Jim grabbed Malcolm’s emergency go-bag: dog food, water bowl, and doggie med kit. He snagged his full vest, which included his own med kit and extra rounds, then raced for the door with Malcolm at his side. He had to double back for his jacket.
Jim had seen the First Lady’s Suburban before, a carefully unremarkable vehicle. Unlike the President’s limo or one of the black-on-black escort vehicles, this was a pleasant bronze color. It was also armored and powerful, with tinted windows and a luxury interior. The back seats had been replaced by a pair of generous arm chairs at the rear and a pair of rear-facing narrow bucket seats forward for aides. It was a serious machine even without its lethal escort.
“Do it,” Reese’s soft-spoken command echoed in the low-ceilinged garage beneath the Sec
