SEVEN FEET BELOW the Oval Office—I’m morbidly curious about how the conversation up there is going—I go to my desk, sit down, and just put my head in my hands.
A few moments pass, and then I get to work.
No time to waste.
The other agents studiously ignore me, as I find an empty cardboard box and two plastic grocery bags and slowly and carefully start packing up my personal belongings, putting them in, hating each second, but knowing it has to be done.
The door to W-17 opens and my deputy, Scotty, walks in, sees what I’m doing, and comes over and sits down next to my desk.
“Boss,” he says.
“Scotty,” I reply.
I reach over my desk, pick up one of my last mementos, the carved-wood sign made by Amelia, SALLY GRISSOM, AWESOME AGENT, though I don’t feel very awesome at the moment.
“Pretty quiet there, Scotty.”
He doesn’t say a word.
“I’m wondering why you’re not asking me why I left you behind at my sister’s place and borrowed her car to take the First Lady over to that homeless shelter.”
Scotty says quietly, “You probably had your reasons.”
“Good reasons,” I say. “Let’s not play around, okay? Show me some respect. I’ve seen the phone records. Just tell me…what did Hoyt promise you?”
My deputy’s jaw clenches, unclenches, and there’s probably a little battle going on, about what to say next, and Scotty says, “Your job. Plus a great career down the road at his company.”
I nod. “Not thirty pieces of silver, I guess, but it’ll do. And now’s the time for me to ask, why?”
A slight shrug. “Nothing personal, boss. I did three tours overseas. I’m ex-Ranger. I’ve done things that you could only have nightmares about…and I’m supposed to be bossed around by a former Metro and Virginia state cop? A woman?” Another slight shrug. “Not acceptable.”
I keep my anger and outrage under control. “All right, thanks for telling me that.”
I open my drawer, rummage around, don’t see anything personal in there, and I say, “My sister also told me you were restless last night, getting up a few times, like you were trying to sneak through the living room and come upstairs to where CANARY was sleeping. But my sister sure is a light sleeper, isn’t she?”
Scotty doesn’t respond. I give the drawer one last look, close it, and look up. Scotty is still there.
“Well?” I say. “Is there anything else?”
Now he finally looks uncomfortable. “Um, well, what now?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” I say. “I’m ending my employment with the Secret Service and Homeland Security, effective…in about ten minutes. Upstairs I believe the President is in the middle of dismissing his chief of staff. At some point there may or may not be a congressional investigation, depending on how this election turns out. But I’m certain there’ll be some sort of internal and confidential Secret Service review as to what the hell went on here during the past few days. If not, an anonymous phone call to Homeland Security’s Office of the Inspector General will certainly get things moving.”
He stays quiet.
“In the meantime, Scotty, you’re going to get what you want, to be in charge of the Presidential Protective Division.” I gently place Amelia’s sign into the top of the crowded box.
I force myself to smile. “Enjoy it while you can.”