Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

I stopped, and Fred got out and closed his door. He walked up to the pillars, spoke to the men, and one of them swung open the little gate. Fred waved me on, and I drove up to the pillars and stopped, mostly because the three guys were in my way.

One of them came around to the passenger side, got in, and closed the door. He said, "Proceed."

So, I proceeded up Pennsylvania Avenue. The guy didn't say anything, which was okay with me. I mean, I thought the FBI were tightly wound, but this bunch made the FBI look like Comedy Central.

On the other hand, this had to be one of the worst and most stressful jobs on the planet. I wouldn't want it.

There were trees on both sides of the road, and the fog lay there like snowdrifts. My passenger said, "Slow down. We're going to turn left."

I slowed down and saw a split-rail fence, then two tall wooden posts across which was a wooden sign that said RANCHO DEL CIELO. He said, "Turn here."

I turned and passed through the entranceway. In front of me was this huge, fog-shrouded field, like an Alpine meadow, ringed with rising slopes, so that the meadow was like the bottom of a bowl. The fog hung in a layer just above the ground, and I could see under it and over it. Spooky. I mean, was this an X-Files moment or what?

I could see a white adobe house ahead with a single light on. I was fairly sure this was the Reagan house, and I was anxious to meet them, knowing, of course, that they'd be up and waiting to thank me for my efforts to protect them. My passenger, however, directed me to make a left on an intersecting road. "Slow," he said.

As we drove slowly, I could make out a few other structures here and there through the clumps of trees that dotted the fields.

Within a minute, the guy next to me said, "Stop."

I stopped.

He said, "Please turn off the car and come with me."

I shut off the engine and the lights, and we all got out of the car. Kate and I followed the guy up a rising path through some trees.

It was very cool here, not to mention damp. My three bullet wounds were aching, I could barely think straight, I was tired, hungry, thirsty, cold, and I had to take a leak. Other than that, I was fine.

The last time I'd noticed the dashboard dock, it was five-fifteen, meaning eight-fifteen in New York and Washington where I was supposed to be.

Anyway, we approached this big, tacky-looking plywood-sided building that had Government Structure written all over it. Not literally, but I've seen enough of them to know what they mean by the contract going to the lowest bidder.

So, in we go and the place looked really rundown and smelled musty. My X-Files guide showed us into a big sort of rec room with old furniture, a refrigerator, a kitchen counter, TV set, and all that. He said, "Have a seat," and disappeared through a doorway.

I remained standing and looked around for a men's room.

Kate said, "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," I agreed. "Where are we?"

"I think this must be the old Secret Service facility."

I said to her, "Those guys are grim."

"They don't mess around. Don't bug them."

"I wouldn't think of it. Hey, do you remember that episode-"

"If you say X-Files, I swear to God I'll pull my gun."

"I think you're getting a little cranky."

"Cranky? I am falling asleep on my feet, I just had a car ride from hell, I'm tired of your-"

A guy entered the room. He was wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt, a blue windbreaker, and black running shoes. He was about mid-fifties, ruddy-faced and white-haired. And he was actually smiling. He said, "Welcome to Rancho del Cielo. I'm Gene Barlet, head of the protective detail here."

We all shook hands, and he said, "So, what brings you out on a night like this?"

The guy seemed human, so I said, "We've been chasing Asad Khalil since Saturday, and we think he's here."

He could relate to that bloodhound instinct and nodded. "Well, I was briefed about this individual, and the possibility that he has a rifle, and I might agree with you." He said, "Help yourself to coffee."

We informed him that we had to use the facilities, which we did. In the men's room, I splashed cold water on my face, gargled, slapped myself around, and straightened my tie.

Back in the big common room, I made myself a coffee, and Kate joined me at the counter. I noticed she'd reapplied some lip gloss and tried to paint over the dark rings around her eyes.

We sat on some chairs at a round kitchen table, and Gene said to me, "I understand that you've established a rapport with this man Khalil."

I replied, "Well, we're not exactly buddies, but I've established a dialogue with him." To earn my room and board here, I gave him a nice briefing, and he listened attentively. When I finished, I asked Gene, "Hey, where is everyone?"

He didn't reply immediately, but then said, "They're at strategic locations."

"In other words, you've got an understaffing problem here."

He replied, "The ranch house is secure, and so is the road."

Kate said, "But anyone could enter the property on foot."

"Probably."

Kate asked, "Do you have motion detectors? Listening devices?"

He didn't reply to that, but looked around the big room. He informed us, "The President used to come in here Sundays to watch football with the off-duty people."

I didn't reply.

Gene reminisced a bit, then said, "He got shot once. That's one time too many."

"I know the feeling."

"You get shot?"

"Three times. But all on the same day, so it wasn't too bad."

Gene smiled.

Kate pressed her question and asked again, "Do you have electronic devices here?"

Gene stood and said, "Follow me."

We stood and followed him into a room at the end of the structure. It was a room as wide as the building, and the three outside walls were mostly picture windows looking down the slope, I noticed, at the ranch house. There was a nice pond behind the house that I hadn't seen when we approached, plus a big barn and a sort of guest house.

Gene said, "This was the nerve center here, where we monitored all the security devices, tracked Rawhide-that's the President-when he went riding, and where we had communications with the entire world. The nuclear football was also kept here."

I looked around at the forlorn room and noticed a lot of dangling wires, and a terrain map still mounted on the wall, along with lists of code words, radio call signs, and other faded notes. I was reminded of the Cabinet War Rooms that I had seen in London, the place where Churchill had run the war, frozen in time, a little musty and manned by an army of ghosts whose voices you could hear, if you listened closely.

Gene said, "There's no electronic security left. In fact, this whole ranch is now owned by a group called the Young America's Foundation. They bought the ranch from the Reagans and are turning it into a sort of museum and conference center."

Neither Kate nor I replied.

Gene Barlet went on, "Even when this was the Western White House, it was a security nightmare. But the old man loved the place, and when he wanted to come here, we came here with him and roughed it."

I said, "You had about a hundred people then."

"Right. Plus all the electronics and the helicopters, and state-of-the-art everything. But I'll tell you, the damned motion and listening sensors picked up every jackrabbit and chipmunk that came on the property." He laughed, then said, "We had false alarms every night. But we had to respond." He reminisced again and said, "I remember one night-it was a foggy night like this, and next morning the sun came up and burned the fog off, and we see a pup tent pitched in the meadow, not a hundred yards from the ranch house. We go over to investigate and find this young guy asleep. A hiker. We wake him, inform him that he's on private property, and point him toward a hiking trail. We never told him where he was." Gene smiled.