Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"How did the Federal government get along all these years without you?"

I detected a bit of her sarcasm that I didn't expect now that we were engaged. Right? I asked her, "Do you know where the house is?"

"No, but I'll get directions when we get off the freeway."

"Why's it called a freeway?"

"It's free. I don't know. Why do they call the freeways parkways in New York?"

"They're parking lots. I don't know. Do you know what kind of setting this house is in? Rural? Suburban?"

"Bel Air is mostly semi-suburban. One- and two-acre estates, heavily treed. Friends of mine have driven past the Reagan house, and also those stupid star tours go past. I understand that the house is set on a few acres behind walls and can't be seen from the road."

"Does he have a good doorman?"

"We're about to find out."

We exited the freeway, and Kate got on the phone with the FBI office. She listened to and repeated a set of complicated directions, which I wrote down on my Marina del Rey hotel bill. Kate gave the duty officer our car description and the plate number.

The terrain in Bel Air was hilly, the roads looped around a lot, and there was enough vegetation to hide an army of snipers. Within fifteen minutes, we were on this heavily treed street called St. Cloud Road that had huge houses, most of which were barely visible behind fences, walls, and hedgerows.

I expected to see vehicles and people in front of the Reagan estate, but everything was quiet and dark. Maybe they really did know what they were doing.

All of a sudden, two guys popped out from some shrubbery and stopped us.

Next thing we knew, we had two passengers in the back seat, and we were being directed to proceed to a set of gates set into a stone wall.

The iron gates swung open automatically, and Kate drove through them and was directed to a parking area on the left, next to a big security gatehouse. This was really exciting if you're into history and all that. It would have been fun, too, if everyone didn't look so serious.

We got out of the car, and I looked around. You could just see the Reagan house, a ranch-type structure off in the distance, and a few lights were lit. There didn't seem to be many people around, but I was fairly confident that the place was now crawling with anti-sniper people and Secret Service people disguised as trees, rocks, or whatever these people do to blend in.

It was a moonlit night, what was called a hunter's moon in the days before infrared and starlight scopes made every night a hunter's night. In any case, the former President probably did not wander around at this hour, so I had to assume that Khalil also had a day scope and intended to wait until the Reagans took a morning stroll.

A balmy breeze blew the smell of flowering bushes across the lawn, and night birds chirped in the trees. Or, perhaps the trees were Secret Service people wearing perfume and chirping to each other.

We were politely asked to stand near our car, which we were doing, when lo and behold, Douglas Pindick came out of the security gatehouse and walked over to us.

Douglas got right to the point and said to me, "Tell me again why we're here."

I didn't like his tone, so I said, "Tell me why you weren't here yesterday. Do I have to do all the thinking for you?"

"You're out of line, mister."

"Ask me if I give a shit."

"That's enough insubordination from you."

"I'm just warming up."

Finally, Kate said, "Okay. Enough. Calm down." She said to Pindick, "Doug, why don't we step over here and talk?"

So, Kate and her friend moved out of earshot, and I stood there, royally pissed off about nothing. It was all male ego and posturing in front of the female of the species. Very primitive. I can rise above that. I should try it sometime.

Anyway, this Secret Service lady wearing regular street clothes came over to me and introduced herself as Lisa, and said she was in some sort of supervisory capacity. She was about forty, attractive, and friendly.

We chatted, and she seemed very curious about how I'd arrived at my conclusion that there was a death threat against the former President.

I told Lisa that I was having a drink in a bar, and it just popped into my head. She didn't like that explanation, so I expanded on it, mentioning that I was drinking Coke, and that I was really on top of the Asad Khalil case, and all that.

Not only was I being questioned, of course, I was being kept company so I wouldn't wander about. I asked her, "How many of these trees are really Secret Service people?"

She thought I was funny and replied, "All of them."

I asked her about the Reagans' neighbors and so forth, and she informed me the neighborhood was loaded with movie stars and other celebrities, the Reagans were nice to work for, and we were actually in the city of Los Angeles, though it looked to me like the movie set for a jungle plantation scene.

So, Lisa and I chit-chatted while Kate spoke to her former lover and smoothed things over, telling him, I'm sure, that I was not as big an asshole as I appeared to be. I was really tired, physically and mentally, and this whole scene had an unreal quality to it.

Somewhere in my chatter to Lisa, she revealed to me, "The number of the Reagan house used to be six-six-six, but right after they bought it, they had it changed to six-six-eight."

I said, "You mean for security reasons?"

"No. Six-six-six is the sign of the devil, according to the Book of Revelation. Did you know that?"

"Uh…"

"So, Nancy, I guess, had it changed."

"I see… I should check my Amex card. I think I have triple sixes in there."

She laughed.

I had the feeling that Lisa might be helpful, so I turned on the charm, and we got on really well. In the middle of my being charming, Kate came back alone, and I introduced her to my new friend Lisa.

Kate wasn't that interested in Lisa, and she took my arm and moved me off a bit. She said to me, "We have to fly out first thing in the morning. We can still make the press conference."

"I know. It's three hours earlier in New York."

"John, shut up and listen. Also, the Director wants to speak to you. You could be in some trouble."

"What happened to hero?"

She ignored my question and said, "We're booked at an airport hotel and booked on an early morning flight to D.C. Let's go."

"Do I have time to kick Doug in the balls before I leave?"

"That's really not a good career move, John. Let's go."

"Okay." I walked back to Lisa and told her we had to leave, and she said she'd get the gates open for us. We went over to our car, and Lisa came with us. I really didn't want to leave, so I said to Lisa, "Hey, I'm feeling a little guilty about rousting everyone out of their beds. I really feel I should stay here with you guys until dawn. No problem. I'm happy to do it."

She replied, "Forget it."

Kate said to me, "Get in the car."

Lisa, who was my pal, thought she owed me an explanation for her perfunctory reply and said to me, "Mr. Corey, we have a carefully drawn up plan that's been in place since nineteen eighty-eight. I don't think you're part of that plan."

"This isn't nineteen eighty-eight. Also, this is not solely a protective mission. We're also trying to capture a trained killer."

"We know all of that. That's why we're here. Don't worry about it."

Kate said to me, "John, let's go."

I ignored Kate and said to Lisa, "Maybe we can go in the house where we'll be out of the way." "Forget it."

"Just a quick drink with Ron and Nancy." Lisa laughed.

Kate said again, "Let's go, John."

The Secret Service lady said, "They're not home anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"They're not home," Lisa repeated. "Where are they?" "I can't tell you."

"Okay. You mean you got them out of here already, and they're under close protective security in a secret location, like Fort Knox or something?"