The Devil's bed

When Special Agent Jake Russell arrived with the rest of the operations detail, Bo left Annie and headed out to prepare the guesthouse.

Originally a carriage house, the structure had at one time served as the home and the studio for Roland Jorgenson, who’d been a famous metal sculptor. After Roland’s death, the structure was remodeled to accommodate the visitors who journeyed to Wildwood seeking Tom Jorgenson’s counsel. The frequent presence of foreign heads of state necessitated installation of permanent security equipment. Behind the kitchen was an area originally designed as a sunroom, but that had become the Operations Center. Although Tom Jorgenson understood the need for security measures during these high-level visits, he never allowed the devices to be operable at any other time. Part of Bo’s responsibility was to run a check of the system and ensure that every piece of apparatus was functioning properly. He directed some of the agents to check the monitors that were connected to cameras mounted around the building. Jake Russell took part of the team into the orchard to calibrate the sensors of the motion detectors and infrared cameras on the stone wall around the orchards of Wildwood. Bo secured the weapons and the additional equipment in the Op Center lockers. Once the perimeter security system was functioning, he had his team run a test to make sure the signals were firm and all the equipment was transmitting properly.

Near the end of the setup, he received word that the First Lady’s plane had arrived and she was en route to the hospital. Shortly after, a Washington County sheriff’s deputy dropped by to say two officers had been posted at the entrance to Wildwood to control traffic and access from the main road. Media vans were already gathering along the St. Croix Trail. Bo thanked him and did a final check of everything.

He spent another hour preparing before he was satisfied that all was in order. Finally, he stepped out into the yard and stood looking down the orchard lane that Tom Jorgenson always took when he went to watch the moon. At the far end, Bo could see the tractor.

He walked slowly between the rows of trees. The apples were a nice size but still green. The branches sagged, in need of propping. Bo had to walk a crooked line and bend occasionally to make his way. When he reached the idle machine, he circled it, then stood looking back for the branch that had thrown Tom Jorgenson into harm’s way. The most likely candidate was a thick limb a few feet back of the flatbed. It hung low, but not so low, Bo thought, that it couldn’t easily have been avoided. Bo climbed onto the tractor seat, looked back, and confirmed his assessment that if Jorgenson had made the slightest effort, he’d have missed the limb. Bo had known Tom Jorgenson long enough to believe that he was a man with great presence of mind. What could have distracted him? The moon? As he dismounted, he spotted a silver Thermos wedged under the seat. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed. Coffee and-maybe this explained a lot-whiskey.

Bo walked to the edge of the bluff thirty yards in front of the tractor. A sheer sandstone cliff fell fifty feet to a rocky, tree-covered slope that ran down to the St. Croix River. The river was a silver sparkle of sunlight a half-mile wide, edged on both sides by tall, wooded bluffs. Sailboats and power launches skimmed over the water. Bo turned back, stared at the tractor, and wondered about something. He returned to the Kubota and checked the ignition. The key was still there, but the ignition was in the off position. He was pretty sure Tom Jorgenson didn’t have time to kill the engine before he fell to the ground. So probably the ignition had been switched off by someone in the aftermath of the accident. Still, the elements of the situation felt odd to him.

He puzzled only a brief moment before he heard his name called over the walkie-talkie he carried, and the cryptic message, “Dreamcatcher is en route to Mount Olympus.”

Communicating over the airwaves, even when using a scrambled signal, Secret Service always employed code names to designate protectees. Dreamcatcher was the First Lady. Mount Olympus was Wildwood.

chapter six

The First Lady arrived in a dark blue Lincoln Town Car escorted by two state patrol cars and by two Regals from the field office, each carrying several of the agents on permanent FLOTUS duty. Bo stood just behind Annie Jorgenson as the limousine stopped in front of the house.

Special Agent Christopher Manning emerged first. He wasn’t tall, just under six feet, nor remarkably broad in chest and shoulders, yet in his compactness there was something powerful. He’d always reminded Bo of a jack-in-the-box, tense and ready to spring. He wore his red-blond hair in a neat crew cut. To Bo, the most remarkable feature of Manning’s face was that it usually displayed all the emotion of a bowling ball.