The Night Stalkers White House - Books 1-3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Frank: Now

I can’t begin to tell you how good that lady was,” Frank massaged his chin where Beatrice’s elbow had surprised him twenty-five years before, after he’d slammed her to the mat. Even now, he could remember the scent of her as clearly today as if no time had passed at all. Like midnight and roses. Dark, mysterious, and lush.

And then she’d clipped his chin with her elbow and planted his face in that stone-hard mat of the Secret Service gym.

The White Hawk was circling down to the Manhattan Downtown Heliport. Nine a.m., exactly on schedule. Frank looked down to check the dock.

They’d cleared the pier of other flights. A quick scan below showed that the police boats had cordoned off the part of the East River that flowed by the heliport.

The heliport itself was a pier and a barge near the south tip of Manhattan. The tiny parking lot off South Street that could hold about a dozen cars was presently blocked by half-a-dozen black Secret Service SUVs. They’d closed a short section of the street, and the rest of the Presidential motorcade waited for them including a pair of Humvees with turret guns and an ambulance, surrounded by a phalanx of New York’s finest mostly on motorcycles.

A long pier stuck out from the shore separated from the land by the terminal building. His earpiece confirmed what his eyes could see. The “all secure” mirrored by the agents in dark gray suits standing watch outside the terminal’s doors. The long pier stretched out into the East River. Brooklyn rose on the far shore, bridges soaring above the boat traffic on the bright water. The four helipads were empty, and a pair of Beasts, the Presidential limousines, were parked there. Then the big barge, that looked little different from the pier, floated to the north. About a third of the ten helicopter parking spots on the barge were taken, but the only guys near them were agents.

“Merlin inbound,” Frank announced over the radio.

President Matthews grinned at him as he did every time he heard his Secret Service codename. If the main man got a kick out of being dubbed a wizard, that was fine with Frank. And it fit. Youngest President in history, he’d fostered more peace accords than anyone had pulled off in a whole lot of terms. Halfway through his first term and he’d already visited the United Nations more times than any other prior President in their entire incumbency.

And being there on July second, right before the July Fourth holiday would look good in the press. He knew that wasn’t what motivated the Man, but neither was he going to be stupid and miss the chance to leverage the opportunity a bit.

They circled as they descended toward the pier, providing Frank one last look in all directions. Nothing caught his eye, nothing pulled his attention. The only thing he noticed was that the ambulance was behind the rearmost Humvee. It was supposed to be in front so that the Humvee’s gunner would have a clear field of fire and the ambulance would be inside the bubble with the President if they had to crash down a defensive perimeter. He called down and they started shuffling it as the Marine One helo settled at the outmost spot on the main pier, the most defensible spot.

“Check the drivers, ambulance and Humvee. They should both know better.”

As the wheels kissed the pier, the answer came back into his earpiece. “Ambulance broke down, they had to send their second team. Rolled in late, but they’re on my cleared list.” Then after a brief pause. “He won’t forget next time.” He could hear the laugh in Hank Henson’s voice. Hank took deep pleasure in making rookies suffer. Probably been hell on new pledges at whatever Ivy League fraternity he’d belonged to. Frank had done night school at NYU.

Even before the helicopter’s rotors stopped, Beast Two was backing up close to the door. They alternated which was the decoy car. Once the rotors halted, a Marine opened the side door which rolled toward the back. Frank stepped out first, scanned once more, receiving nods from the key agents.

Second day of July in New York City. The heat rolled across him like an old friend, hot, thick with flavor, the smell of home. No other city smelled like it. He tugged at the jacket of his custom-tailored suit to make sure it both hid his weapon and offered easy access. Damn suits cost a fortune, but he didn’t look armed in them, so it was worth it. No need to remind the President more than necessary that he was surrounded by armed men every minute of the day.

He let Merlin down, making sure he was between the President and the bulk of the Manhattan buildings. Two more agents to either side flanked him for the thirty-foot walk to the car. Human shield in place.

In moments, he and Merlin were locked in and the motorcade was moving. That was one of the secrets of Presidential security, never stay still, a moving target was much harder to hit.

Frank hated this next stretch. For the next four-point-one miles there was no question about where the Presidential motorcade would be. There were alternate routes through the city. However, up the FDR was the safest and fastest, but it meant being predictable.

“You said meeting Beatrice Belfour was like Men in Black?” President Peter Matthews was ignoring whatever crises he carried in his briefcase. He’d snapped it shut halfway through the flight and asked Frank about how he’d ended up head of the PPD. Boss’ prerogative.

Main Man wanted to talk? Then Frank would. Wanted to play Scrabble? He’d play Scrabble, and lose horribly no matter how hard he tried. It was the President’s secret vice, he loved strategy, he played online in competitions and often finished in the money at tournaments. He was always harassing Frank about finding some way for him to compete in the National Scrabble Championship, but you had to show up in person for that.

Frank had almost crapped his pants laughing when Beale had told him the origin of his preferred anonymous player identity, Sneaker Boy. Had to do with Beale chucking the President, back when he was much younger, into the Reflecting Pool in D.C. while wearing brand new sneakers. He’d have paid good money to see that.

And now the President wanted to talk.

Frank let his guard down, as much as he ever did when riding with the Man. Locked inside the Beast with the President, security was someone else’s issue. Mostly. There was only so long that you could stay on alert, so he relaxed as much as he could when he wasn’t front and center.

“Well, yeah. She showed me this whole weird world behind the magic curtain, training gym, high-rise offices, high-tech communication war rooms that could span the globe. Then we sat right over there.” He pointed out the right-hand window across to where a small park wrapped around the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He took a cold bottle of water from the small cooler and knocked it back. July first and it was high-nineties in the city. What was August going to be like? At least it hadn’t stunk of garbage. When he’d met Beat it had been so damn hot that the city didn’t need a garbage strike in order to reek of it.