Hostage (16 page)

‘Is this your first time in the
States?’ asked President Mendez, dropping a lump of sugar into his drink.

Connor nodded. ‘But I like what
I’ve seen so far.’

‘And what would that be?’ asked
Dirk.

‘Well, the White House. It’s
certainly well protected,’ replied Connor and, wanting to impress, added,
‘Snipers, bullet-resistant glass, hidden cameras, infra-red sensors …’

The general raised a wry eyebrow in
Dirk’s direction. ‘The boy’s done his research.’

‘In fact, I was surprised I
wasn’t searched on arrival,’ finished Connor.

The President looked to his director for an
explanation of this apparent lapse in security.

‘That’s because you were scanned
discreetly as you passed through the lobby,’ explained Dirk. ‘You
don’t know
all
our security measures, young man. No one ever
does.’

‘Sometimes not even the President
himself!’ laughed President Mendez, putting down his coffee cup. ‘President
Eisenhower once said, “America is best described by one word: freedom.” And
that is true. But Thomas Jefferson, our third President and Founding Father, also
observed that “the price of freedom is eternal vigilance”. Unfortunately, in
this day and age, vigilance isn’t only a byword, it’s a way of life.
Especially for the President and the First Family. We need constant, round-the-clock
protection from the Secret Service.’

He sighed, the weight of office momentarily
seeming a burden rather than an honour.

‘This can be hard to live with, day
in, day out. Which is why my daughter has taken exception to such imposing protection.
And why Buddyguard’s services have been requested.’

No longer able to contain the burning
question that had been on his mind ever since his selection, Connor put down his
un-drunk cup of coffee and asked, ‘Why did you choose
me
?’

President Mendez clasped his hands almost as
if in prayer. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. Your father saved my
life.’

Connor’s jaw dropped. ‘
When?
How?
’

The President sat back, surprised at his
reaction. ‘Has no one ever told you this?’

‘No,’ admitted Connor. ‘I
was just told my dad was killed in an ambush in Iraq and that he died a hero.’

‘That’s correct. He gave his
life to rescue
me
.’

The President then recounted his trip to Iraq
six years previously as US Ambassador. How the British and American forces were working
together to secure peace and that an SAS detachment had been assigned to help protect
high-profile visiting diplomats. He spoke with passion about his miraculous escape from
the attack on their convoy and how Connor’s father had risked all to ensure his
safety.

Connor listened rapt. This was the first
time he’d heard the details of his father’s heroic act. But it now explained
the Soldier’s Medal – the one embossed with the American Eagle – that was among
the possessions his mother kept in the ‘memory box’. She’d always been
too distraught to talk about his father’s death, and as he’d grown older
he’d stopped asking about it. But, at last, he knew the whole story.

As the President came to the end, he slid a
small scratched key fob across the coffee table to Connor.

‘I kept this to remind myself of the
true meaning of sacrifice,’ he explained. ‘To ensure that I lived a life of
sacrifice for my country as their President. Your father held this in his hand as he
died. And now I return it to you.’

Connor stared down at his father’s
talisman. From beneath the plastic, a picture of a familiar eight-year-old boy smiled up
at him.

‘In my eyes, Justin Reeves was a very
courageous, loyal and noble soldier,’ said President Mendez earnestly. ‘And
you have his blood running through your veins. Which is why I’d only trust my
daughter’s life with a Reeves buddyguard.’

Connor was speechless, choked with emotion and
grief at the account of his father’s selfless bravery.

Seeing the impact his words had, the
President said, ‘I’ll perfectly understand if you feel you can’t
accept this role, Connor.’ His expression was kindly and sincere, yet at the same
time hopeful. ‘But I would sleep more soundly in my bed knowing Alicia is truly
safe – not only protected by the Secret Service, but by you.’

Connor stared at the key fob. His
dad’s
key fob. Losing a father was a pain no one should have to bear.
But, in his father’s case, could it possibly be deemed ‘worth it’?
He’d saved the life of a man who went on to become the President of the United
States. A leader who was being hailed as a new dawn for America, according to what
Connor had read about him. A visionary who could steer the country to peace and
prosperity. And all this was possible
only
because of his father. Connor felt
an immense sense of pride in him.

Gripping the key fob in his hand, Connor
said, ‘I can assure you, Mr President, I’ll do my best to protect your
daughter.’

‘That’s all I ask of
anyone,’ replied President Mendez, smiling warmly.

‘Now, Connor, remember your assignment
is to be kept confidential,’ explained the White House Chief of Staff.
‘Aside from us in this room, a few key Secret Service agents and the First Lady,
no one will know your true purpose.’

‘And Alicia, of course?’ added
Connor.

Dirk intervened, ‘No, you’ll be
introduced to her later as
a special guest of the President on an
exchange programme. The White House have done such exchanges before so it won’t
raise suspicion.’

‘So Alicia won’t know I’m
guarding her?’ queried Connor.

‘Hopefully not,’ replied the
President. ‘With any luck, she’ll think she’s looking after
you
.’

‘Over ten thousand death threats a year
are made against the President and his family,’ stated Dirk Moran, as he led
Connor down another windowless and indistinguishable corridor.

After his meeting with President Mendez,
Connor had been driven with the director to an unmarked building in downtown DC.
Although it looked like any other office in the street, it actually housed the
headquarters of the Secret Service. Having been issued with a security pass, Connor was
then escorted by the director deep into the labyrinthian complex.

‘That’s
thirty
potential attacks every day,’ Dirk emphasized in a grave tone. ‘Each and
every one has to be investigated.’ They passed a busy office to their left.
‘In there, our Intelligence Division are tasked with differentiating between those
who make threats and those capable of carrying out such threats. Then the agency’s
job is to prevent any viable threat becoming a full-blown attack.’

They came to an unmarked door and the
director stopped.

‘Before we go any further,
Connor,’ he said, his expression hardening, ‘I need you to understand
something.’

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dirk pulled
out a slim black leather wallet.

‘Our mandate is to
Protect the
man. Protect the symbol. Protect the office
. And the Secret Service’s
Presidential Protective Division is the last line of defence,’ he explained.

With a flick, he snapped the wallet open in
front of Connor’s face. Inside was a golden badge with an eagle on the top. At its
centre was the American Stars and Stripes, the miniature flag surrounded by a
five-pointed star. Above and below the star were emblazoned the words
UNITED
STATES SECRET SERVICE
.

‘This badge represents years of
training, dedication and experience in the service of the President. As the Director of
the Secret Service, I do
not
gamble with the lives of the First Family.’
His voice was taut with barely constrained fury. ‘And no young upstart – whose
only qualifications are a few weeks’ training and a bodyguard for a father – will
jeopardize our mission!’

Connor was taken aback by the unexpected
tirade. ‘If you don’t want me here, why did you invite me in the first
place?’

‘I didn’t,’ replied Dirk
through clenched teeth as he pocketed his badge. ‘I consider you a liability. But
I have to obey the President’s wishes. Be warned, though, if you make a
single
mistake that compromises the safety of the First Daughter,
you’ll be flying home quicker than you can say “Secret Service”. Do I
make myself clear?’

Although intimidated by the man’s
hostility, Connor
was determined to prove the director’s
assumptions wrong. ‘Perfectly clear.’

‘Good. Point made,’ said Dirk,
regaining his professional composure and offering a thin smile. ‘Now if
you’re to work alongside us, you need to know
how
we work.’

Sliding a key card through an electronic
slot, he pushed open the door to reveal a large room humming with state-of-the-art
equipment. There were wall-to-wall monitors, two massive overhead screens, a digital
banner displaying a constant flow of live data, and several black cubicles, each with
their own terminal and communications port. A small team of agents worked quietly and
efficiently, processing the incoming information.

‘The Joint Operations Centre,’
declared Dirk with some pride. ‘This is where we track the movements of the
President and the First Family. It contains information so sensitive that only a select
few are allowed access. So feel privileged.’

Following the director inside, Connor passed
a row of monitors displaying multiple views of a familiar white building and large
garden. Two men were stationed at desks, analysing the images.

‘The White House is under constant
surveillance,’ explained Dirk. ‘Every entrance, every approach and every
exit are covered. Even the air around the White House is monitored twenty-four hours a
day.’

They headed over to the first cubicle. The
agent manning the desk nodded respectfully at the director. ‘Sir.’

‘Agent Greenaway here is responsible for
tracking the First Lady.’

The agent gestured towards a street map
displayed on his screen. A green dot traced a route along one of the roads. ‘The
First Lady often goes on diplomatic and humanitarian trips abroad,’ Greenaway
explained. ‘Her car has just left the hotel and is heading south-east on the
Champs-Élysées in Paris.’

A message flashed up on the monitor:

Connor gave the agent a questioning look.
‘Is “Nightowl” her call sign?’

The agent nodded. ‘To maintain secrecy
with radio communications, all the First Family are assigned code names.’

‘What are the others?’ asked
Connor.

‘Code names are kept
confidential,’ said Dirk pointedly. ‘If and when the press get wind of them,
they’re changed with immediate effect.’

‘But surely I need to know them in
case I have to report any problems?’

Dirk gave a begrudging nod. ‘I suppose
so. Currently President Mendez is known as “Ninja”, for his love of old
martial arts movies. The First Lady is “Nightowl”, because she stays up
late. And Alicia’s call sign is “Nomad”.’

‘
Nomad?
’ repeated
Connor.

‘Well, she’s always wandering
off!’ laughed Agent Greenaway.

The director cut short the agent’s
amusement with a sharp disciplinary look.

‘We’ve also given you a call
sign, Connor,’ Dirk revealed.

‘Really?’ said Connor, looking
hopeful.

‘Yes, to reflect your role in our
operation.’

‘What is it?’

‘Bandit,’ he replied with a
smirk.

Connor was coming to realize that, while
Dirk wouldn’t actively prevent him from doing his job, he certainly wouldn’t
be helping him either. He’d have to tread very carefully with the director if he
was going to succeed in this operation.

Dirk directed him over to a central bank of
monitors. ‘In the event of a crisis, the standard operating procedure is to ensure
every protectee is moved quickly and safely to a secure site – a safe house. These will
depend upon your location at the time of the crisis.’ He pointed to one of the
screens. ‘This is a feed from the National Terrorism Advisory System. It’s a
two-tier alert listing credible threats. These are either classified as
Elevated
or
Imminent
and are accompanied by a summary of the
threat and the actions recommended to be taken. Along with the information from the
Intelligence Division, this dictates our protection protocol for the First
Family.’

Connor studied the scrolling list of alerts.
‘There seem a lot of them.’

‘We’ve al-Qaeda to thank for
that,’ replied the director
bitterly. ‘Although America
has dealt with terrorism throughout its history, 9/11 changed everything. We’re
now up against a modern strain of the threat, one that has no boundaries. Attacks can be
violent, indiscriminate and crippling. It’s very hard to defend against an enemy
who lives by the code “The Gates of Paradise are under the shadows of the
swords”.’