Mike Lawson - The Inside Ring

Engles finally noticed the tableau behind him: DeMarco frozen in mid-stride, trying not to quiver like a flushed quail, and his four-legged monster in a ready-to-lunge position. The retired agent came trotting over to DeMarco and with a little chuckle said what dog owners always say: ‘Hey, don’t worry about Ol’ Bullet. He’s just bein’ friendly.’

Engles was in his early sixties. He wore faded jeans and a yellow T-shirt with I ♥ VIRGINIA on it. He had wary-looking gray eyes, a nose that had been broken more than once, and there was a bald spot on the back of his head that looked like a monk’s tonsure. The tonsure, combined with his broken nose, gave him the appearance of a priest who didn’t turn the other cheek.

Since DeMarco wanted Engles’s cooperation he didn’t tell him he should keep his pet wolf shackled to a short chain and muzzled. Instead he said, ‘Yeah, looks like a really friendly pooch.’ The dog was now sniffing DeMarco’s groin.

‘Mr Engles,’ DeMarco said, trying to ignore the damn dog, ‘I’m Joe DeMarco. I work for Congress.’ DeMarco flipped open a leather half wallet and showed Engles his congressional security pass.

‘Congress?’ Engles said, glancing down at DeMarco’s credentials then back up at DeMarco’s face. DeMarco was willing to bet that Engles had just memorized every word on his security pass.

‘Yes, sir,’ DeMarco said. ‘I’m here concerning the recent assassination attempt on the President. As you may have heard, there’s a committee taking a hard look at the President’s security. I’d just like to ask you a few questions.’

‘Seems to me Congress oughta do their own damn job,’ Engles grumbled, ‘and let the experts take care of security.’

DeMarco gave him an embarrassed half smile, and said, ‘Confidentially, I agree with you, sir, but when my boss says ride, I hop on my horse.’

The I’m-just-a-working-stiff routine worked.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Engles said. ‘Come on up to the house. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and you can ask your questions. Bullet! Get off that man’s suit. Dog’s so darn friendly he’d just lick a robber to death.’

Dog owners always say that too.

Engles took DeMarco to a kitchen that smelled of apples and cinnamon and had a fireplace big enough for a Yule log. It was a comfortable, cheery room and he could imagine generations of grandkids licking the spoon from the icing bowl. Engles poured coffee into two large mugs and they took seats at a sturdy wooden table. Ol’ Bullet flopped down on the floor near Engles’s chair.

‘So what do you need from me?’ Engles asked as he added cream to his coffee. ‘I’m retired, you know.’

‘We’re taking a look at agent-selection procedures, Mr Engles. We’re particularly interested in how the inside ring is picked. You know: experience requirements, qualification criteria, that sort of thing.’

The ‘we’s were for Engles’s benefit. DeMarco was hoping he’d imagine an army of marching gray bureaucrats, the full and ponderous weight of government behind his mission.

‘What’s goin’ on here?’ Engles said. ‘You can get all that stuff right from the department’s personnel office. They have write-ups about training programs, selection guidelines, qualification criteria, all that crap. You didn’t drive down here for that. Why are you really here?’

So much for the ponderous weight of government.

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ DeMarco said, feeling like he’d been caught trying to hold up Santa Claus. ‘We’re curious about one agent who was at Chattooga River. A man you supervised before you retired.’

‘Who is it?’ asked Engles.

‘Billy Ray Mattis.’

‘You think Mattis shouldn’t have been assigned to that detail? Is that what this is all about?’

‘Not necessarily, but he was the youngest and least-experienced agent on duty that morning.’

DeMarco knew Billy was the youngest agent based on the video; he was guessing he was the least experienced.

‘You guys know Mattis took a bullet for the President in Indiana?’ Engles asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve seen his record. Is that why you selected him, because of Indiana?’

Engles went silent, his hands betraying his nervousness as they squeezed the coffee mug in front of him. Ol’ Bullet sensed the change in his master’s mood. The mutt’s eyes locked onto DeMarco’s jugular and from his throat came a low, rumbling sound. Engles reached down and ruffled the fur on the dog’s thick neck, calming it, while he thought about DeMarco’s question.

When Engles still didn’t respond, DeMarco said, ‘Look, I’m not trying to pin a rose on Billy Mattis. I just want to know why he was picked for the most sensitive assignment in the Service.’

‘Maybe it’s me you’re trying to pin the rose on,’ Engles said.

‘Mr Engles, you retired before the assassination attempt. There’s no way you can be held culpable for anything.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he said.

His voice oozing false sincerity, DeMarco said, ‘All we want to do, sir, is make sure the President continues to have the best security in the world – the kind of security men like you have always provided.’ He hoped Ol’ Bullet couldn’t smell the bullshit in the air.

Engles looked at DeMarco, looked away, and then looked back. He cleared his throat.

‘I didn’t select Mattis,’ he said. ‘Every other man who worked for me, I handpicked. But with Mattis, one day I just get word he’s being moved into my unit. When I asked why, I was told not to make waves. Somebody doing a favor for somebody. Happens all the time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the Secret Service is like any other big company. People get transferred around. Bosses make deals with other bosses to help their fair-haired boys. Or a guy’s having problems in one division so they move him somewhere else to see if he’ll do better.’

‘Is that what happened in this case?’

Engles shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘So who moved him into your unit?’

Engles hesitated. ‘Well, I heard it was Little Pat, hisself. Now I don’t know that for a fact; it’s just what I heard.’

‘Patrick Donnelly personally moved him into your unit?’ DeMarco was unable to keep the shock from registering in his voice.

‘Like I said, that’s what came out of the rumor mill.’

‘Why would the director of the Secret Service take an interest in the career of Billy Mattis?’

‘Hell, I don’t know. I also don’t see what the big deal is here. Mattis passed all the qualification boards, and when I got to know him, I liked him. Quiet guy. Serious about his work. Mind always on the job. Not one of those guys who gets bored and starts watching skirts in the crowd.’

‘So you didn’t complain about the assignment?’

‘No. I was pissed because I didn’t have a say in it, but there was no reason to make a stink. I would have, had he been a fuckup, but he wasn’t.’ Shaking his head, he added, ‘Poor Reynolds.’

‘Reynolds?’

‘Guy who replaced me. He must be catching hell right now, lettin’ that guy Edwards get into position that morning. I saw him the other day leaving his house, fuckin’ newsies shovin’ microphones in his face.’

‘Yeah,’ DeMarco said, feigning sympathy for poor Reynolds. ‘But what about Mattis? How much hell do you think he’s catching right now?’

‘For what?’ Engles asked.

‘You must have seen the video of the shooting. How Mattis dropped his sunglasses right before the first shot was fired.’

‘Is that what this is all about?’ Engles said, eyes blazing. ‘Look, any man in that unit could have dropped something, or tripped, or moved the wrong way. Just because Mattis did doesn’t have a damn thing to do with his experience or the selection procedures or who assigned him or any other fuckin’ thing.’