Hostage (18 page)

‘Well … you are the President’s
daughter.’

‘True, but I’m not
royalty!’

Connor’s cheeks flushed a little with
embarrassment at his mistake in etiquette.

President Mendez glanced between them both
and waited for either to say more. When neither did, he prompted, ‘Well, now that
you’ve met, I suggest, Alicia, you give Connor a tour of our home.’

Alicia nodded dutifully.

President Mendez turned to Connor and shook
his hand. ‘Sorry I can’t join you. I have to get back to running the
country! But I do hope all goes well during your stay with us,’ he said, shooting
Connor a knowing wink.

‘Thank you, Mr President,’
Connor replied as the great man took his leave, the two agents remaining behind.

Once her father was gone, there was a moment
of awkward silence. Connor exchanged a strained smile with Alicia as they each sought
for something to say.

Then Alicia began. ‘So … this is the
Diplomatic Reception Room.’

Her hand swept round the decorated
walls.

‘Ermm … Jacqueline Kennedy had this
pictorial wallpaper put up in the sixties. That’s Niagara Falls over there … New
York Bay … Boston Harbor. And this old fireplace is where President F. D. Roosevelt
broadcast his famous fireside chats.’

Connor nodded politely. While he’d
never heard of Roosevelt or his broadcasts, he was more than happy for Alicia to take
him on a guided tour, since it gave him the opportunity to get to know her. As a
bodyguard, it was important to quickly assess a Principal’s character and manner
so that one could work efficiently and agreeably with them.

‘In the past, this room housed a
furnace and boiler,’ she explained, ‘and before that it was used by servants
for polishing the silver.’

Maintaining the formality of the occasion,
Alicia guided him next door to the China Room and showed him its priceless displays of
ivory and burnished gold china. Next, they moved on to the Vermeil Room with its
extensive collection of silver-gilt tableware; the wooden-panelled Library with its
unusual lighthouse clock; and, to Connor’s great surprise, a bowling alley in the
basement. Then they climbed the Grand Staircase up to the State Floor. The first
point of call was the East Room – a magnificent ceremonial hall with
long gilded drapes, a marble fireplace and antique glass chandeliers hanging above a
Steinway grand piano. As they traipsed through the furniture displays in the Green, Blue
and Red Rooms, Connor was struggling to maintain his interest. Impressive as the White
House was, there was only so much antiquity and artwork he could take.

Alicia noticed his eyes glazing over and
stopped talking.

‘Sorry,’ said Connor, attempting
to stifle a yawn. ‘Must be jet lag.’

But, rather than take offence, Alicia
grinned at him. ‘Shall we skip the boring bits?’

Connor nodded eagerly. ‘If you
don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ she said, visibly
relaxing in his presence. ‘To be honest, I hate doing these official tours. I just
thought that was what you expected as an official guest.’

‘No, I’d prefer to do what
you
want,’ Connor replied.

‘Cool,’ said Alicia, smiling.
‘Then I hope you don’t scare easily!’

‘You mean, he could be watching us
right now
?’ said Connor, unnerved by Alicia’s story. The two of
them had headed for the infamous Lincoln Bedroom on the second floor. He scanned the
room and looked out through the window at the slowly setting sun.

Alicia nodded, her face drawn into a mask of
fright. ‘Don’t you feel his
presence
?’ Her voice was almost a
whisper, her dark eyes wide as she pointed a trembling finger towards the door. ‘I
think … that’s him …’

Connor could see a faint shadow moving along
the narrow gap at the foot of the wooden door. Silently, he crept across the plush
emerald-green carpet. His fingers clasped the brass handle; it was cool to the touch.
The movement outside ceased. With a quick twist, Connor yanked the door open and a
startled Secret Service agent leapt away in shock.

‘That’s not Abraham
Lincoln’s ghost!’ Connor exclaimed with a grin.

Alicia laughed as the agent recovered his
wits. ‘No, but it could have been. Over the years, numerous sightings
have been recorded. President Reagan’s first daughter said she
saw Lincoln standing at that window peering out across the lawn. Harry Truman, the
thirty-third President, once wrote in a letter that he heard footsteps up and down the
hallway at night, as well as knocking on his door, when no one was there. Winston
Churchill even refused to sleep in this room after coming face-to-face with
Lincoln’s ghost. The White House is
definitely
haunted.’

‘Aren’t you scared?’ asked
Connor.

‘A little,’ admitted Alicia.
‘But he’s a friendly ghost … I think.’

Connor examined a holograph copy of the
Gettysburg Address, President Lincoln’s most well-known speech, displayed on a
desk by the window. ‘It must be amazing to live in the White House,’ he
remarked.

Alicia smiled proudly. ‘Yes, and the
Mendez family are now part of its history.’

Then she lowered her voice to a
conspiratorial whisper so that the Secret Service agent wouldn’t overhear outside
in the hallway. ‘But, to be honest, Connor, sometimes I hate it. It’s a
museum, not a home. I’m almost too scared to touch something in case I break it!
And thousands of people come through the house on tours every month. It’s not like
I can leave my things anywhere I want.’

She glanced towards the agent.

‘And there’s no privacy either.
A Secret Service agent is stationed in almost every room. Sometimes I think
they’re
the ghosts – haunting my every step.’

Connor smiled sympathetically. ‘It
must be hard,’ he
said. Although he realized that if anyone was
a ghost, then
he
was – as her secret buddyguard.

‘You don’t know the half of it.
It’s like living in a cross between a reform school and a convent!’ She
laughed weakly at her comparison. ‘Just going to meet my friends in a coffee shop
is a mission in itself. Literally
anything
I want to do outside the White House
requires advanced planning by the Secret Service.’

Alicia sighed, then shrugged in a
what-can-you-do-about-it way.

‘Sorry, you don’t want to be
hearing all this,’ she said, perching herself on the end of the Lincoln bed.

‘No, it’s fine,’ replied
Connor.

‘It’s just I don’t often
have many people my own age around here and … you seem pretty easy to get along with. I
do realize how fortunate I am. I mean, the White House has its own cinema, bowling alley
and swimming pool. And I get to meet some truly amazing people – kings and queens, heads
of state, famous musicians and movie stars! I have to pinch myself at times. I once even
met the Dalai Lama. He told me,
Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from
your own actions
.’ Alicia quickly cheered at the thought. ‘And
there are a
few
rooms in the White House where I can be left alone. Come on,
I’ll show you my favourite.’

She led Connor out of the Lincoln Bedroom
and up the stairs to the third floor, the agent discreetly following behind. This level,
as Connor already knew, was where the First Family relaxed and also where the guest
bedrooms were housed, a maid having shown him to his room earlier.

As they turned left up a ramped hallway, the
agent stopped shadowing them. The two of them entered the solarium, a private chill-out
space with comfy sofas and glass walls that offered unbroken views of the Washington
skyline.

‘Welcome to the fishbowl!’
announced Alicia. ‘This is about as free as it gets.’

Opening a patio door, she stepped out on to
the rooftop terrace. She took a deep breath and opened her arms.

‘FREEDOM!’ she cried.

But Connor only saw the high stone
balustrade that shielded the terrace and solarium from general view. Glancing up at the
apex of the roof, he caught a brief glimpse of a black-uniformed sniper. Then he peered
between the thick white pillars of the balustrade at the expanse of south lawn. From his
vantage point, he could spy the Secret Service agents patrolling the grounds and the
boundary fence where swarms of tourists gathered in the hope of spotting the First
Family.

Connor began to understand Alicia’s
plight. The White House was as much a prison as a home. No wonder she was desperate to
escape the perpetual shadow of the Secret Service. She was like a bird trapped in a
gilded cage.

Connor had never arrived at school in such
style. Cushioned by soft leather seats and comforted in air-conditioned luxury, he and
Alicia were driven through the Washington downtown traffic right up to the steps of
Montarose School’s main building. After a brief surveillance sweep by Secret
Service, the limo doors unlocked and he and Alicia were ushered from the car like movie
stars.

‘We’ll collect you at 1500
hours,’ said the broad-shouldered agent with a courteous smile.

‘As always, Kyle,’ Alicia
replied, waving him goodbye.

Kyle, as Connor had discovered, was the
primary bodyguard in the First Daughter’s protection team. He was also one of the
few select agents to be aware of Connor’s role – and, surprisingly, the most
receptive to it. Upon being introduced, Kyle had taken the time to explain the
team’s key security procedures and action-on drills. He’d even covered
details such as the small hexagonal lapel badges all Secret Service agents wore. These
were a security measure; their colour routinely changed to reduce the likelihood of
infiltration by an outsider.

As Connor stepped from the limo, Kyle gave him
a subtle nod as if to say,
Over to you now
.

Connor knew he wasn’t being left
entirely alone in his close-protection duties. The grounds of the private school were
security-patrolled and cordoned off with high fences. Also the Secret Service agents
would be stationed just a short distance away throughout the day. But, that said,
Alicia’s immediate safety was now in his hands.

Connor followed Alicia up the steps into the
main foyer. The corridors were packed with students.

‘Alicia!’ cried a voice and
three girls came running over, just as Connor finished signing in at reception.

They all embraced and kissed each
other’s cheeks.

An African American girl with a bundle of
frizzy hair and a diamond-white smile glanced over Alicia’s shoulder. ‘Is
that the English boy you were talking about last night?’

Alicia nodded.

‘Cute,’ she whispered to her
friends and they giggled.

Connor offered an embarrassed smile.
‘Hi there.’

‘Oooh,’ sighed a girl with
cheerleader looks and long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. ‘Say something
else.’

Connor frowned in puzzlement. ‘Like
what?’

‘Anything.’

Connor shrugged. ‘It’s nice to
meet you. What’s your name?’

The girl clapped her hands in delight.
‘I just
love
that English accent,’ she cooed. ‘I’m
Paige. You can talk to me like that all day.’

‘And I’m Grace,’ said the
black girl, dazzling him with her smile.

Alicia urged her other friend forward.
‘This is Kalila,’ she said, introducing an Arab girl with olive skin and
almond eyes, who wore a light purple hijab headscarf.

‘Hello,’ she said, her voice
soft as a breeze.

‘Hi,’ replied Connor. ‘Are
you all in Alicia’s class?’

The girls nodded.

‘Connor’s joining our class for
the rest of term,’ explained Alicia.

‘Cool!’ said Grace. ‘You
can sit next to
me
.’

Alicia’s eyes flashed her friend a
good-natured warning. ‘Connor can sit where he wants.’

‘But there’s a spare seat right
beside me,’ replied Grace innocently.

Connor looked to Alicia. ‘Erm, where
will you be sitting?’

‘I’d be right in front of
you.’