“Yeah.”
“You worried?”
Gatwick scanned the Oklahoma City skyline surrounding the memorial complex. “I don’t think it’s worrisome. Weird. But not worrisome.”
“He’s always played point man for presidential appearances in the past.”
“Because he wants to, not because he has to. He knows he can trust us.”
Zimmer subtly stepped forward, adjusting his gaze ever so slightly to examine a Middle Eastern-looking woman wearing an overcoat about three people deep behind the rope. An overcoat on a warm Oklahoma City spring day? That was more than enough to raise his suspicion. He whispered into his sleeve, sending three agents to check her out. “So you think that’s it? He’s decided he can let the little birds fly free?”
Gatwick shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Maybe he got tied up in some Senate meeting. It’s happened before.”
“Congressional oversight of Homeland Security was a big mistake.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, bro.”
Beyond the rope, Zimmer saw his agents approach the woman in the overcoat and quietly search her and run a metal detector over her body. Through his sleeve receiver, he heard the result. She was clean. Claimed she had some weird disease that lowered her body temperature. Like some kind of human lizard-she was cold even when the sun was shining. Still, Zimmer told them to take down her name and address.
Returning his attention to his partner, he noticed that Gatwick was scrutinizing the first lady.
“I don’t like where we’ve got her,” Gatwick said flatly.
“Who? Juliet?”
“Right. Too close to Samson.”
“She’s to the right and two feet back. Exactly where Samson likes her. So when the cameras shoot him from their assigned station, she can be seen in the background beaming at him with adoring eyes.”
The tiniest of smiles cracked Gatwick’s stoic facade. “I’m moving her.”
“What? Why?”
He tucked his head forward in a quick and almost imperceptible nod. “Only skyscrapers in range are to the south. She doesn’t need to be in the potential line of fire.”
“Don’t we have snipers up there?”
“Yeah. But still-I’m moving her.”
Agent Zimmer’s brow creased. “I thought it was agreed-Domino Bravo.”
“I’m making a slight alteration.”
“Don’t you think you should get approval first?”
“From who? Marshall’s out.”
“Then Deputy Director Lehman.”
Gatwick bristled. “I’m in charge, at least on site.” He whispered a few terse commands into his sleeve. “I’m just moving her to the other side of the stage. What difference can it make?”
Zimmer exhaled slowly. “I suppose it can’t hurt anything.”
“Course not.” At the front of the stage, two agents carried out their new instructions. “This is Oklahoma City, for God’s sake. What could happen?”
Ben was pleased to see the first lady move to his side of the stage. He was a good deal more comfortable around her than her husband. He knew in his heart that the only difference between the two was one of methodology, not purpose. Still, when she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but feel she was sincere, even when his brain told him not to be so naive.
She leaned back toward Ben, smiling. “So where did you two go on your honeymoon?”
Mike covered his mouth.
“Uh…here.”
The first lady gave him a long look. “Your bride must love you very much.”
Ben fingered his collar uncomfortably. “Something like that.”
The governor of the state of Oklahoma, the same man who had appointed Ben to replace Senator Glancy, was the first to speak. He made several gracious remarks, commented on how lovely the first lady looked, then toned down his smile to establish the appropriate gravitas for the commemorative service to follow. “As Oklahomans, we are a proud and stubborn lot, Boomers and Sooners and settlers and farmers and Native Americans. We will move ever forward, and this gleaming monument is a memorial to our indomitable spirit. But we will never forget.”
The governor singled out a few individuals in the crowd, people who had lost husbands, wives, children. He recognized some of the rescue workers who had displayed such valor on that most horrific of days. And when his predetermined five minutes was completed, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my very great privilege to introduce to you…the president of the United States!”
Thunderous applause greeted President Blake as he made his way to the podium. Ben marveled at the ease with which he moved, despite the fact that so many eyes were bearing down upon him. What a burden-to try to think of something to say on such an occasion. Nothing could ever truly comfort the survivors. Words were simply not enough.
As he watched the president approach the podium, he heard Agent Zimmer, standing just behind him on the left, talking into his sleeve again. “What do you mean? In the Senate building? How is that possible?”
The applause began to ebb. On the opposite end of the raised platform, Ben saw Agent Gatwick talking into his sleeve as well. Several of the agents in the rear were signaling one another.
“No, I don’t understand,” Zimmer whispered. “What has Senator Hammond got to do with Marshall?” There was a pause. All around him, Ben noticed Secret Service agents in motion. “He said what? What does it mean?”
Ben noticed that Mike, sitting beside him, was also observing the sudden increase in activity. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Mike whispered back. “But something’s come up.”
Ben saw Agent Zimmer advance toward the podium. Before he could get close, however, the president began his speech.
“My fellow Americans,” President Blake said, gripping each side of the podium. Although he had recently hit sixty, he looked older. Like all the presidents before him, he had been aged prematurely by the job. His hair was more gray than black; the tiny creases across his forehead had become pronounced; the folds of flesh around his eyes were so intense, his eyes almost seemed sunken. And yet, for all that, he was still a handsome man. His gaze was steady and the timbre of his voice was rich and forceful.
“How appropriate it is that as we stand here today, we can gaze upon the golden gates and read the words so appropriate to the communal spirit we all share.” The president recited the words as many in the audience quietly read with him:
We come here to remember those who were killed,
Those who survived and those changed forever.
May all who leave here know the impact of violence.
May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope, and serenity.
“I ask you,” President Blake said, dabbing his eyes, “were truer words ever written? We know we live in violent times. And yet despite the horrors that sometimes confront us, there is hope, and there is courage. There is the resilience of the American people. There is the nobility that comes from living in a land in which individual rights are our most precious commodities, more so than gold or silver or…”
Only days later did Ben realize that the sound he heard next was not the popping of a lightbulb or the backfire of a passing automobile. The president paused. Had he forgotten his speech? Ben wondered. Impossible-he was reading it off the translucent TelePrompTer before and beneath his podium. Then Ben heard another series of popping noises, as if someone had ignited an entire package of Black Cat firecrackers. Only a microsecond later, when he saw two Secret Service agents diving toward the stage, did he realize what was happening.
“We have fire!” he heard Agent Gatwick shout somewhere behind him. “Emergency response mode-now! I
