True Courage, page 2
He sighed. She was right, but he’d taught Katie everything from how to eat an Oreo to how to ride a bike, and he didn’t like the idea of losing track of her now. “I bet Clinton didn’t have this problem.”
The blank stare was back. She wouldn’t gossip about previous protectees, a trait he should be grateful for. A quiet knock sounded—Olive had no doubt peered through the peephole and figured his meeting was wrapping up. She opened the door and poked her head inside.
“The chief of staff is ready for your briefing, sir.”
“Tell him to hold on,” he said, and she shut the door.
Adam looked again at Eleanor Brody—Ellie. She wasn’t much bigger than his daughter, but she was a match for her in attitude, and maybe that was all that mattered.
“You’ve made a promise to risk your life protecting my daughter,” he said. “Why? You don’t even know her.”
“I’d do the same for anyone’s daughter,” she said. “Anyone who sits at that desk every day, defending our Constitution the way our forefathers intended.”
She must have been reading his campaign literature. “Are you making a political statement?”
“That’s not allowed, sir.”
“Of course it is, in this office. I defend the Constitution, remember?” he said with what he hoped was a wise look. “There’s something in there somewhere about free speech.”
She smiled, and suddenly looked older. “I didn’t even vote—my father insists it clouds the judgment. But I did place a bet with my brother you’d win.”
“You and a lot of other high rollers in Vegas. You shouldn’t have taken such long odds.”
She shrugged. “What do the pundits know, anyway?”
Adam lifted his glass in a mock toast. “This office has never heard such logic.” He glanced at the bust of Abraham Lincoln and added, “In this century at least.”
Abe didn’t comment.
Adam stood up. “You can meet Katie tonight at the residence. Be there at seven. I’ll see that she’s suitably civil.”
Ellie nodded, and stood to leave.
Before she opened the door, Adam stopped her. “What’d you do to him? The dog—to make him bite you?”
She turned and leveled mischievous brown eyes at him. “I bit him first.”
For the first time since entering the West Wing that morning, Adam Dybik laughed.
* * *
“We’ve got problems in Bhotaan.” John pulled his chair closer to Adam’s desk and handed over a blue folder containing briefing papers. “Civilians are protesting Chairman Shino’s new water distribution policies, and the army’s been called out. Two protesters were shot.”
Adam leafed through the pages, filled with descriptions of growing unrest in the Asian nation. Bhotaan, with eighty million people of mixed ethnic backgrounds, was vital to US interests as a counterweight to China. The turmoil was threatening to infect other countries in the region, but there was little America could do without riling the other superpowers.
Adam sighed. “We’ll send a strongly worded statement. Contact State and have them prepare one. Anything else?”
“Your poll numbers are sticking. No movement, despite the bouts you’ve had with Congress over the budget.” He almost looked disappointed.
“Which shows the American people couldn’t care less what the pundits say.”
“Both parties are still in disarray since the election.” John continually worried about Adam’s poll numbers, insisting at some point opinion would turn on a man who had no political party to carry water for him. But Adam didn’t particularly care about his poll numbers—he had no intention of running for re-election, though no one had believed him when he’d campaigned on being a one-term president.
John stuffed his briefing papers into a secure bag and twisted the lock. “I’ll let you know how the situation in Bhotaan progresses. The NSC is keeping a close eye on it.”
“You do that. Oh, and John…we should organize some R and R, maybe do a Camp David weekend,” Adam said, thinking of the late hours John and the rest of the staff had been keeping.
“The last time we went to Camp David the stock market dropped 500 points.”
“And I lost a round of golf to President Kao. He swore he’d never played before, but I think the State Department gave him lessons, in case I got lucky and made a putt.”
Adam was the first president in recent memory who didn’t golf. His political advisers had insisted he learn, but so far the lessons hadn’t paid off. Even with the most advanced titanium driver, digitally imaged swing analysis, and a private session with Tiger Woods, Adam still bogeyed like a beginner.
John adjusted his glasses, turning into the history professor he’d been before rejoining the government in the all-hands-on-deck crisis Adam had inherited. “According to Winston Churchill, ‘Golf is a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into an even smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose.’”
“All the more reason I should take up bowling.” Adam joined John in front of the desk. “Why don’t you come to the residence this weekend, watch a movie with us? We ordered the latest Bond flick.”
Tucking the blue security bag under his arm, John shook his head. “I thought I would catch the C-Span interview with the author of that new book on European democracies.”
Adam sighed. “The blistering pace of your social life is astounding.” As was his own, but John tactfully refrained from pointing out the hypocrisy.
LBJ, however, had no such scruples: You need to get yourself laid, son. Let the bad guys sort out that rodeo in East Asia.
Adam swallowed a curse. Lyndon—or whatever figments of Adam’s subconscious supplied his voice—may have good intentions, but Adam was tired of critiques of his love life from a man who’d been dead fifty years.
“John,” Adam called just before he reached the door. “Thanks for the briefing. Let’s hope the good guys win this time.”
John looked back. “They’d better. Your poll numbers depend on it. You got here on the strength of your status as a war hero—maintaining world peace while we’re here is part of the deal.”
Adam winced. He’d been trying to outrun his hero status for two decades, but the film made about his war exploits was now available via streaming. “The only Poles I’m worried about are the ones named Dybik. My dad thinks the guys down at the auto plant would be better off if we had a little war to spur the economy. Seems people buy more Buicks under the rockets’ red glare.”
“And you wonder why I worry?” John slumped through the doorway, his dour look even more firmly fixed than when he’d entered.
“Mr. President,” Olive called from her desk. “Your golf lesson is set up for Saturday at Andrews. Secretary Forrest is joining you.”
Adam considered telling her to cancel it. But he was looking forward to seeing his old friend, Connor Forrest, who was now his treasury secretary. And, he had to admit, he was also looking forward to seeing Ellie Brody again, tonight, when she came to meet Katie.
Somewhere in his subconscious, Lyndon hooted in approval.
Chapter Two
The president met Ellie at the elevator door to the residence, wearing jeans and a brick red polo shirt. She sucked in a breath. On television, Adam Dybik came across as boyishly handsome, but a little rough around the edges. In person, rough won out. There was a slight tilt to his nose, as if he’d broken it somewhere along the way. And his eyes had a pummeled look behind their hazel warmth.
“Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the West Sitting Hall at the end of the hallway. “Katie should be down in a minute—unless she’s pulled a fast one on us again.”
Ellie looked around. This was the first time she’d been in the family quarters. The president had commissioned the services of a decorator, who’d incorporated comfortable family furniture with White House antiques. The result was unpretentious: strong plaids and bold solids, not a frou-frou thread in sight.
“We should talk first,” she said. “We’ll be in touch with her school about the arrangements we’ve made for her protection during school hours, but I wanted to let you know we’ve done background checks on all school personnel, including her teachers. Everyone checks out.”
“And here I was told I was making a mistake sending her to public school. You mean you haven’t found one drug dealer among the bunch? Not even a tax cheat?”
“No, but there was a janitor with some parking tickets. We handed it off to MPD.”
The president looked back with a wry glance. “So I only have to worry about poorly paid teachers and school violence, like every other parent.”
“We’re having metal detectors installed. And of course explosives sweeps will be conducted regularly.”
“Well then, there’s a load off my mind.”
He stopped in front of a denim-colored sofa with matching striped pillows, motioning for her to sit. “Would you like a drink? I can have the steward bring a snack, or dinner, if you’re hungry.”
“No, thanks. I grabbed a sandwich earlier.” She sat on the sofa, and he settled across from her in an armchair. A navy steward arrived, and the president requested a soda.
When the steward left, he sighed. “It’s hard for a child to remain unspoiled here, when all you’ve got to do is ask for something and it appears. The first week we were here I found out Katie had ordered pizza every night after I went to bed. I made her pay for it out of her allowance.”
With a glum look, he continued, “Being a single father is hard enough, even without all the presidential fuss.”
“I’m sure you’re a good father, sir.” Ellie noticed a shadow near the doorway, a shadow the size of Katie in the latest Service photos.
“I’m a rotten father. If you have any doubts, ask Katie. Isn’t that right, Mary Katherine?” he said over his shoulder. “I tied last year, didn’t I, for world’s worst father?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “Dad. You’re so derp.”
“If I knew what that was I’d probably be alarmed. Katie, say hello to the new head of your detail, Agent Brody. She’s in charge of keeping you safe, and if you ditch her and her team, you’re grounded for life.”
Instead of a welcome, Katie offered her a sulky glare. At fourteen, she was small for her age, with hair as black as polished army boots. Ellie made a mental note to update the Service photos. Combined with her pale skin, the dark shade she’d colored her hair made her look like an animated ghost.
Ellie stood and held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you.”
The girl ignored the hand. “I think it’s stupid. I didn’t get elected; why do I need babysitters?”
“Katie—”
But Ellie cut short her father’s scold. “Because sometimes the threats are aimed at the family. You want to hear what the ones today said?”
Ellie didn’t wait for her reply, deciding she’d violate the practice of never sharing specifics of threats with protectees. “The first one wanted to fly a plane into the Rose Garden. Not very original. The second was scarier—he was caught with instructions for a homemade bomb before the morning was out. And the third knew you had a friend named Jessie from your middle school in Chicago. We’re still investigating that one. Those were just the ones that mentioned you. The ones aimed at your father…” She shrugged. “They’re garden variety nutjobs, today at least.”
Katie looked chastened, but only slightly. Ellie wondered if anyone had ever told her that every day dozens of threats were called or mailed in, either to the White House or other government offices. “I realize you weren’t elected, and it’s not fair that your life is constricted. We’ll do our best to create as little disruption as possible, but sometimes the restrictions will chafe.”
The president weighed in with a crooked smile of approval, wisely staying silent.
Just when Ellie assumed she’d won that round, she noticed a movement from the corner of her eye. Something crawling behind the armchair. She instinctively reached for the Sig that was normally under her blazer—and a beige rat jumped on the cushions, next to the president.
He didn’t flinch. “Katie, how many times have I told you, keep that rat in its cage? Or in your room.
“It keeps taunting the cat,” he explained to Ellie, “who’s too good-natured to eat it.”
Katie scooped up the rat and placed it on her shoulder. Ellie’s heart rate slowed. A pet rat. She should have known the Princess of Darkness wouldn’t have a bunny.
“What’s his name?” she asked, hiding the queasiness she felt at the sight of the long, hairless tail.
“Chloe.”
Ellie gazed warily at the small rodent grooming Katie’s hair.
“She doesn’t like women,” Katie informed her.
“That’s okay, I don’t like rats.”
Katie’s frown deepened, and Ellie figured it was only the presence of her father that silenced a rude retort. They were definitely getting off to a bad start, but then, she wasn’t here to be Katie’s best friend. Ellie only had to keep her alive.
“I tried to talk her into a puppy,” the president said. “At least they’re trainable.”
“Chloe knows tricks,” Katie said. “She can find M&Ms when I hide them.”
Ellie tried again. “I’ve heard they have very good noses. Some can even find bombs.”
Katie stroked the rat’s long tail and Ellie suppressed another shudder, reminding herself the girl had no mother. She’d been raised by a man who gave Hezbollah the creeps. Just as Ellie was about to cut her some major slack, Katie turned to her father and said, “Can I go now? I think I’m getting cooties.” She shot Ellie a look that clearly indicated the source of the alleged infection.
“It’s probably just your allergies,” her father said. “Did you take your meds?”
Instead of answering, Katie rolled her eyes. She had asthma and needed an inhaler—Ellie had already made arrangements to have a backup with her security detail.
“Anything else you need to talk to her about?” the president asked Ellie, and she shook her head. The protectee, in this case, really had no choice in how they did their jobs. They’d disrupt her life as little as possible, but if need be, they were prepared to whisk her to safety in an instant, cooties be damned.
Katie left the room, taking the rat with her, but not before Ellie caught the banked hostility in her blue eyes.
When she was gone, the president let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. This attitude of hers—”
“Don’t worry about it. Sticks and stones, as they say.”
He looked skeptical. “Chloe bites. I mean, literally—when it comes to teenage slang, I’m a non-native speaker.”
“Yeah, it can be tricky.” Then Ellie remembered a question she needed an answer to. “Sir…there’s one thing we haven’t discussed.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got a list of family members, close friends, et cetera. But there’s one family member we have no contact information for.”
He sighed. “That’s because I have no idea where she is.”
“Katie’s mother—”
“Is a non-issue,” he finished for her. “She hasn’t been seen since shortly after Katie’s third birthday.”
His stony expression hid any anguish he might have felt about his wife’s leaving him eleven years ago. But Ellie had a duty, to Katie and to the country. “We have resources that can find her. For Katie’s safety, it would be best if we knew the whereabouts of any potential contact.”
“If Bonnie had wanted to get in touch with her daughter, she would have by now. She’s probably dead. Otherwise, I’m sure my opponents would have found her.”
“But sir, if we could confirm that—”
“I don’t want my ex-wife dug up, from the dead or from whatever alcoholic stupor she happens to be in.” His grip on the glass tightened. Ellie had no doubt she’d just been given a direct order.
Reluctantly she nodded, but under her breath, she muttered, “Well, that bites.”
He downed the rest of his drink. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble doing your job, regardless. I spoke to Director Leonard—your resume is exemplary.”
“You’re welcome to come out to Beltsville and observe our training regimen yourself. Your predecessor was quite impressed.”
“Sounds like fun.” He looked interested, or maybe just relieved at the change of subject. Ellie made a note of that: ex-wives were off-limits.
“Maybe Katie should come along,” he said. “She could use a dose of respect for you guys.”
“I’ll have to earn that, sir. It doesn’t come in a bottle like allergy meds.”
He sighed. “Too bad. It’s a hell of a lot harder to impress a fourteen-year-old than it is to lock up the millennial vote. My old man would have popped me if I’d smarted off like that.”
“So do you respect him? Your father?”
A faint smile creased his mouth. “He still rags my ass every time I go home. You’d think he’d have heard the news: I’m all grown up now. Even got my own army.”
She smiled. “Dads are like that, aren’t they?”
He leaned forward to set his drink on the table, his curious gaze never leaving her. “Guess it’s different for you. You at least followed in your father’s footsteps. Mine wanted me to join the union, work the assembly line. Instead I wear a suit and push a pen instead of a riveter. In other words, a failure.”
Ellie hadn’t been prepared to have a heart-to-heart with the president, but he seemed to need to talk to someone. And Secret Service agents were sworn to secrecy, something no one on his staff could claim. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know what you mean. I majored in psychology, and my dad insisted I was wasting my time learning nonsense.”
“Psychology ought to be a great help in your job.”
She shrugged. “I still can’t predict which wackos are going to bring a weapon to the next open-air event.” She shouldn’t be talking to him about this—she’d already said too much to Katie about the threats the first family faced—but there was something about Adam Dybik, something that had made sixty million Americans pull the lever for him on Election Day. A trustworthiness, a solid, I-can-handle-this attitude. As a prosecutor, he’d jailed the slimiest of corporate crooks, nailed the cagiest menaces to society, and stopped a crime family from terrorizing Chicago streets.
