Oath of Office

Three would work night shift — a basically static post that did little but watch the condominium — while the other nine agents would work days, shadowing the senator wherever she went.

He’d chosen agents who lived near or inside the Beltway. Some of them lived within a few miles of one another, though their schedules made it so they hardly ever crossed paths. The Secret Service was a small agency, and most knew one another, or at the very least had friends in common. There was a certain amount of “smoking and joking” as the detail came together and people caught up on one another’s lives.

Montgomery held the first briefing at the nondescript orange brick building on H Street that was Secret Service Headquarters. He’d been honest with everyone, including the lawyer who sat at the end of the long conference table.

“There has been no articulated threat,” he said.

“Yeah,” Mike Ayers said. “Not to be indelicate, but have you listened to the senator? I’m sure she’s got a million people who hate her ever-lovin’ guts. Sorry boss, just saying what everyone is already thinking. It’s the ones who don’t make a loud fuss who we have to worry about.”

The whip-smart supervisory agent from WFO was a natural choice as Montgomery’s second-in-command.

“I hear you, Mike,” Montgomery said. “But let’s not say it outside these walls.”

“Copy that, boss,” Ayers said.

“One more thing,” Montgomery said before everyone deployed to their various assignments. “Normally, we protect from harm or embarrassment. I don’t give a shit about embarrassment, but the senator must not be harmed. If you see something brewing, shut it down immediately. If you can do it without her making you, so much the better — but I don’t want you to get caught up in that.”

* * *

The evening turned out comfortably warm, considering what Elizaveta Bobkova had in mind. A low sun behind the hotels and office buildings of Arlington threw Crystal Drive and much of the fountain park across the street into shadow. Bobkova settled back in the park with a half-dozen other people sitting on benches. Most of them probably lived in one of the many nearby apartments adjacent to Reagan National Airport. Some looked like they’d just finished running on the Mount Vernon Trail, others were just out to soak up a pleasant evening. If they stayed around long enough, it would prove to be an evening they would never forget. If Chadwick stayed an hour and a half, she’d be out at about sunset, which Bobkova thought would be just about perfect.

Morton’s was directly across the Potomac from D.C. proper via the Fourteenth Street Bridge, so she wouldn’t have been surprised to see any number of Washington glitterati. The eateries around Crystal City were favorite places to lobby, be lobbied, solicit funds, or request favors for funds that had already been solicited. It was a dirty business, politics. Dirtier even than espionage, Bobkova thought, so one might as well conduct it over a nice meal.

She’d not been surprised when Chadwick showed up with someone other than her callow aide. Fite was there, but as a driver, not a date. He dropped the senator and her dining partner off in front of the restaurant, and then sped away in her black BMW X5, heading south, presumably to wait until he was called to pick them up again. A happy convenience. The routine would almost surely be repeated in reverse, with Fite pulling up to the curb in front of the restaurant, and Chadwick slowing for just a moment as she got in the waiting vehicle, allowing Gorev the chance to strike.

Tonight the senator was meeting with a strapping lumberjack of a lobbyist for a large pharmaceutical company. Bobkova could not remember his name, but she recognized his bearded face from more than one of the many Washington cocktail parties that everyone loved to whine about but no one wanted to miss.

Both Chadwick and the lobbyist had checked their watches between the BMW and the restaurant, making it a good bet that each had another commitment after dinner.

“Any minute now,” Bobkova spoke softly into the tiny microphone clipped inside the lapel of her blouse. Chatting quietly to one’s self on a park bench did not see seem quite as bizarre as it had been before the advent of mobile phones.

Both men acknowledged. Pugin from a bench inside the underground mall across from the small post office. His post gave him a vantage point to make certain Chadwick and the lobbyist didn’t decide to take the interior exit and go for a walk in the underground without anyone knowing it. The double glass doors gave him a clear view of the street as well and he was close enough to render assistance if Gorev needed it.