Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(63)

‘She doesn’t want to talk … or even be anywhere near me.’

‘That was yesterday. Maybe she’s cooled off by now. You need to make amends otherwise you’ll never forgive yourself. Explain to her what it means to be a buddyguard and why you did it. You never know, she might change her mind. And if not, she’ll at least know your intentions were good.’

Connor nodded, knowing Charley was right. He needed closure. He wanted Alicia to know how much her friendship meant to him and that it had been real – not just a part of his job description.





Ending the connection to Charley and leaving his bags on the bed, Connor went to look for the President’s daughter. But she wasn’t in her bedroom. Nor was she in the solarium on the third floor. Nor her favourite getaway – the rooftop terrace. He checked the gym, music room, guest bedrooms and even the linen cupboard. But to no avail.

Spotting a passing Secret Service agent, he asked if he’d seen her.

The agent shook his head. ‘Sorry, not part of my detail today.’

‘Do you happen to know if she’s gone out?’

‘No idea,’ replied the agent. ‘But I can check for you.’

The agent radioed in his request. A minute later, he received a response. ‘No, not according to her schedule,’ he repeated.

‘Thanks,’ said Connor, racking his brains to think where she might be.

He headed to the ground floor, reasoning the library would be as good a place as any to escape unwanted company. He passed a tour group on the stairs making their way up from the State Floor. A few glanced curiously in his direction, but most were gazing in awe at the grand staircase with its glass-cut chandelier and portraits of twentieth-century presidents from Truman to Nixon.

Alicia wasn’t in the library. But that was no surprise to Connor now he’d discovered the White House was open to tour groups that day. Thinking of all the other places she might be, he tried the cinema, the dining room, then the bowling alley. He looked everywhere he was permitted to go. As the general staff weren’t aware of his dismissal yet, none questioned his movement through the White House.

Growing more concerned as to Alicia’s whereabouts, Connor went outside to search the grounds. Aside from the expected roaming patrols, the tennis and basketball courts were deserted. So too were the putting green and children’s garden. He asked one of the sentry agents if he’d seen Alicia.

‘Negative,’ he replied.

On Connor’s urging, he radioed the other patrols.

‘None of the gates report that she’s left the premises. Have you checked the swimming pool? Otherwise, she’s probably inside the main residence.’

‘Of course, the swimming pool!’ said Connor, hurrying off.

But Alicia wasn’t there either.

Connor finally decided to call her on his mobile. He hadn’t tried before since he doubted she’d answer when his number came up. His assumption had been right. His call was diverted straight to voicemail:  ‘Hi, you’ve reached me! If you’re calling  this number, you know who I am. So leave a message after the beep …’

‘Hi, it’s Connor, I want to apologize for …’ He hated answer machines and couldn’t think of what to say that wouldn’t sound crass or pathetic. ‘Look, just ring me back.’ He ended the call.

At this point he was on the verge of giving up. Then Connor remembered the tracking device that was planted in Alicia’s phone cover. For emergency use only, Amir had said. Connor judged that ‘Principal missing’ qualified as an emergency. Unlocking his mobile, he pressed the green target icon. The phone froze and he had to reboot. But on the second attempt the Tracker app popped up on the screen.

The map zeroed in on Washington DC and his green locator flashed steadily beside the swimming pool. Almost immediately a reassuring red dot appeared within the White House. He zoomed in closer.

Alicia was in the Lincoln Bedroom.

He must have just missed her in his earlier search. The Tracker app outlined the quickest route. Connor hurried back inside and upstairs to the second floor.

Entering the plushly furnished room, he called out, ‘Alicia?’

There was no answer.

‘Alicia! Are you there?’ said Connor as he wandered round the room. He checked the adjoining bathroom, opened the walk-in wardrobe, and even looked under the bed. But she was nowhere to be found.

Connor rechecked the Tracker app. It had frozen again. He tapped the screen, but the phone was obviously malfunctioning.

‘So much for Amir’s “showpiece”,’ he muttered, rebooting and dialling his friend’s mobile number.

After four long-distance rings, Amir answered. ‘Connor! Are you all right? I heard the assignment’s nosedived.’

‘Yeah,’ replied Connor. ‘It’s not good. But I can’t find Alicia to apologize and your super smartphone keeps glitching. The Tracker app won’t work.’

‘Really?’ said Amir, surprised. ‘It’s probably an I-D-eight user problem.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll translate – an i-d-iot user problem.’

‘Ha ha,’ said Connor, ‘but I’m not in the mood for jokes.’

‘Sorry, bud, I’ll get Bugsy to take a look,’ he replied. ‘We can remote access it from here. It may take a while to fix, though. I’ll give you a call when it’s finished. Just don’t switch off your phone.’