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ChapterFour
Reese
Then
Idon’t stop running until I almost collapse, doubling over as I heave in lungfuls of air on my fourth lap of the National Mall. I haven’t stopped moving since I left President Walker. I can’t. If I stop, I’ll have to face what happened, and I’m not ready to do that.
The monuments are lit up against the midnight sky, alongside the glow of the White House’s exterior lights behind the Washington Monument.My legs burn and my ears ache, my pulse hammering against my too-cold eardrums. I’m overheating and freezing at the same time, and my sweatpants and sweatshirt aren’t helping with either.
Hands on my head, I turn and head for home.
Which brings me right past the steps of the White House complex.I splurged when I was assigned to the presidential protective detail. Too many of my colleagues struggle with their commutes, spending long hours in their cars or on the Metro to get home, only to turn around and do it all over again for their next shift.
Living in DC can be brutal on your paycheck, but the expense was worth it to me. My apartment is two blocks from the North Portico of the White House, and my commute down to my lobby takes longer than it does for me to walk from the lobby doors to the White House command center.
“Superior dedication,” my record says. When the Secret Service assigns you to the detail, they also tell you, in no uncertain terms, that your life is no longer your own. It belongs to the White House and the whims of the president.
I have loved every day of that life. Even the shit days, the time spent standing guard in the pouring rain, or the back-to-back all-nighters, or when I traveled twelve time zones on Air Force One just to go back on duty for another double shift.
Tonight, I don’t look to the White House or the Treasury as I walk up Fifteenth Street. There’s a stitch in my side and the beginnings of a cramp in my calf. How long was I running—over an hour? Two?
I can’t get President Walker out of my head.
I’ve replayedour meeting in the Oval Office a hundred times, and it’s always the same. I choke up. I’m off-balance.
Why? Why did President Walker throw me like that? Why did time seem to stop and start in freeze-frames, moments like photographs thrown into the air? I had to pluck each from over my head as I fumbled for what to say.
The whole while, Walker’s eyes were on me—burrowing into me—and something caught fire beneath my skin.
Which is ridiculous. I’ve been around presidents, vice presidents, senators, cabinet members—hell, even foreign leaders—for over a decade.
After the briefing, we walked side by side to the East Wing in silence. He is exactly as the media portrays him: warm, commanding, and kind, saying hello to everyone we passed.
I was reciting the alphabet backward in my head. Heat lightning prickled in my veins.
The elevator ride down to the PEOC, the presidential bunker, is not short. There’s enough time to really ponder the facts of life, and usually I’m thinking about work.
Every micron of my focus was tuned to the man beside me.
He’d fallen silent, leaning back against the cold steel wall with his eyes closed. First-day migraine for sure. I was impressed, though. He was still friendly at the end of the day, and the same can’t be said of most presidents.
Secret Service agents see the true nature of their principals, including their underbellies. Over the years, I’ve learned to judge the people who hold positions of power by the character they display when the cameras are turned away—by whether they choose to be kind even when they aren’t performing.
That will tell you everything you need to know about a person.
Alone, President Walker let his eyes close, let his head tip back. I stayed on my side of the elevator, giving him the courtesy of privacy, at least as much as I could.
Discretion begins at moment zero.
My peripheral gaze traced Walker’s figure, moved from his long legs to his broad shoulders to his exposed neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. He was taut, arms locked out at his sides, grasping the handrail in a white-knuckled grip. Tension had hardened his shoulders. His sweat-slick palms slid on the metal rail.
“Long day, sir?”
His gaze met mine in silence long enough for the elevator to descend another ten levels.
“The longest of my life.” A moment, and then he asked, “What about you? Is it challenging to get used to a new guy?”
“This new guy seems all right so far.”
