Page 144 of Secret Service


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Today has not been a day highlighting the best and brightest of the Secret Service.

“That’s Henry.” I collapse in my chair. Fear releases its stranglehold on me. I can breathe again. There are no other users.

Wait—

Cold sweat slicks my palms. There’s a folder I didn’t see right away. Deleted Users.

Time slows. Every key I press takes a lifetime. I close my eyes before I finish the command to recover the data.

One deleted user: LoneGunman

I’m on autopilot. My mind is making connections without me. Everything is too fast and too slow. Half-formed thoughts zoom by. Fragments of realizations. There’s a scream building in my chest.

Two men had access to this PlayStation. One is missing. The other is a broken wreck upstairs. Which one is LoneGunman?

“Anatoly, show me that video from the bar again.” I don’t recognize my voice.

He’s a smart man, and he doesn’t question me. He pulls the surveillance video up on his phone and hands it to me.

I set it on the table. My hands are shaking too much to hold it steady.

The video plays from the beginning. The crowded bar. Sheridan and Henry at the table against the wall. Henry waggling his beer bottle and Sheridan going to fetch another round. Quinten and Sheridan shaking hands, smiling, talking to each other. Quinten points to his black eye, and I can almost hear Sheridan retelling the story of tackling Konstantin.

The beers arrive. Sheridan grabs them and says goodbye. He steps away and then turns back. He’s looking for an ashtray. After midnight, the bar lets people smoke cigars. You don’t realize it until you travel outside of America, but smoking is still wildly popular in the rest of the world. Thanks to this place being on the doorstep of the UN, most of the patrons want to light up, especially after a few rounds.

Quinten passes an ashtray over. Sheridan thanks him and turns away again.

I stopped the video before, but this time, I let it play. Sheridan makes his way back to his and Henry’s table. He sets down the beers and hands the ashtray to Henry.

Henry leaves it on the edge of the table. I fast-forward as they talk and laugh, drinking their beers, and ten minutes later, Henry pulls out a cigar from his suit jacket and lights up. He and Sheridan keep talking as he puffs away.

Three minutes later, Quinten sets his martini on the bar and walks out.

“Did you follow both of these men?”

“We tailed the younger one through New York. Other than this night with his fellow agent, he never went anywhere that wasn’t part of his assignment.”

“And the other man?”

“We bribed the manager of the hotel where he was staying—”

“You mean where the president was staying.”

Anatoly shrugs. “You can buy anything in this world. Don’t think that your Secret Service is all-powerful, especially after you pack up and leave town.”

You can even buy a Secret Service agent. “Did you see anything suspicious from him?” My finger jabs the screen and covers Henry’s face.

Anatoly shakes his head. “I can show you the footage. You can see for yourself.”

He takes back his laptop and searches for the file, muttering in Russian as he pecks at the keys. I watch his every move, and when the surveillance video from our hotel in Manhattan comes up, I push his hands away and take over his laptop again.

The video looks authentic. It’s the right format, the right time stamp. I speed up the footage and watch two days pass in five minutes: Henry arriving and dumping his suitcase. Leaving for the evening reception. Coming back with a bag of ice on his shoulder. In the morning, he’s stiff and sore, but he laughs when he sees Sheridan and checks out his black eye. Nothing for the whole day and then into the night. I know where we are. We’re at the UN, and then the command center eating pizza, and then he and Sheridan are at the bar—

Henry comes back after two in the morning, waving good night to Sheridan before he goes into his room.

An hour later, room service appears. A tall man pushes a cart down the hotel hallway. He stops outside Henry’s door and knocks. Henry answers, fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist—

But I paid Henry’s fucking hotel bill. I paid it because I ordered room service, and there was only one charge for the whole goddamn stay. What the fuck am I watching?

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