True Courage, page 10
Her granddad had cataracts, but he refused to have them removed. Katie didn’t blame him; eye surgery sounded gross.
But that gave her an idea: “When I get my driver’s license, I could go out there and drive for him. That way he could get stuff from the store.”
Her dad lifted an eyebrow, that way he had when he thought you were full of crap. “It’s bad enough thinking of my dad driving around Chicago in his old Ford; I certainly don’t want to imagine my daughter careening around Torrence Avenue in the Crown Vic.”
“I’ll probably never get to drive anyway. The A-Team would have heart failure.” Just another way she’d never be a normal American teenage kid, with normal parents and normal friends. Or any friends at all—she didn’t really care if they were normal or slightly weird.
She looked up at her dad. “Did you mean it when you said Madison could come out? Does she have to get inspected like everyone else who comes here?”
“Of course I meant it and no, they’re not going to pat your friends down for weapons.” Then he added, as if trying to be helpful, “I’ll call her parents if you want.”
Katie thought about it. She and Madison had been pretty close—they both liked to read manga and went to see anime films together. That was before her dad decided he had to save the world and run for president.
After that, no one wanted the hassle of having to go through the Secret Service just to come hang out at her house, so most of her friends had disappeared.
“Okay, but tell them Madison won’t get strip searched. That’s probably why they haven’t made any plans to visit yet.”
Her dad winced. “Please don’t use the term ‘strip’ when you’re referring to a fourteen-year-old girl. That’s just…”
“I know, right?” She shook her head.
“What are you studying, anyway? Is that biology?” He pulled her notebook over, examined the doodles she’d made. There was a starfish with three googly eyes, and a dolphin with a bow on its tail.
He pointed to an octopus with a pirate eye patch. “Where do you get the ideas for these?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I just make them up.”
“They’re pretty good. I remember when you used to draw stick figures.”
Katie remembered them, too. Her kindergarten teacher had insisted on showing her father the ones where she’d X’d out the mom stick figure with a black crayon. After that her dad had tried to get her to see a child psychologist, but Katie had refused to say a word when Dr. Jones had spoken to her in a way that, even as a five-year-old, Katie had recognized as condescending.
In Katie’s opinion, the worst thing you could be was a condescending adult. It was worse than being a politician.
At least her dad didn’t condescend too much.
She added another eye to the shark, just behind its dorsal fin.
Maybe, if Madison got to come visit, she’d bring her collection of manga that her uncle had brought her from Japan.
“I’ll have the switchboard look up Madison’s parents’ number and I’ll call them right now. Maybe she can come out after I get back from Europe.”
Katie shrugged. “C’est le bon.”
“What?”
“‘It is the good.’ It means it’s okay. In French.”
“Oh. I should probably study that. I could use a refresher course before the G20. Last time I couldn’t understand half of what the French president said. I thought she wanted the US to agree to import snails. Turns out she was talking about the Bhotaan embargo.”
Katie gathered up her notebooks. “You’re hopeless, Dad. On second thought, I don’t even think my English teacher would go for you.”
But he grinned as if she’d just told him he’d won reelection.
Dads were so weird.
Chapter Twelve
“Perfect day for a bike ride, don’t you think?” Adam asked Katie as the motorcade pulled into Rowley training center in Maryland.
She pulled an earbud from her ear. “Did you say something?”
Adam sighed. He’d had to drag Katie from her room, where she insisted she had homework to finish—though it was Saturday morning. In his day, kids didn’t do homework on the weekends.
Hell, in his day kids rode their bikes in safe neighborhoods, not in heavily guarded compounds where the world’s most elite protection service trained.
But it was safer than the congested streets of D.C., and it was another chance for him to spend some “quality time” with Katie. He remembered when he used to make fun of parents who insisted there was such a thing as quality time.
And now he penciled in weekend bike dates with his daughter.
The limousine eased to a stop and agents hopped out. Overhead, a helicopter hovered, keeping the airspace clear.
“You used to love to ride your bike when we lived in Elmhurst,” he reminded her as the agent opened the heavy door.
“Back when I had a life, you mean,” she grumbled in reply, stowing her iPad in her backpack.
“Welcome to James J. Rowley training center, Mr. President,” Reg Leonard, the Secret Service director, greeted him while their bikes were unloaded from the van that had followed the motorcade. After a stiff handshake, Director Leonard gestured around the campus. “We’ve got six miles of paved roads where our mountain bike patrol trains, our own lake, and even a simulated town where our protective agents train. I think you and your daughter will enjoy the peace and quiet out here.”
The helicopter buzzed overhead, and in the distance, dogs barked. Adam glanced at Katie. “Katie was just telling me how much she loved to ride bikes back home.”
Fortunately, Katie’s scowl was almost imperceptible. He’d wrangled that concession from her—no more vicious frowns at government officials.
“I just hope she hasn’t forgotten how to handle a two-wheeler,” he continued. “It’s been a year since we were able to hit the trails at Salt Creek. Remember, Katie?”
She shrugged.
Adam sighed. Quality time, he reminded himself, was still quality time, even if it involved shrugs rather than hugs.
Ellie appeared with Katie’s bike, a sleek baby blue Diamondback with 24-inch wheels. “It’s ready to roll, whenever you are.”
Katie took the handlebars and hopped on, squeezing the brakes a few times.
Director Leonard continued his pitch. “Agent Brody will be leading you around the facility’s streets and bike paths so you can get the lay of the land.”
The head of Adam’s detail, wearing bike shorts, a helmet, and a bulge under his shirt roughly the shape of a firearm, rode up beside them. The Rowley training center was one of the most secure locations in the capital area, yet agents still kept a watchful eye. Adam was used to it now, but he always looked forward to the end of the day when he could close the door to his bedroom and know he was alone.
Too alone.
He buckled his helmet, watching as Ellie stuffed her helmet over her curls. A few bounced out, determined to have their way with that very enticing neck—the same neck she’d stick out to protect his kid. He should be ashamed for noticing she had legs a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model would kill for.
“We’ll take the bikes around the perimeter path later,” she told him, looking back. “We’ll get a chance to see some fall foliage, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“I can barely tell an oak tree from a palm tree, if you want to know the truth.”
She tested the brakes, then pushed off on her bike. “Then I’ll show you the mean streets of Rowley. Follow me.”
Adam and Katie followed her, pursued by half a dozen agents who kept just enough distance to provide a semblance of privacy.
Perhaps because of the relative safety of the compound, the agents seemed more relaxed. He even got a smile out of one of them when he recounted how he’d popped a wheelie on a dirt bike in third grade and broken his wrist. Katie, he noticed, just rolled her eyes.
“Hey Katie, remember your first bike? That purple one with the training wheels? I kept raising them up a notch until you didn’t know they weren’t even working. But when I removed them you wouldn’t go near that bike for six months.”
Katie shot him a look. “You shouldn’t have tricked me. A child psychologist would probably testify against you in court.”
“You think so? Hey, Agent Brody, what do you think? Katie thinks it was a bad idea for me to take off her training wheels.”
Ellie slowed down until she was next to Katie. “My dad put me on a two-wheeler when I was four and pushed it down the street. We lived at the top of a hill, so I had no choice but to learn to ride a bike. The hard way.” She cut a look to Adam. “Nowadays he’d probably be booked on child abuse charges. I wore Band-Aids for two weeks after that crash when I got to the bottom.” She raised a knee. “See? Still have scars.”
Adam took the opportunity to ogle her leg, wishing he could examine it more closely for scar tissue.
Later. When they were alone.
But first he had to figure out a way to make that happen.
He turned a corner, feeling like Chris Froome in front of the Tour de France peloton. But instead of a cheering crowd, there was only a flock of raucous crows.
“There’s our simulated airport,” Ellie said, pointing to the concrete apron where a 747 was parked, sliced in half like a watermelon. “We practice Air Force One shoot-outs here. The other day terrorists were overrunning a West African airport—it got pretty intense before we got all on board safely and lifted off.”
“I think the terrorists won,” Katie said. “Or did you not notice that half the fuselage is gone?”
“We were only given half a plane,” Ellie told her. “Budget cuts.”
“Really?” asked Adam. “Congress couldn’t find the funds for a whole plane?”
“Actually, we only needed a half-open plane,” Ellie said. “It’s better for training tactical maneuvers.”
They passed the canine training area, where a couple of dogs were working with their handlers, and then continued onto the perimeter path, a park-like setting that, except for the cameras in the trees, seemed like any tranquil community.
Katie even seemed to be enjoying herself. He should have done this before, scheduled some time for just the two of them…well, the two of them and a couple dozen agents, not counting the ones in the helicopter overhead.
He wished he could go somewhere, anywhere, and just be alone, really alone.
Katie’s constant complaints about living in the White House weren’t just teenage rebellion; Adam felt the same way sometimes, like he wanted to break out, get away from the press, the constant surveillance. He knew now how some of the criminals he’d put away felt, although his prison was far more posh.
From the tallest tree, a hawk rose into the sky, circling overhead, as if taunting Adam with its freedom.
“We’ve got a population of deer here,” Ellie said, turning her head. “It’s mating season right now, so sometimes they do crazy things like spring across the road.”
Mating season. That explained it, this restless feeling that had him jonesing for a cigarette, or something more dangerous.
Like an affair with his daughter’s agent.
“Come on, I’ll race you,” Adam challenged Katie. “First one back to the starting point gets to choose the next movie.”
“Why does everything have to be a competition?” she grumbled, but set off toward the next intersection.
Adam increased his speed, but he really didn’t want to beat his daughter, not on their first father-daughter bike ride in over a year.
“You’re letting me win,” she called over her shoulder.
“What do you mean? I’m pedaling as fast as I can.”
“You should try getting out of second gear,” she suggested.
She was on to him.
On the bike next to him, Ellie laughed. “My dad never would have let me win.”
“Your dad is a sadomasochist.” He cut her a look. “Or whatever you psych types call it.”
Instead of answering, she just sped past him.
“All right, you want a race, you got one,” Adam muttered.
He twisted the gear and pumped the bike into overdrive. The agents behind him sped up as he raced past Katie.
To hell with letting his daughter win. She could win at chess, but this was for keeps.
Or at least bragging rights. The agents would never respect him if his fourteen-year-old daughter cleaned his clock on a bike race.
* * *
After the bike ride, Ellie led them to a fenced compound, where several large dogs were paying rapt attention to a handler speaking in Dutch. “We’re training a canine unit today,” she explained. “These are Belgian Malinois. They’ve replaced German shepherds as the security dog of choice.”
Katie eyed the dogs warily. “Are they trained to kill?”
“No, these are trained to find explosive material. Watch—they’ll find the scent packet hidden behind the car’s left tire.”
A vehicle had been staged in the training area. The handler led the dog to the car, letting her sniff the tires and underneath the chassis. Suddenly the dog halted, sat on her haunches and barked at the left rear tire.
“She found it,” Ellie said.
The handler rewarded the dog with a toy, which made the Malinois wiggle with joy.
“Why don’t they give them treats?” Katie asked.
“Sometimes they do. Different dogs are motivated by different rewards. These are young dogs, under a year old. They enjoy playing as much as they like bacon.”
The dog successfully found the “bomb” another four times before another dog was brought out, and the exercise repeated.
One of the handlers brought the first dog, Zena, over for an introduction. Ellie bent down and gave her a rub behind the ears. “I tried some of the training techniques on my parents’ dog. But instead of a bomb, I hid the remote control. She found it every time.”
Adam bent down next to her and scratched the dog’s scruff. “How was your brother’s wedding?”
Ellie sighed. “It was beautiful—and small. My father skipped out of the reception.”
“That must have been tough.”
“Greg’s used to it. I took it harder—it’s high time Dad stopped living in the last century.”
Adam nodded. “He’ll get there. There were gay men in my platoon. We all kept quiet about it, but we all knew, accepted it. You had to—the guy would have your back in the next firefight.”
Ellie shaded her eyes. Katie was watching the dog trainer, who was praising another dog who’d just found a “bomb” in the trunk. “How about your dad? Is Katie still hoping to move to Chicago to live with him?”
“I think I’ve got her convinced that would be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. I told her how I got grounded the first time I stayed out past curfew. Compared to my old man, I’m a piece of cake.” Adam slid his gaze to her. “Or maybe that’s the wrong image.”
A blush crept over her cheeks. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never think of cake the same way.”
She wasn’t blushing too hard, he noticed—in fact, there was definitely a smile in her voice.
Adam wished he could take her off, somewhere other agents and staff members and his too-perceptive daughter were far away. He wished he could have a normal relationship with a woman he found attractive, whose company he enjoyed.
Director Leonard’s voice interrupted what Adam was sure was a tender moment next to the chain link fence, with bomb-sniffing dogs and a surly teenager keeping them in check. “Would you like to see our firing range? Some of our agents are qualifying today. We can even have a target lined up for you, if you’d like to test your aim. It’s been a while since you’ve fired a gun, hasn’t it?”
“A few years,” Adam told him. As a prosecutor, he’d made time to get to the shooting range, but since entering politics, he’d not had a chance.
But the director seemed eager to show him just how well the agents were trained, possibly because he wanted Adam to know how much effort went into training the agent who he was having more and more trouble remembering was off-limits.
* * *
Katie opted to wait in the car, while Adam and Ellie followed the director to the firearms training complex. It was located near the center of the campus, with several indoor ranges for both rifles and pistols. A half-dozen agents were qualifying today, the director told him as they entered the building.
None of the protective agents were anything less than excellent marksmen—they had to be able to nail a threat with a kill shot when a protectee’s life was in danger. Anyone who didn’t qualify regularly with their service weapon was removed from the protective detail.
Reg handed Adam a pair of large binoculars and told him to keep an eye on the blue target a hundred yards away.
Adam put on ear protection, then watched through the binoculars as several of the agents took shots at the targets, nailing the blue dummies with blasts that erupted their foreheads.
Maybe it was a good thing Katie had stayed in the car.
When it was Ellie’s turn, Adam found himself standing next to her, while Reg explained how often agents fired live weapons. “At other times, we use simulated weapons—flash bangs and bird bangers—during tactical training exercises.”
Beside him, Ellie clasped the Sig Sauer and squeezed the trigger. The target lost an eye. She squeezed again, and the other eye went out. Then a third shot hit the image square in the forehead.
The paper target had met his maker.
Adam was impressed.
Ellie lowered her weapon. “I think we should let the president have a turn. Sir?” She gave him a polite smile, but he knew a challenge when he heard one. “You want to try?” She nodded toward the target that had replaced her dead perp. She slipped a new clip in the Sig.
“There’s no wind to interfere, but at a hundred yards, you’ll need to compensate for the bullet drop,” she said, handing the weapon to Adam.
Adam took the gun, still warm from her grip. Next to him, Brady straightened, sucking in a breath. A president holding a gun wasn’t something they trained for. With his other hand, Adam adjusted his ear protection and braced himself on the platform.
