Homefront Defenders. Lisa Phillips
Читать онлайн книгу.
staff knew Locke’s face, so he only had to flash his badge ID and up went the gate. He drove around the building. “Once we look at mug shots and identify the guy, we’ll be able to visit this Mikio and get a lot more specific.”
“He did say he hadn’t heard of anything going on regarding the president’s visit. Though he mentioned he had enough problems with his guys. He wasn’t surprised we saw one at a murder scene, but he hasn’t been all that attentive to whispers circling outside his people.”
“So if there is a plot, this guy hasn’t heard about it.”
“I can talk to him again, find out if there’s anyone else on this island worth talking to.”
Locke parked beside their other vehicles and pulled the team in for one last briefing. Alana wasn’t the only woman on Secret Service protection detail, but he knew she didn’t know the other—much older—female agent all that well. He talked them through what had happened and got their reports on every person they had seen. Each pair had emailed him after their visits, but Locke never discounted the personal telling of an experience. He saw things in the inflections and their emotions that he never saw in the body of an email. The two could hardly be compared.
“Okay, you all know where you’re supposed to be.”
Each team member had a position for the president’s arrival. They all hooked up earpieces to their belt radios and checked that communications were working. It was a complicated setup that took all the time from when they arrived at the airport until the plane arrived, and they were each only a piece of the puzzle.
Alana walked beside him as they left the group. “Do you think it’s weird no one else on our team had problems with their visits while we found a dead woman and a missing man?”
“Sure, it’s weird, but whether it means anything is another matter. There’s nothing we can do about it this minute. We run the president’s arrival just like we do everything else. By the book. Stick to what you know. Remember your training, and if something happens, we’ll all deal with it. All of us, together.”
Alana nodded.
“When you get a minute later on, call Officer Morton. Find out if the cops discovered what that call in Beatrice’s history relates to. Maybe they’ll know whose number it is, because I certainly don’t believe she’s answering an ad for work at a gun shop like Brian Wells. It’s a solid link between them, and the police have the jurisdiction to look it up. If we prove there’s a link, then it’ll help us when they find Brian Wells.”
“Okay, I can do that.” She looked relieved, probably because he hadn’t asked her to call Ray.
“And don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
They walked toward the tarmac as the plane came into view. The sleek lines of Air Force One gleamed in the setting sun as the plane’s brakes engaged and the president’s aircraft descended to the tarmac. It was a textbook landing, the arrival of the president signaling Locke’s team’s switch from preparation to action as they aided in guarding POTUS on his vacation.
Locke prayed as the plane slowed to a stop. For the whole trip, for all the personnel, for his team. He prayed for their investigation into Beatrice’s murder, and for the missing marine—that he wasn’t hurt or planning to hurt anyone.
Locke keyed his radio. “Air Force One is on the ground.”
Alana stood beside Locke while the president descended from the plane. The entourage—which included the governor of Hawaii, a number of her staff members and local FBI agents—each took their turns shaking hands with the president. He’d been traveling all day, but his suit wasn’t rumpled and his gray hair looked freshly cut. The barber was probably on the plane.
Locke was at attention, like some military sentry guarding his liege lord. Alana didn’t quite know how to pull that off, but she’d probably have to learn it.
As the president made his way down the line, he made small talk with the governor, who nearly tripped over her feet just to keep up with the man’s athletic stride.
Sweat beaded on Alana’s forehead. The temperature had risen as they’d waited for the plane to land and then taxi its way over to them. She glanced around, knowing exactly where each Secret Service agent was located. It was a reflex, assessing the area for danger even though every position was covered.
When she’d least suspected it, that hand had reached up and grabbed for her foot. Her abdomen still stung—she should have brought her painkillers with her, or taken some before they got out of the car. But then Locke would have seen it, and he’d have known she was hurting.
The first lady descended from the plane hand in hand with their twelve-year-old son. The boy was one of Alana’s favorite people. Their paper airplane competition had been running for three months now, but she hadn’t decided if his using paper with embossed lettering on the top that he’d retrieved from his father’s desk gave him an unfair advantage. Her origami paper was lighter, but those gold letters weighted down the rear of his plane.
Locke tapped the side of her arm. Did he think she wasn’t paying attention? Alana didn’t have time to glare at him before the president stopped alongside Locke.
“Director Locke.”
“Sir. Did you have a good trip?”
“Yes, thank you.” It wasn’t just rote conversation. Alana knew what people on TV said about the president, but she saw genuine care in his eyes. He appreciated people—the way some presidents never did—and this president always took a moment to greet them. It made guarding him so much more enjoyable.
Locke said, “If you have time, I’d like a minute. I have some things I’d like to run past you.”
The president nodded. “I’ll have that added to my calendar. Perhaps later?” He glanced at an aide behind him, who made a notation on a tablet with a stylus pen. The president glanced at Alana, his blue eyes smiling with concern. “Are you feeling okay after this morning, Agent Preston?”
He knew about the attack? “Yes, sir. I’m good, thank you for asking.” What had he been told? She didn’t like the idea that he might not think she was up to the task of protecting him when it was just a cut on her stomach and a couple of bruises. Okay, so she’d stopped breathing for a minute, but that was just her body’s way of protecting itself from swallowing more water. She was fine now. Didn’t she look fine?
“Good to hear.” He motioned to Locke. “Stick with the director, he’ll look out for you.” Alana nodded. What else could she do? He thought she needed Locke to look after her.
Locke said, “That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about, sir.”
The governor of Hawaii broke off what she’d been saying to the person beside her and glanced at Locke and Alana, like Why are these people important? Alana resisted the temptation to smirk. That just wouldn’t be professional, and neither would accidentally tripping the woman like she was imagining. Not that Alana had a vindictive streak, she just had a serious problem with anyone who considered others beneath them.
The president nodded in reply to Locke’s statement. “Director Matthews filled me in on everything that happened today on the way here.” He glanced to her, including her in his statement. “I can’t believe some random beach bum would try to hurt you, Agent Preston.”
Alana couldn’t answer. She was stunned, but was it Matthews who’d told the president it was random, or was that the conclusion the president had drawn himself?
Locke said, “Sir—”
“Make that appointment with my aide, James.” The president motioned to the governor to continue on and gave Alana a compassionate smile as he moved away.
The