to you right now.”
Alvarez nodded, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.
“And we—you, me, the entire Secret Service—are under serious scrutiny right now. Just a few inches to the right and the president would likely have bled out before we ever got him to the hospital today. The Post is going to have a field day with this, you know what I’m saying? And congressional inquiries can’t be far behind.”
“Yes, sir,” Alvarez said, attempting to calm her voice. This was torture. She wished the director would just fire her and get it over with.
“So here’s the deal, Agent Alvarez,” he said. Alvarez sucked in a breath. Here it came. “You’re staying on Addie Webster’s detail.”
“What?” Alvarez said, barely able to hide her shock.
“It’s not the call I would have made,” Wilson said. “And I voiced my objections. You should know that. I don’t care if you’re friggin’ Superman and Lex Luthor just spiked your drink with Kryptonite. It just doesn’t look good, no matter how you slice it. But the president insisted. Seems the Webster girl has grown pretty attached to you, and refuses to let anyone else near her.”
“I see,” Alvarez said. “I like the kid, too.”
“That’s the other thing,” Wilson said. “I don’t care how much you like that kid. I want you to watch her like a hawk. Everything you see, hear…every time that girl so much as sneezes, I want it documented. I don’t care how inconsequential it seems.”
“Yes, sir,” Alvarez said. “But why?”
“I’m sure you have an idea,” Wilson said. “The president refuses to see it, but I agree with you. I don’t think she just got lost today. And it was no accident that she ended up at Kogan Plaza. Which leads me to believe the shooter might have been expecting her.”
Alvarez’s eyes widened with shock. “You think she was trying to draw the president out?”
Wilson shook his head. “Doesn’t fit. From what we can tell by the angle of the shot, the girl was the target. Not the president. He jumped in front of her and took the bullet.”
“Jesus,”
Alvarez said. She tried to wrap her mind around the implications. “I thought her kidnappers were dead.”
“We all did,” Wilson said.
“So she could be in danger,” Alvarez said.
“She could be in danger. She could be complicit,” Wilson said. “Maybe both. Which is why you don’t let her out of your sight. If she’s communicating with someone, figure it out. Got it? You have one chance to redeem yourself for today’s fiasco. Don’t mess it up.” Wilson stood, extending his right hand. Alvarez rose to her feet, meeting his firm handshake.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I won’t disappoint you.”
The ticking clock had become Darrow’s enemy. He glanced at it again. Four minutes past ten. He’d been sitting here in his mother’s office since just after four. Since Addie had disappeared from her jog and the president had been shot. He’d refused to go home until he saw her. She might never speak to him again, but he could live with that as long as she was okay. It didn’t matter how hard she pushed him away. How much she tried to block him out. He would never turn his back on her.
Cheryl Fergusson sat at her desk, fielding phone calls and trying to hold off the press. She had taken out her contacts and replaced them with glasses, something his image-conscious mother was loath to do. Darrow watched her click the phone back into its cradle, only to have it light up again. She ran her thumb and forefinger over her eyebrows, sighing, and let the call roll into voice mail.
The loud whir of helicopter rotor blades snapped her back to attention. She spun around in her chair. The helicopter’s searchlight flashed outside the window across the South Lawn.
“They’re back?” Darrow rose to his feet.
“Yes,” Cheryl said. She stood and pulled her suit jacket from the back of her chair, slipping it over her shoulders. She smoothed her frazzled hair. “I have to meet them. Wait here.”
“I want to come with you,” Darrow said.
“Sweetie…” his mother began. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”
“Please, Mom,” he said.
Cheryl exhaled. “Okay,” she said. “Just please stay in the background.”
He followed his mother through the corridor and out to the South Lawn. Marine One lowered to the ground. The thwap-thwap-thwap of the rotors ground to a halt and the Marines exited. Next came President Webster, his right arm wrapped around Addie. The left was bound to his chest in a blue sling. Darrow’s mother rushed to the president’s side, but Darrow stayed in the shadows, leaning against the column of the portico.
Addie walked carefully, almost unsteadily, and for a moment Darrow wondered if she’d actually been hurt. But he couldn’t see any bandages or visible signs of injury. She looked so small next to the president, taking measured steps, as though she might detonate a land mine each time her foot hit the ground. Her head hung down, hair covering her face so Darrow couldn’t see her eyes.
They drew closer, walking up the portico steps. Just as they were about to turn the other way and enter the building, Addie’s head tilted up and she glanced to the left. Right at Darrow. He caught his breath as she met his eyes, just for a moment, before quickly looking away. Darrow exhaled. At least she was okay.…
He suddenly heard quiet footsteps approaching. Darrow spun around, startled, to see Elinor standing behind him. She wore plaid pajama bottoms and a pale yellow camisole, and there were tears shimmering on her face. He moved toward her, but she shook her head sharply, brushing the wetness from her face. They stood there for a moment, watching as Addie’s mother embraced her.
Darrow spoke softly. “It’s okay, Ellie. I’m scared, too.” He hesitated, then wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders. They stayed like that as Addie disappeared inside with her parents.
Finally, Elinor glanced up at him, locking her gray eyes on his. “What happens now?” she said.
Darrow shook his head. He had no answer. He’d never been less certain of anything than he was now—about himself, about Addie, about what the future held.
Addie didn’t even remember falling asleep. She was so tired after riding the elevator up to the residence—her mother’s arm around her waist, the image of Darrow and Elinor on the portico burned into her mind—that she’d just flopped into bed without even changing or brushing her teeth. When she awoke the next morning, she was still in her jogging clothes. They smelled like sweat and something else Addie couldn’t identify. Dirt, maybe, from when she’d been shoved to the ground. Hospital antiseptic. Or maybe fear.
Addie pulled herself from bed, showered, and headed to the kitchen. Her mother and Elinor were seated at the table, drinking coffee and finishing breakfast.
“Well, look who’s up,” her mother said, eyes laced with concern. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m fine,” Addie said in a hurry. “But I’m late for school.”
“School?” Liz said, setting down her mug. “Oh, honey, you don’t need to go to school. In fact, I think it’s best you don’t go anywhere right now. Not after what happened…”
“Oh,” Addie started, “I…”
“If I get shot at, can I skip going back to rehab?” Elinor said, smirking.
“Elinor!” Liz said.
“I’m just kidding, Mom,” Elinor said. “You know that, don’t you, Ad?”
“Sure,” Addie said. She didn’t look directly at her sister. The image of Ellie and Darrow—together—was still almost more than Addie could stand. She filled a coffee cup and sat next to her mother.
“I’m really okay,” she said. “And I have a test in History today.”
“Honey,” her mother said. “I know your teacher isn’t going to expect you there. And everyone will understand if you spend the next week or two at home.…”
“What?” Addie said, taking a hard sip of coffee. It burned her throat and Addie coughed. “The next week or two? What about prom?”
“I don’t think so,” Liz said, slowly shaking her head. “There’s always next year though, hon.”
Not for me, there won’t be.…
Addie tried to think of a good argument, but words failed her. Elinor’s sharp voice cut through the silence.
“Wasn’t the shooter arrested?” she said.
“Yes, that’s right,” Liz answered. “He’s in custody.”
“So what’s the problem?” Elinor said. “Let her go to prom.”
Liz’s eyes flitted back and forth between both of her daughters. “I don’t know. It just makes me nervous,” she said. “Something could happen.”
“Well, your nerves are no reason to make Addie stay home,” Elinor said. “It won’t help. I should know. You and Dad kept me under lock and key for the last eight years, and look how well that worked out.” Elinor got up, dropped her coffee cup in the sink, and walked away without saying another word.
Tears began to form in the corners of Liz’s eyes. She wiped them away and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, staring straight ahead.
“I’m sorry, Addie,” she said softly. “It seems like I just can’t get it right.”
“That’s not true, Mom.…” Addie said.
Liz sucked in a breath, placed a hand over Addie’s, and looked her in the eye. “I don’t know, maybe it is. I’ll talk to your father about prom, okay? See what we can do. But no school today. Or tomorrow. Deal? I just want to keep you here with me.”
“Deal,” Addie squeaked out, a terrible heaviness weighing on her. And it only got worse as the hours ticked by. Addie spent the day fumbling through the motions of normal life—stacking Legos with Mackenzie, making small talk over dinner. But as she moved from room to room in the grand residence, taking in the high ceilings and chandeliers and glossy furniture, Addie’s entire world began to feel like a mirage. She could almost see it shimmering into thin air before her eyes.
By the time night fell, Addie was exhausted. She climbed into bed, quickly drifting into a deep, dark, and dreamless sleep.
Hours later, Addie felt someone’s warm b
reath against her neck. She bolted upright, a scream catching in her throat. She clutched the blanket to her chest and looked down. A familiar tangle of honey-brown hair fanned across her pillow.
Elinor.
Her sister muttered something in her sleep and rolled in Addie’s direction, eyes still closed. Catching her own breath, Addie watched her sister, chest rising and falling beneath the sheets. Ellie had become someone Addie barely recognized. Someone whose blunt words cut at the people around her. Someone who exacted revenge out of malice, not to right a wrong.
But right now, curled in a ball, she was the same Ellie who used to sneak into Addie’s bed at night when she had a nightmare, one small hand holding Addie’s, the other stroking Mr. Fluff.
Addie slid back down next to her sister and tucked an arm around her narrow waist. Elinor moved closer, still asleep, and buried her head in Addie’s shoulder. Addie breathed in the strawberry scent of Elinor’s hair, so familiar and sweet. All these years and Ellie hadn’t changed her favorite shampoo.
Addie closed her eyes and all the anger and frustration, all the fear and confusion she’d felt began to melt away. She couldn’t be mad. At Elinor. At Darrow. At any of the people who’d been left behind when Addie had been taken. They’d been through hell, too. And she finally understood—they’d all coped the only way they knew how.
She only hoped they wouldn’t blame her, either. That maybe, when all was said and done, they’d find it in their hearts to understand. And move on.
Agent Alvarez did one more walk around the perimeter. She had agents stationed at every entrance, two in each corner of the room, as well as three on the balcony overhead. She’d done a half-dozen checks of the facility to ensure it was clear, and then ordered her staff to do three more.
Still, this whole thing made Alvarez extremely nervous. She glanced at the vintage TWA propeller plane hanging from the ceiling and the American jet that extended to the dance floor, the nose of the 747 jutting from the wall, with an open catwalk leading to the cockpit. Alvarez paced back and forth. She didn’t like it. Not at all. There were just too many places to hide, too much obstructing her view.