COLORADO SPRINGS —JUNE 2017

Marcus didn’t mind standing post all night in front of the presidential suite.

He was just glad to be back on the Front Range.

Andrew Clarke, the newly elected president, had come to the Springs and was staying overnight at the Broadmoor Hotel and Resort, with several items on his agenda. First and foremost was visiting the headquarters of NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, once located deep inside Cheyenne Mountain but since 2006 situated at Peterson Air Force Base. Though he’d never served in the military himself, Clarke had entered office insisting he would both restore the honor of the men and women who served in the military and rebuild America’s armed forces, which he said had been “gutted” by his “loser” of a predecessor.

The second priority on the president’s list was serving as the keynote speaker for a high-dollar fund-raising dinner for Republican senatorial candidates. It was early yet. The all-important midterm elections wouldn’t be held until the following year, but the president was determined to create, if at all possible, a veto-proof majority in the Senate that would enable him to pass the sweeping health care and tax reform bills he had so far been unable to get through Congress and signed into law.

Both items had been checked off the list the previous day. This morning the president was focused on the third item on his agenda: having breakfast with a dozen evangelical leaders whom he counted both key to his stunning upset victory and just as key to his reelection campaign.

Marcus hadn’t given any of the three a single thought. His sole interest in this trip —aside from keeping POTUS safe —was the chance to catch up with family. With the permission of the special agent in charge, Marcus had taken some personal leave and flown out to the Springs a day before the president arrived. He’d taken his mom up Pike’s Peak for the day, then out for dinner at her favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Monument. He’d shown her the latest pictures of Lars, who the week before had celebrated his eleventh birthday, on his mobile phone and caught her up on her grandson’s latest exploits.

Right on time, about halfway through dinner, Mrs. Ryker made her semiannual plea for Marcus to retire from the Secret Service, move back to Monument, and give Lars “a real childhood.” Marcus listened patiently and asked his mother —for the umpteenth time —if Elena was actually paying her cash to make this case every six months. When she denied it like every other time, he gave her his standard reply: “Thanks, Mom, but really, we’re doing fine.”

The cruise disaster had long ago blown over. Marcus had apologized profusely. Elena had forgiven him. They’d met with Pastor Emerson for several months of counseling, and Marcus was finding ways to cut back on his hours and make a little more time for his wife and son.

When he got back to Washington on Friday night, he told his mother, he was going to meet Elena and Lars for a big night he had planned for them at the Kennedy Center. And yes, he assured her, when he finally felt the time was right to retire, they would definitely come back to Colorado.

The morning the president was to arrive in the Springs, Marcus had breakfast with his in-laws. He asked them to come over to the Broadmoor so he’d be ready to meet the motorcade when it arrived just before noon, and they were more than happy to do so. They loved their son-in-law and were as eager as ever to see the latest pictures and to hear the latest news. They just wished their daughter and only grandchild could have come too.

“The Kennedy Center sounds exciting,” Javier Garcia said, his eyes brightening when Marcus explained what he was planning. “What are you going to see?”

“Actually, it’s all Lars’s idea,” Marcus explained. “He’s been studying Moby-Dick. You know, ‘Call me Ishmael,’ and the like. Anyway, he’s gotten kind of into the whole thing, and his teacher heard that there was going to be a performance of an opera based on the novel at the Kennedy Center. Can’t say I’m a big fan of opera, but it’s gotten great reviews, and you know how your daughter is determined that our son learn about more than just fly-fishing and hiking fourteeners.”

“That’s our girl,” Mrs. Garcia said with a laugh.

“But in this case it’s really all Lars,” Marcus said.

“What time is the show?” Mrs. Garcia asked. “You’re sure you’ll get back on time?”

“Oh, it won’t be a problem,” Marcus assured them. “The opera starts at 1900. Air Force One is wheels down at Andrews at precisely 1736. We’ll chopper back to the White House. The moment we touch down, my shift will be over. My tux is hanging in my locker. I’ll grab a cab and meet them there. Chick-chock. No problem.”

But there was a problem. The president’s meeting with the evangelical leaders went long —very long —and by the time they got to the airport, Marcus knew he wasn’t going to make it back to Washington on time.