WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26
Karen used the few minutes she had before Cam had to leave for school to check in with Josh. It had been two days since she had left, and guilt and worry were starting to take hold.
“It’s all good, Mom,” Josh said. “Valerie has been great, and Susie’s doing well. No physical problems. Dialysis seems to be doing its job. She has these occasional body jerks. They’re pretty freaky.”
“Your dad calls it myoclonus. It’s kind of like a mini seizure,” Karen said.
“Yeah, Valerie told me. Not sure why, but her arms are itchy all the time and bruised for no reason. Other than that and the fevers that come and go there’s no big change in her health, if that’s your concern.”
“I’m concerned about you needing to use that SIG Sauer,” Karen retorted.
“If I do, I do,” Josh said, sounding confident. “But nobody’s come around. Susie’s been playing her violin, which has been really nice and it seems to take her mind off things. I love listening to her play. I just hope she’s going to be all right, you know—with her health.”
“I hope so, too.”
Karen did not know what else to say. She was glad not to hear the ache for Hannah in her son’s voice. It was obvious that in Josh’s short time guarding Susie he had developed feelings for the girl. They were only six years apart. Considering how Lee is eight years her senior, Karen fully understood the appeal of an older man. She would not be at all surprised if Josh’s feelings were reciprocated.
“How’s Dad making out?”
“Nothing so far. He’s got some environmental company testing the air and water at the TPI. We’ll see what that brings, but he’s not expecting much. He’s convinced Yoshi is giving these kids something other than ProNeural. No other explanation works for him.”
“Makes sense,” Josh said.
“He’s been catching up with patients and researching nootropics in his spare time, trying to cross-reference different synthetic compounds with Susie and Cam’s symptoms. So far no luck, but he’s pushing ahead.”
“Well, don’t worry about us,” Josh said. “We’re fine here. I oiled all the guns, made sure everything is in good working order. I even drove into town and picked up a battery-powered infrared motion detector at Walmart. It’s Bluetooth enabled, so if anybody drives down the road, I’ll know they’re coming before they get here.”
“You sound like a Secret Service agent. You know, if this whole Colorado thing doesn’t work out—”
“Love you, Mom,” Josh said, interrupting. “But let’s not worry about my career. Deal?”
“Deal,” Karen said, and after a few more pleasant exchanges, ended the call.
She checked her watch. It was time for school, or more aptly, time to bring Cam to school. Until she fully understood the threat facing him, she would be a part of his escort team.
Duffy drove the SUV, a black Ford Explorer with tinted windows, up from the garage. Karen motioned for him to get out so she could drive. They had multiple routes to Cam’s school, and she wanted to mix things up in case somebody had an ambush in mind. Duffy climbed into the passenger seat, muttering something under his breath, not happy about his boss taking charge.
Graves’ disease, thought Karen once again.
She had noticed other odd behaviors in Duffy that morning. How he avoided making eye contact with her, how his fingers appeared extra animated, how sweat glistened on his skin even though the temps that morning were unseasonably cool. Something was indeed wrong with him, and Karen decided it was time to move him off Cam’s detail permanently. Hard conversation to have, for sure, but Duffy’s medical condition seemed to be worsening. She would call HR and make the move that afternoon.
Cam shuffled over to the idling SUV with Beats by Dre headphones clamped around his wiry neck. While he looked dashing in his school uniform, Karen thought he seemed extra melancholic.
“Hanging in there, buddy?” she asked, opening the car’s back door.
“Yeah, just—a bad night’s sleep, is all,” he said in a quiet voice.
He looked and sounded tired. She wondered if he had suffered a seizure during the night, if Gleason had held back the medication Lee prescribed, if some toxin he’d been exposed to was wreaking havoc on his body.
The convoy—if two SUVs ferrying five Secret Service agents and one child of the president could be considered a convoy—was off with all the fanfare of a departing school bus. Karen drove in the lead, headed in a northerly direction on Sixteenth Street. Normally, she would have taken K Street to Rock Creek Parkway, but instead kept driving north on Sixteenth.
Duffy’s face revealed his surprise. “What are you doing?” he asked, his expression almost a scowl.
“Changing things up,” Karen said. “We’re taking Beach Drive instead.”
“That’s—that’s going—going to—to add ten minutes to the drive,” Duffy said, stuttering.
Karen shot him a sideways glance. “Which is why I told you that we’re leaving ten minutes early for school.”
Checking the rearview mirror, Karen watched Cam stare absentmindedly out the window, his headphones in place, head bobbing slightly to the music.
“I don’t even know what you’re doing here,” Duffy said in an angry voice. “This is my detail.”
“Last I checked,” Karen said in a neutral tone, “you worked for me.”
As she weaved her way through the morning traffic, Karen kept a vigilant eye on everything: her surroundings, the distance between her car and the follow vehicle, and Cam. She took it all in with practiced efficiency. It was only because she was being so cautious that she happened to catch a quick glimpse of Duffy using his cell phone. The rules around cell phone use were ingrained in every officer. Few employee misconduct violations were more egregious than being distracted while on protective duty.
“Hey!” Karen said, pointing to the cell phone Duffy unsuccessfully tried to shield with his leg. “You put that damn thing away this instant. What the hell is wrong, Stephen? Keep your eyes open. BOLO—be on the lookout. That’s the job!”
Karen exhaled a few calming breaths. If anything, Duffy was giving her more reason to do what had to be done. It was medical with him, she reminded herself. Maybe he couldn’t control his impulses. Maybe those same impulse problems were contributing to the money woes he insisted he did not have.
She was driving along a leafy stretch of Seventeenth Street, almost to the turnoff, when Karen caught sight of Duffy texting once again.
“What the hell, Duffy!” she yelled. “Put it away!”
The force of her voice overpowered the music in Cam’s headphones, causing him to jump in his seat. Duffy startled as well. He glared angrily at Karen, his breathing erratic and shallow. Sweat coated his face.
“What the hell is going on with you?” she said, furious. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” Duffy said, avoiding Karen’s stare by looking out the window. “I’m fine. It’s just an urgent thing. A personal matter. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Damn right, you shouldn’t.”
Some time later they were driving through Rock Creek Park, traveling along a narrow two-lane road lined on both sides with leafy trees. Running parallel to the road was a dirt pathway used by runners or bikers who could handle the ruts and stones. Karen was still trying to tamp down her anger, checking her rearview mirror once again, when she noticed what appeared to be a dirt bike with narrow tires, cruising down the jogging path at a high rate of speed. The bike’s frame was small and light with a hydraulic and spring shock suspension.
Right away Karen’s body tensed. Because the bike was on the path and not the road, it could easily pass traffic on the left. It was certainly a convenient mode of transportation for the rider and a fast-growing trend, but it was also illegal on D.C. streets, given how dirt bikes lacked such basic safety features as headlights or turn signals. D.C. police policy, however, did not allow officers to give chase. They could snap pictures of the offenders, but that did little to deter those urban riders, who were deemed a public menace. This rider could have been a harmless thrill seeker, but something in Karen’s gut urged caution.
Her focus kept shifting between the rearview and the road with regular frequency. The dirt bike seemed to be gaining on them. Soon it would pass the escort vehicle. The rider was dressed all in black. The visor of his helmet was tinted dark, like the windows of the SUV.
A cold feeling of dread overcame her. She focused more on the rearview than the road. Cam, with his headphones on, was oblivious. Karen’s fingers tightened against the steering wheel. Hairs on her neck began to rise as her muscles turned taut. The patter of her heartbeat became erratic.
When she heard the distinct whine of an engine revving for speed, Karen glanced back in time to see the dirt bike rocket forward with velocity. At the same instant, she observed the driver reaching behind him, and only then did she realize he had a backpack. The whine of the bike’s engine intensified. The black-clad rider zoomed past the escort vehicle, driving one-handed.
Karen’s world became a single point of focus. All her energy, her every intention, was not on the road, but on the threat behind her.
The rider’s hand slipped inside the pack’s open top. Quickly, his arm came forward. While she could not be sure what it was in his hand exactly, it looked long and made of steel. A thought flashed through Karen’s mind: This is what I trained for, the day I hoped would never come. She had endured a variety of simulated attacks, navigated serpentine courses through tightly spaced objects, and learned evasive driving maneuvers all with one goal in mind: safeguard the lives of those in her protection.
With one hand gripping the wheel Karen reached behind her, stretching as far as her arm would allow. Seizing the lapel of Cam’s school jacket, she gave a hard pull, yanking him forward. He let out a cry of surprise.
“Get down!” she yelled. “Down!”
Cam fell to the floor of the SUV just as the dirt bike pulled alongside. Now she saw it, the long black gun barrel rising up as the rider took aim at Cam’s window. It was a massive weapon. More like a rifle than a handgun.
Instinctively, Karen jerked the wheel left, but she could not execute a 180-degree turn without causing a head-on collision. A sudden stop, slamming on the brakes, would cause a rear-end collision with the SUV traveling behind them.
From outside she heard a quick series of pops. The window held for two shots, but on the third it shattered, spraying shards of thick bullet-resistant glass inward like sea spray from a crashing wave.
Bright flashes ignited in her mirrors. Agents in the rear car were returning gunfire. Beside her, Duffy was reaching for his weapon, but his movements seemed languid. He got his window down as a car traveling in the opposite direction passed Karen’s vehicle on the left. The road ahead was clear.
Now! she thought. Do it now!
Karen pumped the brakes while spinning the wheel hard and counterclockwise. Duffy fired off a shot from his SIG Sauer that sank into the trees because the SUV had slipped into a skid. A loud screech of tires, rubber burning, came before acrid smoke stained the air. The dirt bike quickly abandoned the path, changing course sharply, now headed for the woods lining the parkway, where oversized SUVs could not pursue. Not that they would try, even if they could. The mission of the Secret Service was to protect and evade, not apprehend.
Glancing in the rearview, Karen saw the escort vehicle initiate the same evasive bootleg maneuver, sending a fresh batch of smoke skyward as tires screeched against the road. The escort vehicle sped up, getting right behind Karen’s car, almost kissing the bumper while traveling at a high rate of speed. Cam lay curled in a ball on the floor, his body covered in shards of glass, arms shielding his head.