The Threat

Dan knew all the Secret Service guys now. They looked bulky because of their protective vests. They didn’t play cards. They didn’t talk unless he spoke first. Just now they’d taken their sunglasses off to see out the tinted windows. Well, maybe they thought as much or as little of him, in brushed dress blues, cap on his lap, the omnipresent satchel between his shining Corfams. All of them, agents, aides, doctors, acolytes at the altar of power.

McKoy’s eyes went distant, as if listening to God. He brought his arm up and spoke into the sleeve mike. Dan waited, then leaned forward. “Ever think about putting the mil aides on that net?”

The dark eyes turned his way. “On the Motorolas?”

“Maybe just listen-only. You know—‘Mustang and Tinkerbell are proceeding to Trail Breaker.’ Just to give us the picture.”

“I don’t know if the director would go for that.”

One of the other agents said he’d heard it had come up before, but didn’t know how it had turned out. Obviously it hadn’t been approved.

Then silence rode with them again, interrupted only by the hiss of the tires.

* * *

The motorcade rolled down Pennsylvania and turned at the ring road around Capitol Hill. The glass walls of the Conservatory slid past shining in the night like a cathedral of ice. Then they were climbing, the lawns, covered with patches of snow, sliding by.

Elderly men in dark suits waited under the portico of the House wing. They greeted De Bari with handshakes. The protective detail was out in a ring, none farther than ten feet from their charge. Around them strolled uniformed Capitol cops. Dan and the personal assistant, Nosler, tagged behind De Bari, outside the inner and inside the outer circle, as they moved through a crowd of Capitol Hill workers, staffers, and the press. Eyes moved past him, then slid down to the black burden on his security cuff.

The Capitol felt icy and cavernous. The presidential party trailed out down a long ground-floor corridor. The floors were glossy slick. Occasional words floated back, echoed off marble. Then a door closed. McKoy and his boys halted and faced out. Dan looked around for a seat, but didn’t see any. He checked his watch. Eight forty, with the address scheduled to begin at nine. At least they wouldn’t have long to wait.

He stood wondering where he was supposed to be during the address itself. Finally he went over to a solemn older gentleman in old-fashioned tails, who bowed gravely as Dan approached. “May I be of service, sir?”

He introduced himself, and asked. Said he needed to stay close, but not necessarily up front.

The old man said gravely, “In this House, sir, the president does not make the rules. You will remain on the House floor, standing, during the address. Behind the dais and out of sight of the television cameras.”

* * *

He felt like a Christian entering the Colosseum. First the narrow corridor. Then a portal, and waves of sound like the crashing sea. Gold-and-blue carpet, polished mahogany, an expanse of warm air. The audience were already on their feet. Party stalwarts. The Senate and House leadership. The Joint Chiefs, standing in the front well. Behind them stood rank after rank of the Senate, the women members’ suit dresses like flowers amid the dark tones of the male majority. The galleries rippled with the flutter of clapping hands.

Light ignited. He blinked as blurs of lambent fire pulsed across his vision. Thirty feet ahead De Bari beamed, lifting both arms in his trademark missing-fingered salute. Then followed the Speaker up the multitiered ziggurat of the podium.

Dan found a place where he could watch both the exit and the president. He unsnapped the security bracelet and went to parade rest.

De Bari’s opening words rolled out over the waiting faces.

“We meet here tonight at a time of challenge … and opportunity.

“America is great because it is free. It is strong because it desires not domination, but peace.

“For the first time since World War II, a president can report to Congress on the state of a Union that is threatened by, and threatens, no other nation of the world. Because of this breathing space after great exertions, we have a historic opportunity. A chance, given only once in two or three generations, to shape the century to come.”

Dan tuned out the next few minutes. For some reason this chamber seemed even more august and solemn than the Oval Office. Maybe he’d spent so much time around Bob De Bari, knew him so well by now, that neither the man nor the office impressed him anymore.

But here was the sovereign the founding fathers had envisioned, rooted in storefront offices and Rotary dinners and voting booths across a continent. Maybe it wasn’t as wise as they’d hoped. Not as farsighted. But was anything human perfect?

His thoughts were broken by applause. But not the storm that had greeted the president’s entrance. This sounded doubtful, half voiced. And some were not applauding at all.

He began to listen again.