Robert Sawyer - Triggers

“Maria, thank you for making time for me.”

“It’s an honor, Señor Presidente.”

“I understand you and your husband are expecting a baby.”

“Sí.”

“Congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have a favor to ask of you, Maria.” Seth turned to Kadeem. “I need a favor from you, as well, please; I need help from both of you.” He caught his breath, then went on. “Professor Singh tells me that you’re linked to Susan Dawson, Kadeem. And, Maria, I’m told you’re linked to Darryl Hudkins, the other Secret Service agent who was affected by all this.”

“Yeah,” said Kadeem, and “Sí,” added Maria.

“What I’m about to tell you very few people know so far. The person who shot me was named Gordon Danbury. He was a Secret Service agent. Agents Dawson and Hudkins know this—can you find it in their memories?”

Kadeem looked astonished, but he nodded. But Maria said, “I already knew this. Agent Susan asked me about it.”

“Really?” said Seth.

“Yes. She wanted to know if she could trust Agent Darryl.”

“Ah. Yes, well, that’s what I want to know, too. Whether I can trust him—and whether I can trust Susan. If the two of you search your memories, you can tell me if Agent Dawson or Agent Hudkins are compromised. Just ask yourselves if you knew anything in advance about a plot to kill the president—because if they knew about it, you’d know about it, too. Kadeem?”

The young man frowned. “Nothing, sir.”

“Maria?”

“No. Like I told Agent Susan, Agent Darryl is not involved.”

“Secret Service agents use my code name: Prospector. Any memories of a plan to kill—or assassinate—or take out—Prospector? Or to eliminate POTUS? That’s P-O-T-U-S: president of the United States. Anything?”

“Well, there’s all kinds of stuff about the investigation since that guy shot you,” Kadeem said. “Sue’s been getting constant updates. But I’d swear she didn’t know about it beforehand.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mr. President, I know her like I know myself. I’m sure.”

“And Maria? What about Agent Hudkins? Again, any inkling that he might have known in advance, or been involved in any way?”

“No, sir. Nothing like that.”

“All right,” said Seth. “Thank you. I’m glad to know I can trust Agents Dawson and Hudkins. There’s already one other agent who has come under suspicion, a man named Jenks. But if Danbury and Jenks were part of a larger conspiracy, and if that conspiracy involves others in the Secret Service, well, I…”

“You be fucked,” said Kadeem. “Sir.”

“Yes, exactly, Private Adams. I be fucked.”

Agents Dawson and Michaelis stood outside the door to President Jerrison’s room, along with Dr. Snow and Sheila the nurse; Singh had gone back to his lab. Susan looked left and right down the corridor, nodding at the other Secret Service agents she could see at either end.

At last, the door opened, and she looked at the two people who were emerging: Private Kadeem Adams and Maria Ramirez.

“It’s cool, Sue,” said Kadeem, lifting his hands a bit. “Big man’s fine—but he wants to see you.”

Susan nodded and spoke into her sleeve mike. “Dawson to Hudkins. I’m returning to Prospector’s room.”

“Copy,” said Darryl’s voice in her ear.

She went in and closed the door behind her. The president did indeed look no worse for wear.

“Sir?” Susan said.

“You knew Gordon Danbury, right?” asked Jerrison.

“Sure. Of course.”

“You said he was called Gordo by the other agents?”

“Yeah, most of the time.” She shrugged a little. “Off duty, we get a bit informal. The Susanator—that’s what they call me. Darryl Hudkins is sometimes called Straw; you know, after Darryl Strawberry, the baseball player. And Gordon Danbury, he was Gordo.”

Jerrison managed a slight nod. “Leon Hexley was talking on his BlackBerry on Wednesday in the Oval. He said, ‘Tell Gordo to aim…’ but I don’t remember what came after that. But if it was related to what happened—well, it means there’s a conspiracy, and it goes pretty high up.”

“But you’ve known Mr. Hexley for years,” said Susan.

Seth managed a philosophical movement of his shoulders. “What I’ve discovered today is that I don’t know anybody —well, anybody except Kadeem Adams. I mean, seriously: you and I work together practically every day, Susan, and I know almost nothing about you—where you live, what hobbies you have, whether you’re seeing anyone, what you were like as a little girl.” He paused and caught his breath. “I’ve long been acquainted with Director Hexley, but I don’t know him. And yet there are forty-four hundred sworn members of the Secret Service, and Hexley knew Danbury well enough not only to be on a first-name basis with him, but a nickname basis.”

Susan frowned; that was curious. “But you don’t remember what Mr. Hexley said?”

“No—because it didn’t make sense at the time, and I had other things on my mind. I’ve racked my brain, but…no. It was weird, what he said, I remember that. But I just can’t recall it. I do remember he shut up and turned off his phone the moment he realized I had entered. Didn’t even say good-bye.”

“Forgive me, sir, but that’s not necessarily suspicious. People are conscious of how busy you are. You don’t make the president wait while you finish a personal call.” She paused. “A thought, sir. Did you have the Oval Office set up to record conversations the way Nixon did? And were they maybe backed up off-site?”

Seth shook his head. “Didn’t work out so well for Nixon, that.”

“True enough.” Susan replied. “So now what?”

“First, I need you to get Hexley’s cell-phone records.”

“Will do—but they’re almost certainly encrypted and scrambled. After Obama insisted on getting to keep his BlackBerry, all sorts of extra security was instituted on the units issued to high-level government officials. I suspect it’ll take days to decrypt them, if it can be done at all.”

“Damn,” said Jerrison.

“Is there anything else, Mr. President?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want to send Mrs. Stilwell on a little trip in the morning.”

“It’s so strange,” Jan Falconi said as she sipped her second beer, “having a man’s memories.” She shook her head. “And, I gotta say, Josh Latimer is pissed.”

“About what?” asked Eric.

“He was supposed to receive a kidney transplant this morning, and the surgery was canceled after it had begun, to make room for the president. He and his daughter—she’s the donor—were being dealt with in the corridor outside your O.R. while you were working on Jerrison; I was tending to them.”

“Good Christ,” said Eric. “I saw them there when I went in, but I didn’t know what it was about.”

“He’s thinking about suing.”

“I can’t say I blame him, but…well, most kidney transplants aren’t time-sensitive, and the president had to be treated immediately.”

“Still,” said Jan, shaking, “the last thing I need is someone being angry inside my head.”

“I know,” Eric said gently.

Jan clearly wanted to change the subject. “Somebody must be reading your memories, too.”

“Yeah,” Eric replied. “Her name’s Nikki Van Hausen. She’s a real-estate agent.”

Jan smiled. “That’s funny.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Her name is Van Hausen and she sells houses. It’s like a dentist named Payne or…”

“Or Larry Speakes,” said Eric—and then he realized the name didn’t mean anything to her. “He was the White House spokesman for Ronald Reagan.”