Katie drew a bow on the dolphin’s ear. Dolphins probably didn’t have ears, not in real life, but hers did. Three, in fact.
She sat in the back of the class, specifically so she could pretend to take notes while she drew manga-style cartoons, only instead of huge-eyed humans, she created creatures that would never exist in the wild. Not the real wild, anyway.
“The conflict in Central America was one of America’s most controversial foreign wars. There were two reasons why we got involved.”
Katie wondered what would happen if she fell asleep during Mr. Brown’s lecture on American involvement in foreign conflicts. The humanities class was part of the gifted curriculum, and the teachers liked to imagine they were teaching at a college instead of a magnet high school. If this was what college was like, Katie wasn’t sure she wanted to go.
And frankly, the thought of college was the only thing keeping her from going insane. In four years she’d be free to do what she wanted, in a place that didn’t feel like a cage. Even Chloe, who really did live in a cage, had more freedom than Katie did. Yesterday Katie had tried to go outside to gather some acorns for a biology project, and the agents had ordered her in because a helicopter had flown too close to the White House.
She was going to flunk biology, all because an air ambulance pilot got lost.
Mr. Brown was still talking, pausing only long enough to take a sip from his Starbucks cup. Behind her, Paige was giggling and texting Nicole, who sat across from Katie. Every now and then they whispered insults aimed at her, which she pretended not to hear.
Instead she imagined she was a manga heroine, a secret badass who’d save the school from evil bullies.
She wished she’d ditched school today. Mrs. Torres hadn’t seemed too sympathetic when Katie had told her she had a stomachache. She hadn’t even called her dad, who was in London at the conference.
Maybe tomorrow she’d fake a fever.
A sudden noise in the hall interrupted her thoughts. One of the teachers was shouting. Mr. Brown stopped talking and glanced toward the door, along with the rest of the class.
Chris, the agent sitting in the back of the classroom, was already hurrying toward her, his comm set crackling. “School’s on lockdown. We’re extracting you.”
He pulled her out of her desk and then shoved her toward the door. She didn’t even have time to grab her backpack.
“Hey! I need my stuff! I have homework!”
But he ignored her, practically lifting her off the floor. At the door, Ellie and the other agents formed a ring around her. They began hustling her down the hall. Even though all the classroom doors were locked automatically from the office during a drill, Katie’s agents could always get into the room where she was. They’d had a drill earlier in the year and explained to Katie how it worked.
This was probably another drill, although last time the agents hadn’t embarrassed her by pulling her out of the classroom. She’d never be able to look at her classmates again, the ones left to die during the fake zombie attack, or whatever they were pretending.
They rounded a corner, into another empty corridor. The sounds of sirens and alarms filled the air. Urgent noises came over the comm sets of the agents, and Ellie was shouting directions into her wrist mic.
Katie blinked. This probably wasn’t a drill.
The agents in front had guns drawn, looking around for people to shoot. Katie’s heart pounded. She really might be sick.
“What’s happening?” she asked as they passed the library, where the lights were out and the doors shut. “Is someone shooting?”
“Kid got knifed in the bathroom. We’re getting you out of here as a precaution,” Ellie told her.
Katie heard Heather talking into her comm set. “Tell the locals we’re coming out. I don’t want any accidental shooting. Over.”
A policeman met them at the door. A black Suburban was waiting five feet away, pulled up on the sidewalk. An agent held the door open and Ellie shoved Katie inside, then climbed in after her. The other agents jumped into the car and then someone shouted “Go!” and the car spun away.
The Suburban zigzagged as it raced through the lot, then spun into the street, where traffic had been halted.
“I think I’m gonna be carsick,” Katie mumbled, but no one seemed to hear her.
They turned a corner sharp, following motorcycles with their sirens screaming.
“I’m gonna be—” But Katie couldn’t finish the sentence. She was too busy throwing up all over Ellie’s legs.
The prime minister was droning on about the need for restructuring the IMF. Adam tried not to yawn, but jet lag was catching up with him. He’d arrived in the UK last night, met with Her Majesty this morning, and was stuck in a meeting with the other G20 leaders this afternoon.
The French president leaned toward him, her heavy perfume tickling his nose. “Before the dinner tonight at Number 10, I must have a word with you.”
Adam turned toward her. They’d already had a bilateral meeting, just the two of them, along with a contingent of aides and advisers and translators. Although Madame Corneau had seemingly sided with him when he stressed the United States’ reluctance to become involved in Bhotaan’s turmoil, he’d sensed she’d had reservations about her country’s official policy.
“If this is about military intervention in Bhotaan, you should know—”
She dismissed the topic with a flick of her wrist. “No, no, I want to talk to you about your visit to Paris in December. I think you should stay at the presidential palace. It will be much more convenient if you are our guest.” Adam felt her arm stretch behind his chair. A shiver ran up his spine when she tickled the back of his neck with her finger.
The fact that she was married hadn’t stopped her from flirting with him all through the luncheon meeting, and Adam feared what would happen if he stayed with Madame Corneau and her husband at their official residence in Paris.
The Secret Service did an admirable job of protecting him from bomb throwers and assassins, but lecherous heads of state were his problem.
“I’ll be sure and send that along to our protocol office.” He pretended to be interested in the German chancellor’s reply to the British PM. A heavyset man who’d once run the country’s auto union, Chancellor Biermann had no use for French perfume. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much use, either, for the agreement on cross-Atlantic trade that Adam had hoped to have signed and ratified by the Senate before he addressed Congress in January.
Adam took a sip of his water. At least Madame Corneau was on board with American trade—she’d already offered to send him a case of her favorite wine. He didn’t have the nerve to tell her he rarely drank. She probably already thought him a wuss for refusing to engage in extra-marital flirting.
Across from him, the prime minister of India was dozing again. He’d slept through one plenary meeting already. Adam stifled a yawn. It was hard to tell through the headset translating German into English if the Chancellor was winding down, but if he didn’t escape the overly perfumed Madame Corneau soon, he’d be forced to sneeze all over her.
Adam’s pager hummed. Only two people had that number. Either there was a crisis back home or Katie had ditched her detail again.
He pulled the device out of his pocket, and read the message. “Call home immediately.”
He excused himself and found a quiet alcove outside the banquet room.
Ellie took a deep breath and then spoke into the secure phone. “There’s been an incident at Katie’s school. A kid was knifed after four kids jumped him in the restroom.” She paused. “He didn’t make it. I wanted to tell you before you saw it on the news.”
“Jesus. Who was it? Anyone Katie knew?”
“No, it was a kid called Damon Wright. She wasn’t anywhere near the scene. Of course we got her out of there and whisked her home right away. But she’s probably pretty shaken. All the kids are.”
“I would imagine so. And the parents must be devastated.” He was silent a moment. “This meeting’s supposed to last another two days. But I need to get home.”
“Sir, she’ll be okay. Everything’s under control. The housekeeper’s here with Katie.” She didn’t mention that Katie had been car sick. Ellie had changed clothes and sent her suit to be dry-cleaned. She’d also spoken to the driver on duty about operating vehicles in Hollywood mode when the threat to a protectee was deemed to be minimal.
“Mrs. Torres isn’t her family.” The secure line caught the sharp edge of worry in his voice, and Ellie was reminded she wasn’t just talking to the president of the United States; she was talking to a worried father.
“What should I do, Ellie? I want to get on that plane and have the pilot fly me home at Mach 1.”
“Talk to her. I can get her on a secure phone, that’s no problem.” Ellie knew she was taking on duties that other White House staff were assigned to, but right now the priority was reassuring POTUS that his daughter was all right and that he didn’t need to leave an important meeting halfway across the world.
“Ellie…damn it, what the hell were knives doing in that school? I thought there were metal detectors.”
“They got them from the lunchroom. There’s a police investigation going on right now, which we’re assisting with. But from what we’ve learned, the knives were steak knives from the lunchroom, with the edges filed to be even sharper.”
“Then what the hell were steak knives doing anywhere near homicidal high school kids? That could have been Katie!”
“No, sir. We would never let a knife near Katie.” Ellie tightened her jaw. She didn’t want to think about what steak knives did to soft human flesh. She’d never let one near Katie, but still…some kids didn’t have the best protection money could buy. Damon Wright was dead now, because he had had the nerve to go into the boys’ room alone while a drug deal was going down.
They’d done everything they could to make the school safe, but still, there were ways those determined to inflict harm could get past the best security. And sometimes it was as simple as a lunchroom tray.
The secure line picked up the sound of his sigh.
“I want to talk to her. Set that up as soon as possible.” He paused. “Please, Ellie.” She could hear the weariness in his voice. Jet lag did that to people, even people who flew on Air Force One.
“I’ll go up to the residence right now.” Ellie was in the Secret Service office in the West Wing. “I’ll have her phone you in a few minutes. I hope this didn’t interrupt anything important.”
“No, just a boring discussion about IMF policies. I can catch up later.”
Adam paced over a thick Aubusson carpet while he waited for Katie’s call. He would phone the parents of Damon Wright later, after he’d talked to Katie. Imagine never hearing your child’s voice again…his heart shuddered.
The secure phone to the White House rang. His aide answered it and then handed it to Adam. “Hi, honey,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t reflect his worries. “Ellie told me about the incident at school today. You okay?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t anywhere near. All the kids got sent home. But the motorcade had to get me out of there first. That’s not fair, Dad.”
Adam loosened his tie. “Let them do their jobs. I’m sure the situation was under control.”
“I got car sick. I tossed my cookies all over Agent Brody.”
He gripped the phone closer, not sure he’d heard right. “Why did you do that?”
“Dad,” she said in her patient parents-are-slow voice. “I vomited. Hurled. I think it ruined her outfit.”
He stifled a groan. “I hope you apologized.”
“It was their fault! For driving too fast around corners. You know that always makes me sick.”
He knew. More than once he’d been hurled on himself.
“I’ll have to talk to her.”
“She’s right here. One of them has been staying at the house at night since your detail is with you.”
“Good. Tell her she can have the Lincoln Bedroom.” He smiled, for the first time since he’d learned his daughter’s school had been the scene of school violence.
“One of the agents helped take the dudes down. Tyrone, the tall one.”
“That’s fantastic. Good to know federal assets are useful in these local situations.” But the sarcasm went over Katie’s head.
“School is closed tomorrow. And maybe longer.”
“Even better. No one can get hurt as long as school is closed.” Of course, no one would get educated either, but he didn’t imagine Katie was too worried about the educational achievements of today’s youth.
“When are you coming home?” she asked, even though he’d added his return date to the calendar on her iPad before he left.
“Tomorrow night. Late.”
He was scheduled to take off from RAF Mildenhall tomorrow evening, fly all night across the Atlantic, but if he canceled a meeting with the Japanese prime minister, he could leave earlier.
Hell, he was the president of the United States; he could leave whenever he wanted. “I can be there in eight hours, Katie. If you need me home.”
“But you’re at a meeting. You can’t leave. It’s the G20, remember?”
Adam almost laughed. She’d paid attention. “I can leave anytime. There’s nothing more important than knowing you’re safe.”
“Of course I’m safe.” She sighed. “There’s, like, fifteen guys with machine guns who won’t even let me walk on the lawn.”
He smiled into the phone. She could give the French lessons in melodrama. “When I get home we’ll spend a weekend at Camp David. You can walk all you want there.” Then he added, “And hey—next time I have to go to one of these I’ll bring you with me. How about that?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Let me speak to Agent Brody. And, Katie—” Suddenly Adam remembered the conversation he’d had with Ellie, during their workout in the gym. “Katie, you know I love you. Don’t you?”
“Uh, yeah, Dad.”
“Well, I do. And if anything had happened to you today….” Adam swallowed, thinking of the parents who’d lost a son today.
“Here’s Agent Brody. Bye, Dad.”
Ellie came on the phone and Adam moved closer to the bust of Churchill in the alcove. “Agent Brody, once again I’m thanking you for what you’ve done for my daughter.”
“And once again, I’m telling you, it’s our job.”
“I know, but…your job shouldn’t be so damn difficult.”
“You saw our training, Mr. President. Protecting Princess is a piece of cake compared to some of our exercises.”
“I know this is a secure line, but maybe we should talk about cake later.”
He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “Actually, we’re having ice cream. The White House chef has been testing recipes for the state dinner next month.”
“What kind?”
“What kind of ice cream?”
“Yeah. Tell me what kind of ice cream you’re eating.”
“It’s salted caramel. Katie doesn’t care for it, but I’m finding it just the right balance between salty and sweet.”
“I think you should stay in the Lincoln Bedroom.”
She chuckled. “No, I’m spending my overnight shift in the room next to Katie’s. The pink bedroom.”
“Used to be Caroline Kennedy’s room, and Lucy Johnson’s.”
“That’s right.”
“Watch out for ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yeah. The damn place is full of ’em.”
“I’ll keep an eye out, sir.”
“And quit calling me ‘sir.’”
“Yes, sir, I’ll keep that in mind.”
That warm laugh again infected her voice, and Adam wished he were there, 4,000 miles away, without a plenary meeting to attend.
“I have to go. I’m supposed to be having cocktails with the other leaders.”
“Of course.”
“The French president keeps hitting on me. I think you should tell your buddies on my detail to cover my ass when she’s around. She keeps sticking her hands where they don’t belong.”
“She keeps what?”
“You know, flicking off pieces of lint, things like that. She’s a very hands-on president.”
Ellie laughed. “That sounds…”
“Strange. I know. I’m thinking of starting an international incident over it. We let the French start trespassing over our borders, the next thing you know we’ll be eating horses and aubergines.”
“But I hear they have very good…cake.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not as good as the cake at the White House.”
There was silence on the line, a silence filled with images of cake and blushes and completely inappropriate flirting. Adam cleared his throat. “I’ll be blowing this joint early. Skip the meeting with Japan’s PM. He’ll understand; he has kids.”
“You don’t have to. She’s fine…”
He ignored her. “I should be getting into Andrews around ten tomorrow night, back at the residence by eleven. Unless there’s traffic.”
She laughed. They both knew Marine One didn’t have to worry about traffic. “I’ll tell Katie.”
“And hey…take some time off. You’ve earned it.”
“Right. I’ll put it on my schedule.”
“See you tomorrow night, Ellie.”
The line went dead, but Adam held the phone to his ear a bit longer. It would keep his aides from hurrying over, ushering him into the next meeting.
He didn’t want the sound of Ellie’s voice to fade just yet. He felt like an infatuated teenager, flirting with a pretty girl during recess.
But this pretty girl was responsible for keeping his daughter safe, and once again, she’d done that. The last thing he should be doing was imagining conversations with her, over a glass of wine and dinner prepared by the White House chef.
“Mr. President, they’re wrapping up and want to hear your thoughts on the proposed agreement.” His foreign policy adviser was looking worried.
“I’ll be right there.”
Adam sighed. Three more years of this, and then he was handing it off to a real politician, someone who actually wanted the job, and the responsibilities—not to mention the headaches—that came with it. By then the political parties would have their act together, and the country wouldn’t suffer from a president who just wanted to concentrate on boinking his daughter’s protective service agent.
Next to him, he could swear Churchill growled a laugh.