39

JERUSALEM, ISRAEL

The advance team landed at 4:41 p.m. and came straight to the embassy.

At six thirty, Marcus and Kailea met them on the upper parking deck and led them inside the compound to a conference room just down the hall from the ambassador’s office, where they had a working dinner of sandwiches, chips, and a variety of cold soft drinks.

To Marcus’s relief, the group was headed by a consummate professional. At fifty-one, Carl Roseboro was the deputy director of the United States Secret Service. A twenty-five-year veteran of the agency, he was also the organization’s highest-ranking African American. Roseboro would be responsible for all the security arrangements for POTUS’s visit to the Holy Land, from his arrival and departure through Ben Gurion International Airport, to his ground transportation, to his overnight accommodations and food and beverage services, to his meetings with the Israeli and Palestinian leaders. He would also, of course, be in charge of designing the plan to protect POTUS during his big speech on the Temple Mount. There was no one Marcus trusted more to protect the president than Roseboro, and he was grateful for the chance to reconnect with the man personally. The last time they’d seen each other was at Lincoln Park Baptist Church during the memorial service for Elena and Lars.

Marcus and Kailea would essentially be assisting Roseboro on all the security planning and arrangements while also keeping an eye out for any specific needs or concerns that Secretary of State Whitney and National Security Advisor Evans might have, since these two were also coming and fell under the responsibility of the Diplomatic Security Service.

The rest of the team members were mostly new to Marcus. But they seemed to know what they were doing, and he liked them from the moment they all met. Among them were the director of the White House Office of Presidential Advance, a rep from the White House Press Office, and another guy Marcus knew.

Noah Daniels, thirty-four, ostensibly worked as a staffer from the White House Communications office. He was responsible for ensuring that the president and his senior aides had safe and secure phone lines and data links back to the White House, the Pentagon, and all intelligence and other national security offices. In truth, however, Noah worked for the CIA. That’s where Marcus had met him and been told that there was no system he couldn’t hack or crash. Marcus saw a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes when they shook hands. For the time being, however, they acted as if they were meeting for the first time.

The group spent much of the evening discussing the latest intel from the Saudis. Yet no one was talking about why the president’s trip should be scrapped. Not even Roseboro.

Why not? Marcus wondered. Had the man lost his mind? Or was he just waiting for the right moment to tell the bigwigs in Washington that the idea of bringing POTUS to Jerusalem in this threat-filled environment was certifiable?

Marcus had known and admired this man for years. Today he couldn’t read him. But rather than speak up, he decided the best course of action was to sleep on his fears and see what tomorrow held.