Karen listened to the news during her long drive to camp. Nonstop, every five minutes, came the “Breaking News” music, with Wolf Blitzer urgently announcing: “Security failure at the White House. The first family in crisis as Cam Hilliard is missing with the Dirt Bike Shooter still at large. Can the Secret Service be trusted to protect the president? What do we know about Karen Ray, the Secret Service agent in charge? Stay tuned.”
The greatest failure in Secret Service history had occurred on November 22, 1963, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Now Karen’s name, her reputation, everything she believed she stood for, was intractably linked with what might be the second-worst moment in the agency’s history. Instead of salvaging her father’s legacy, Karen had trampled all over it.
I’m so sorry, Dad.
Tears welled in Karen’s eyes, blurring the highway dividing lines.
Karen’s suitcase was on the seat beside her, packed with enough clothes for a week, as well as a Glock 19, one of the weapons from her private arsenal—a sidearm the Navy SEALs favored. The gun was reliable and very accurate. Josh had her spare SIG. Combined with her father’s guns in the basement safe, Karen felt she had ample weaponry at her disposal.
An hour from camp, Karen’s phone rang.
“Hey, K-Ray, I heard. I’m sorry.” It was Woody Lapham.
Karen’s heart swelled and constricted at the same time. Already this was a voice from her past.
“Thanks for the call. You’re the first.”
“Ellen is still trying to get us all reassigned, but the president is holding firm—for now.”
“No surprise there. Russell’s gone. He knows it, too.”
“No loss there,” said Lapham, expressing long-held sentiments.
Karen smiled in the dark.
“What now?” Lapham asked.
It was nighttime and Karen was on a particularly lonely stretch of highway, grateful for the company—something to keep her mind sharp as the miles stretched on.
“Now? I’m out,” she said, feeling the familiar crimp in her heart. “What’s happening back in D.C.?” At Ellen’s request, Karen had told no one of her new mission. It was obvious the first lady did not trust the Secret Service with anything, and that included keeping secrets.
“This isn’t your typical teenage runaway, that’s for sure,” Lapham said. “The FBI is taking plaster footprints from around the school, trying to match them to Cam’s shoes. They’re looking at surveillance footage, tearing apart his room. Forensics is dissecting his computer and investigators are interviewing all of his friends. Basically, it’s a giant mess.”
“I can imagine.”
“Then you can also imagine how many crazies are calling the tip line,” Lapham said. “According to them, Cam is either at the Louvre taking selfies with Mona Lisa, or he’s now driving for Uber.”
To her surprise, Karen managed to laugh.
“I’m going to miss you, Woody,” she said, still smiling. “You need anything from me, anything at all, just ask.”
“Hey, you’re only suspended, you’re not going to the moon,” he said.
Karen flashed on the job, what it meant to her, how it was her—how much she’d sacrificed to become this person she no longer was. The Service had taken Karen away from her family, and contributed significantly to her divorce from Lee. Karen was hardly the only agent to suffer those consequences.
“Woody, I’m just getting back to earth,” she said. “It’s you who’s on the moon.”
* * *
AS KAREN drove down the long dirt road to camp, her phone rang again. This time it was Josh.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m almost there.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Josh. “My motion detector pinged me that someone was coming. Decided to call you first before I started shooting.”
“Call first, shoot second. Good thinking, and thank you for your consideration,” Karen said.
Up ahead the bright glow from the cabin’s lights came into view. The air buzzed with the hum of countless critters. Karen parked her car on a grassy patch out front.
Josh gave Karen a big hello hug, and Valerie did the same. Karen took notice of Valerie’s denim shirt and her faded dungarees, how the outfit went with her short hair. She seemed at home out here in the woods. Josh had on flannel and jeans, and his favorite boots. His face looked tired, but he was always at his best in the wild.
The cabin might have looked like a hospital ward, but it smelled nothing like one. The odors of pine and good cooking scented the air. As a whole, everything was clean and remarkably well maintained. It seemed Valerie and Josh were working well as a team.
“How’s our patient?” Karen asked, eyeing Susie, who was propped up in her hospital bed. The poor thing looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles ringing her sunken eyes. Her long brown hair lay flat against her head. Her coloring nearly matched the white bedsheets.
“I’m doing okay,” Susie said, her naturally quiet voice sounding fainter than usual.
She wore green cotton pajamas, which had to be far more comfortable than a starched hospital gown. The dialysis machine, resting atop a rolling metal cart pushed up to Susie’s bedside, was on and churning away. Tubes hooked to her body took poisoned blood out and put clean blood back in.
To Karen’s eyes, Susie seemed to be getting sicker. She observed a line of ugly bruises marking her arms. Bruises like the ones she had seen on Cam.
Karen noticed the open violin case on the floor by Susie’s bedside.
“Josh tells me you’ve playing quite a bit,” Karen said, looking for a distraction from those bruises.
“When my arms let me,” said Susie, defeat ringing in her voice. Then she looked at Josh and Karen saw new life spark into her eyes.
“Have you had many attacks?” Karen asked.
“A few, I guess.”
“She had one not long before you showed up here,” Valerie said, taking no measures to mask the worry in her voice. “It was quite severe, which is why she looks so wiped out.”
Valerie provided a frightening account of Susie’s myoclonic jerks. They came on like a sudden thunderstorm, she said. One moment fine, the next—boom!—she was out of control, limbs flailing in all directions. Lee had called in a prescription for clonazepam, which Valerie had picked up at the hospital pharmacy in town, but the side effects were troubling. Fatigue. Blurred vision. Headaches. Muscle weakness. The jerking would come and go, but those side effects never went away.
“Imagine going through life afraid to even hold a glass of water,” Valerie said. “She’s getting used to these attacks in a way, I suppose. She doesn’t exactly laugh when they happen, but with all she’s going through, somehow, she still plays.” Valerie brushed a loose strand of hair off Susie’s face, pinning it behind her ear. “That’s her resolve right there, shining brightly.”
Karen touched Susie’s arm. Her skin felt clammy. Valerie must have been aware, because she set a damp cloth to Susie’s forehead.
Karen appraised Susie thoughtfully, again noticing the bruising similar to Cam’s.
“What’s causing those?” Karen pointed to a particularly nasty purple and black discolored area near Susie’s bicep.
Valerie removed a printout from the portable blood analyzer sitting atop an antique dresser. She pointed to an array of numbers that meant nothing to Karen. “I’m not sure,” Valerie said. “Her platelets are fairly low and her ProTime results are a bit high. That means her blood isn’t clotting normally. I don’t think it’s alarming yet, but her liver and spleen are not functioning normally.”
Karen thanked Valerie for the update, then took hold of Josh’s arm. “Sweetheart, could we talk outside?”
“Sure thing.”
Josh followed Karen out of the cabin and onto the wide front porch. The sounds of the night buzzed around them.
“Any news on Cam?”
“Nothing yet,” Karen said, her eyes downcast. “And I’m sick with worry about it. But I’m also worried about your dad.”
“Dad? Why?”
“He may be closer to the truth than anyone realizes. The Dirt Bike Shooter is still out there. Whoever is behind this managed to get to Stephen Duffy. Don’t you think they’ll be able to get to your father, too?”
Josh exhaled, low and loud. “Oh, damn. I didn’t think of that.”
“I’m here now,” Karen said. “I’ll keep everyone safe. Maybe you can go back to D.C. for a while and watch after your father.”
Josh peered over Karen’s shoulder to gaze through the window at Susie in her hospital bed.
“You have feelings for her, don’t you?” asked Karen.
Josh shrugged in a way that reminded her of Cam.
“Believe me, you’re not the first bodyguard to fall for their protectee.”
“She’s different—she’s…”
“Cultured? Talented? Brilliant? Beautiful? The anti-Hannah?”
“Yeah, all those things,” he said with a smile.
“I saw the way she looked at you. I’d say the feelings were mutual.”
For a moment, Josh was quiet.
“Is she going to die?”
“Hopefully your dad can figure out what’s wrong with her.”
Josh peered again through the window at Susie resting in bed.
“I’ll leave tonight,” he said.
“It’s late and it’s a long drive. Your dad will be all right a few more hours without you. Just don’t tell him you’re coming to be his bodyguard.” Karen had a crooked grin on her face. “He’s got a lot of pride, and I’m not sure his ego can handle it.”
Josh gave his mother a hug, then returned to the cabin. Karen stayed on the porch, enjoying the feeling of the chilly night air against her skin. Through the window she watched Josh get a glass of water from the kitchen. He brought the glass over to Susie. Taking a seat on a tall metal stool, Josh put the straw to Susie’s lips and held the glass for her while she drank.
It’s the simple gestures, Karen thought, that often mean the most. In a way those little acts of kindness added up, and eventually coalesced into something far greater than the individual acts alone; they revealed a kind of deep commitment, not unlike the commitment it takes to dive in front of a speeding bullet meant for somebody else.