Radclyffe - Price of Honor

*

Cam, Evyn Daniels, Tom Turner, and Stark sat opposite the president’s campaign manager, Adam Eisley, and two White House staffers under his direction in the USSS command car. The president had been clear about continuing his campaign trek, but he might be convinced to modify his plan if a viable alternative could be provided.

“Our recommendation,” Cam said, “is to terminate the train excursion at Trinidad. The president can continue with his planned itinerary by motorcade and plane. That way, we can isolate him to a far greater extent than we can here, and decrease the threat level.”

“Absolutely not,” Adam said. “Have you looked at the ratings lately? They’re climbing every hour. We’re getting great press coverage. TV networks are running maps of his route morning and night. All his personal appearances are pulling prime-time coverage. He’s the biggest show in town during a long, cold winter. This has been the shot in the arm he’s needed. Hell no, he’s not getting off this train.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to bolster his ratings,” Cam said, not bothering to point out to someone like Adam, who lived and breathed poll reports, that Andrew Powell’s ratings were the least of her concerns. “His security is far more important than a ten-second TV spot.”

“Twenty second. What you fail to understand,” Adam said dismissively, “is the impact of appearances. If you did, you and the first daughter wouldn’t have started the circus show by getting marr—”

“Be very careful,” Cam said quietly. “You don’t want to bring Blair into this.”

A few uncomfortable coughs and clearing throats followed and the campaign manager shrugged. “What’s done is done. But the president hired me to manage his reelection campaign because I’m the best there is. I know what I’m doing.” He glanced at Tom Turner. “Unless, of course, you feel that your people aren’t adequately prepared to protect the president—”

“Look,” Tom snapped, “this isn’t about who has the most power here. This is about securing—” Tom broke off and jumped up, his hand to the receiver in his ear. “The president just signaled a code red.”

As Cam bolted to her feet, her phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Roberts.”

“Cam,” Lucinda said, her voice vibrating with urgency, “we have a situa—”

An ear-shattering screech filled the car and the train decelerated rapidly, throwing everyone off balance. Cam caught herself on the edge of the table, trying to stay upright. “Where? Lucinda, where?”

“Stand down,” Lucinda ordered. “No one is to approach the private cars. Tell Tom—no one is to try to come forward.”

Cam’s gut clenched. Blair was somewhere forward in the train. She motioned to Tom and switched her phone to speaker. “What is the president’s status?”

“We’re…he’s fine.” Lucinda drew a breath. “But, Cam, we’ve got someone claiming there’s a bomb on the tracks.”

Tom said, “I’ll alert the—”

“No,” Lucinda said, “you can’t. She says anyone trying to clear the tracks will be shot. And Tom—she says there’s another bomb. On the roof of one of our private cars.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Blair managed to avoid the coffee sloshing across the table as the train jerked to a halt. She regained her balance, righted the coffee mug, and pushed to her feet. Across from her, Vivian grabbed onto the chair beside her, her eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Viv said, swiping her recorder from the floor. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Blair hurried toward her father’s cars. When she tried to slide the door open, it wouldn’t budge. An icy chill slid down her spine. The train was no ordinary train, and like all her father’s transportation, it was equipped with multiple layers of enhanced security, including mechanical. Something had probably triggered the lockdown system on his private cars when the train made an unscheduled stop. She’d been through things like this before. She thought about the elevator ride the day before. Probably just another glitch in some electronics somewhere. Just a precaution. She pushed the kernel of panic back down where it belonged. The train was filled with dozens of highly trained Secret Service agents. They were as safe here as they were in the White House. She turned back and met Vivian’s concerned eyes.

“Locked?” Viv asked.

Blair nodded and slipped her phone from her pocket. “It appears so for the moment. Cam will know what’s happening. Just hold on a sec.”

“Of course,” Viv said calmly. She walked to the window and pushed the button to roll up the shades that had come down when the train stopped. Nothing happened.

“Blackout shades,” Blair said flatly. “The power must be off to them too.”

Cam’s phone went straight to voice mail. She tried Lucinda, the same thing happened. “Damn it.”

Now Blair was getting worried. If Cam and Lucinda were both out of reach, something was happening. She spun around at the sound of the rear door sliding open. Her heart leapt when Paula entered, partly from relief at seeing a face she knew, partly with a growing sense of uneasiness. The grim expression on Paula’s usually easygoing face didn’t help. She gripped the back of a chair to have something to divert her attention from the bubble of panic growing in her midsection. “What is it? Why are we stopped?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Stark said. “I’ve been advised that someone has made a credible threat to detonate a bomb if we try to move the train.”

“A bomb? On the train?” Blair said. “How can that be? Where?”

Stark shook her head. “I don’t know. Orders are everyone needs to stay exactly where they are until the location of the ordnance is pinpointed and the threat neutralized.”

“Neutralized,” Viv said. “What does that mean?”

Stark regarded her with a frown. “Who are you?”

“Vivian Elliott, the Washington Gazette .” Viv held out her press pass. “Have you any word on who’s making the threats?”

A muscle in Stark’s jaw throbbed. “No comment. And anything that happens in this room is off the record.”

Vivian straightened. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m in this room, and I don’t require permission to report anything I witness.”

“I wouldn’t want to have to declare you a threat to national security, confiscate your recorder, and impose a gag order on you,” Stark said in an unemotional tone of voice that was all the more unnerving for its quiet certainty.

“I assure you, Agent,” Viv replied just as calmly, “as long as you’re reasonable in your requests for confidentiality, I won’t report anything I see or hear without clearance from you or Ms. Powell.”

“Stark, what about my father?” Blair couldn’t care less about what Vivian might or might not report. Once the crisis passed, the spin doctors would take over.

“He’s in communication with us.”

The icy tendrils reached into her marrow. “What do you mean, he’s in communication ? Where’s Cam? Stop being evasive.”

“I wish I didn’t have to be,” Stark said darkly. “I don’t know much more than what I’ve told you. All of us are getting our orders by com link from Tom and Cam in the command car. We’ve been told to restrict our movement and to see that no one leaves their car.”

“I want to talk to Cam.”

“She’s been assured you’re safe.”

“But what about her? Is she?”

“Of course,” Stark said.

Blair knew that game. All the agents played it—danger was normal, so of course everything was fine. She tamped down her temper. “How long do you think they intend to keep us in here in the dark?”