Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(33)
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.’