Jason Elam - Monday Night Jihad

During the day it wasn’t so bad. People were still in good moods, and the exchanges were often friendly. However, when the evening rolled around and people got a little alcohol in them, the tone changed. Often harsh words were exchanged. Shoving matches ensued. Players were sometimes called out for fights by drunken fans trying to prove they were just as tough as some “overpaid, punk PFL player who’s never worked a day in his life.” These incidents steadily worsened as the week went on and the tension level of the team members continued to grow. Those who could, let the taunts roll off their backs; they had their eyes on a greater prize. Those who couldn’t, just didn’t leave the hotel.

Emrick decided to stay at the hotel; after all, it was hard to beat luxury like this. He dreaded the possible confrontations if he went out, and he had no family with him. His mom hadn’t been able to get off work to come to the game, and his two younger sisters were both freshmen at Georgetown University, thanks to his signing bonus. So for him, a day off meant relaxing by the pool if the afternoon warmed up enough and taking advantage of the full-service spa. Hopefully an outdoor California cabana massage could ease his frazzled nerves.

Dinner tonight would be no different for the players than any other night. Each team member was responsible for his own meal-although each was given $120 per diem to do it. Emrick had already arranged with a couple of other rookies to take a car (a Toyota Land Cruiser) and head to Houston’s in Century City. Great food, good friends, quiet atmosphere-a perfect way to cap off the team’s one down day. Player curfew was 12:30 a.m. Each man was sure to be in bed on time, knowing that the next morning the circus would begin all over again.

Tuesday, January 27

Rose Bowl Stadium

Pasadena, California

“Secret Service is going to have two snipers on the press box, two more up in the south scoreboard, and two more behind us in the north scoreboard,” Jim Hicks was saying to Scott, Khadi, and Riley. Skeeter stood about twenty feet off to Riley’s left.

“What about aircraft?” Riley asked.

“I asked Craig LeBlanc that very question. He said they’re putting up their makeshift control tower just west of us on a little par-three hole at Brookside Golf Course. And they’re stealing the fairways to the north of us as our helipads. The city of Pasadena is throwing a fit. Typically those fairways are reserved for parking, so our security is creating a huge mess for them. Apparently the mayor started making all kinds of threats. So LeBlanc pulls out his cell phone, dials a number, says a few words, and then hands the phone to the mayor. Turns out it’s the president on the other end of the line. Shut him up pretty quick!”

“What do you know about LeBlanc?” Riley was anxious to learn more about this man upon whom so much depended.

“Well, he’s been director of the Secret Service for three years now,” Hicks replied. “He’s really a quality guy. I’ll tell you a story. Back in 1988, I was working out of Washington. Craig was there on presidential detail. Somehow I ended up in a poker game with him and a few other guys-playing Texas hold ’ em before Texas hold ’em was cool. I get in a hand with Craig. I’m holding two aces, and I get a third ace in the flop. So I’m sitting pretty. I check out Craig for a tell-you know, anything that might let me know what he’s thinking. Nothing. So I bet high, and he calls. The turn card is a three of hearts. No worries-I bet high, and he calls again. We come to the river card-the three of clubs. I’m thinking, Bonus; my three aces are now a full house. I check him again-nothing. So I go all in. Without blinking, he calls. I turn over my aces-over-threes full house; turns out he’s holding a pair of threes for a four of a kind.

“I learned two things about Craig that day. First, he’s got nerves of steel. I mean, come on, he didn’t even get his third three until the turn. Second, Craig is a rock. He’s the epitome of the stone-faced Secret Service agent. He’s one of two or three guys I’ve ever met who has absolutely no tells when they are playing poker. That is some serious control.”

“So, he can play poker,” said Khadi, who apparently did not quite grasp the point of the story, “but can he run the Secret Service?”

“Listen, sweetheart, there’s not that much difference between being a good director and a good poker player.”

Khadi visibly bristled at Hicks’s choice of words but held her tongue. She reached into her purse and pulled out her gloves. Although the temperature was in the fifties, the wind where they were standing was dropping that number by at least ten degrees. After a final glare at Hicks, Khadi asked Scott, “What are the flight restrictions?”

“Oeously, iss area-”

Riley reached over and snatched the cherry Tootsie Pop out of Scott’s mouth with an audible click, causing his friend to grab his cheek and start rubbing.

“Hey! You trying to crack my teeth?” He turned back to Khadi. “As I was saying, obviously this area is under TFR-temporary flight restriction. NORAD will be monitoring a thirty-mile radius. The tower will control the three-ring circus above us of all the planes and helicopters that will have permission to fly. Hopefully we can avoid having a news chopper crashing into a blimp or something. As for our own patrols, Edwards Air Base is sending us some F-22s to make sure nobody gets any silly ideas.” His answer complete, he stole the Tootsie Pop out of Riley’s hand and stuck it back into his mouth.

“On the ground, there’re going to be more than ten thousand security agents. That’s almost one for every ten people in the area. When the president declared the NSSE, the budget flew wide open,” Hicks said.

“NSSE?” Riley asked.

“National Special Security Event. That’s why the Secret Service is running the security. When there’s a viable threat of imminent danger, the president has the prerogative to declare an NSSE. He did it for the PFL Cup after 9/11, and he does it whenever they have something like a State of the Union address or a G8 summit or the like. After what happened at Platte River, it was a no-brainer for him. So LeBlanc has gone all out. He even has fully camouflaged SEAL snipers in the hills surrounding the teams’ practice sites.”

“So what’s our role?” Khadi asked.

“The four of us-well, five with Riley’s big shadow over there-are going to watch and wait. I’m deploying the remainder of our team with the snipers and at the various command centers. They’re going to be our eyes and ears. I don’t want to miss anything that’s going on. I figure with my knowledge of operations, your knowledge of terrorist thinking, Scott’s computer brain, Riley’s insight into Sal Ricci aka Hakeem, and Skeeter’s… uh, Skeeter’s apparent grasp of ancient Roman/Carthaginian battles, we should be set.”

As they walked back down the steps and to their car, Riley couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that events might not turn out to be quite as cut-and-dried as Hicks was making them out to be.

Friday, January 30

El Espejo Road

La Mirada, California

Hakeem started from the top and worked his way down. He was glad to see the short blond hair falling to the ground. From the time he had dyed it, he’d felt that the olive skin of his face looked foolish with a blond frame. Soon the electric razor moved from his head to his face, then down his arms, his chest, and the rest of his body.

The only hair that wasn’t shaved was that which grew from the back of his shoulders and funneled into a narrow strip down his spine. His host had graciously offered to assist him with that hard-to-reach area, but Hakeem had declined. This process was between himself and his maker. Allah will forgive this one patch of impurity when he sees the purity of my actions and my heart.