Power and Empire

While Ryan respected the entire agency, the SAIC and the principal detail agents who worked within arm’s reach—“inside the bubble,” they called it — were the best of the best. PPD agents didn’t have to be large in stature — but they did have to be extremely good at their job. From all accounts, Gary Montgomery was both. It said something about the man that he now stood in Ryan’s office with a gun under his suitcoat. Not many people in the world got to do that. The file said his range scores were near perfect with both his SIG Sauer pistol and the MP5 SMG. There was a lightness to the way he stood, with his large hands hanging easily at his sides, as if he knew right where they were if he needed them. The bio said he’d boxed at the University of Michigan, so it made sense that he would be self-assured. Still, it would take months to develop the relationship Ryan had with Joe O’Hearn. And the level of understanding shared between him and Andrea Price-O’Day — forget about it.

“Welcome to the Big Show,” Ryan said, referring to what the agents themselves called PPD. His eyes narrowed as he studied the new addition to his detail. “We’ve met before…”

Montgomery possessed a disarming smile for such a ferocious-looking man. “I was warned you had an incredible memory, Mr. President.”

“So we have met?”

“Not officially,” Montgomery said. “I served as whip of the VP detail shortly after Special Agent Price-O’Day became SAIC on yours.”

Ryan sighed. Andrea Price-O’Day was one tough human being. She’d picked him up and dusted him off — both figuratively and literally — during his first moments as President. That was what? A million years ago? Not many agents in the Secret Service could say they’d gotten a field promotion from the President to lead PPD — but then, considering the carnage that had led up to that promotion, no one wanted that kind of bragging rights. The longtime agent in charge of his detail, Andrea had retired after injuries sustained protecting him in Mexico City. Ryan was sure Montgomery knew the story.

“The VP detail?” Ryan mused, instead of boring the agent with bloody memories. “The Little Show with free parking.” The Naval Observatory, home to the VPOTUS, offered agents a place to park — something not available to them at the White House.

“You know your Secret Service culture, sir,” Montgomery said.

“Just enough to get me in trouble.” Ryan closed the file folder. “Welcome aboard, Gary.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Montgomery said. “I thought I should stop by and introduce myself before I get started in case you had any questions.”

“You’re not handling the Tokyo advance for the G20?” Ryan asked.

“No, sir,” Montgomery said. “I’ve assigned Assistant Special Agent in Charge Flynn. I thought it more important I stay here and get my feet planted firmly in the detail. It allows me to get to know you and your idiosyncrasies so that I can better prot—”

Ryan’s head snapped up. “I have idiosyncrasies?”

“You do, sir,” Montgomery said.

“Name one.”

Montgomery’s hands hung still and relaxed. He cocked his head to one side. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it.

“For starters,” he said. “You test your agents.”

“This isn’t a test.”

“Of course not, Mr. President.”

Ryan smiled in spite of the pain in his foot. This guy was direct. Direct was good. “Well, maybe it is a test, but it’s a good-natured test. I’m sure we’ll get to know one another well enough.”

“Very well,” Montgomery said, taking that as a dismissal. He paused at the door to the secretaries’ office, then shook his head as if thinking better of something. At least he’d picked the right door; agents had been known to walk into the personal study. “I beg your pardon, Mr. President, but I happened to overhear DNI Foley mention that you might have a bout of plantar fasciitis going on. I don’t know if you are aware of this, sir, but that particular malady is also known as ‘policeman’s foot.’ Protective agents are on our feet for long hours, standing post and whatnot. I feel your pain, Mr. President, and I have some tried-and-true remedies if you’re interested.”

Ryan thought for a moment, then motioned to the leather chairs in front of the Resolute desk and leaned forward, all ears.

This Montgomery guy might work out after all.

7

THREE HOURS EARLIER

Magdalena Rojas leaned her head against the window in the backseat of her pimp’s Chrysler 300 sedan and wondered if tonight might possibly be the beginning of a different chapter in her life.