Her Secret Service (Jane Roe 1)

  Her Secret Service

  Jason Letts

  1

  H St.

  Washington, DC

  The president was getting a divorce.

  When Jane happened to spot the news as she glanced at her phone while sitting in the back of a car with three men in black suits, her jaw dropped. For a second she couldn’t believe it. Never before in the history of the nation had a sitting president gone through a divorce, and for it to be only two months into his first term had her head spinning.

  “Did you hear about this?” she asked, even though she knew the answer since the news had just broken. “The president and the First Lady are headed for splitsville.”

  The man seated next to her turned his head in shock, but the vehicle’s driver, Dedan, snickered and tapped his hand against the steering wheel.

  “That might explain why it’s always so quiet around the residence at night. Never a peep. You’d think the place was vacant. Barely any talking and certainly nothing more active,” he said.

  “Did it say why?” asked Evans from the passenger seat in front of her.

  “No,” Jane answered, scanning the story as fast as she could. “Evidently it leaked out that the First Lady hired a lawyer known for divorce and they’re preparing to file.”

  “He must’ve done something really bad,” Dedan went on. “Maybe she found out about something from earlier in his life, something nobody knows. I can’t imagine how bad it would have to be for him not to be able to convince her to stay. I mean, he hasn’t even been in the big chair long enough to warm it up, and now he’ll be the laughingstock of the hill. He’s a lame duck even before spring hits on his first term.”

  Whether or not that was true, Jane couldn’t help but also get swept up in speculation. Infidelity was something she ruled out immediately. The president had self-control to spare, not to mention a strong sense of direction, and wasn’t the type for bonehead scandals. She wondered whether other usual grounds for divorce could even apply in their situation. Would the First Lady really be unable to find a way to rationalize staying in her important role because of lack of intimacy or even a dearth of love?

  Whatever the reason, this revelation did produce more practical concerns that Jane would have to contend with. The political implications were irrelevant, but divorce was going to lead to assumptions, assumptions were going to lead to anger, and that meant the possible threat of danger for the president had just increased.

  “We’re going to have to be more alert,” she said.

  Dedan shifted in his seat so that he could glance back at her, lowering his shades so that she could see his dark eyes.

  “We’re always on maximum alert,” he said.

  Jane smiled at exactly the answer she wanted to hear. Of course, he was right. They were the Secret Service.

  As the car turned from 15th St. onto Pennsylvania Avenue NW, the fringes of the White House came into view. Not once in two years on the job had she ever gotten within viewing distance of the White House without being swept up in a sense of wonder. Even though the last remnants of winter had left the roads and grounds covered in slush, the iconic building’s white columns and stately facade always managed to fill her with awe.

  In some ways the world revolved around what happened in this building. History happened here. The fate of so many lives were being determined here on a daily basis. And in one tiny but crucial way, mostly at arm’s length, Jane was a minuscule part of making sure it all worked as it was supposed to. She would have to consider the implications that the divorce would have on their security protocols, but that was far from the only issue she had to contend with and had nothing to do with why she needed to visit the White House on this particular day.

  After they passed through the gate, Dedan turned the vehicle on the drive that circled by the rear entrance, where Secret Service members were stationed to scrutinize all incoming vehicles. Even though they were all part of the same department, their credentials were checked before they were allowed to exit the vehicle and approach the building.

  “Back to battle,” Dedan said as they walked through the portico doors, which were being held open for them. Jane grinned. If he could be motivated to attack the role he had of standing still for eight hours without a break in the chilly air to watch the West Wing colonnade where almost no one was likely to pass through for long stretches of time, she could summon some fiery motivation and determination for her job as well.

  “Thanks for the ride and stay sharp. I’ll bring the car back when I’m done,” Jane said to them before again presenting her credentials at the interior security checkpoint to make sure she had the clearance necessary to move about the building.

  She took one more glance at the three agents she’d arrived with as they went to the front lines and she went her own way. All of the agents she served with were selfless heroes with senses of duty and integrity to fill an ocean. They inspired her. But these men and women were human too, as were the people they were sworn to protect. That sometimes made things tricky, but as long as everyone lived through the end of the day Jane could sleep easy at night in order to get up and do it all again.

  Taking the long way, Jane savored every step as she progressed from the entrance to the cross hall and its red carpet, taking note of the presidential portraits on the walls and nodding to Secret Service agents stationed by various rooms. She passed the press briefing room, glancing through the windows to see that the press secretary was at the podium answering questions. Pausing briefly, she noticed that the journalists in attendance were acting with particular fervor today, most likely because of the salacious nature of the news.

  The press secretary was going to have a tough day on her hands. Time would tell whether Jane’s would be better or worse.

  From there she strolled along the hallways toward the West Wing, relishing that she was a few minutes early and could take her time. The Cabinet Room and the Roosevelt Room appeared vacant for the time being. Jane passed a member of the military, a surly general, who must’ve just departed from a meeting with the president, as she approached her destination.

  The president’s personal secretary, Ally Wilde, was an older lady with glasses and white hair. She appeared deep in thought as she was seated at her desk next to her glowing computer screen. This was the person who Jane had the most contact with in the president’s office, as they reviewed additions to the president’s personal and public schedules on a daily basis.

  But one of the latest new additions had thrown her for a loop and was going to require a more thorough examination of the details.

  As Jane stepped into the secretary’s room, her eyes drifted to the door a short distance away from the desk leading to the Oval Office, where no doubt the president was this very moment. The cream-painted wall between them seemed so present. While working at her job, Jane grew to learn that this side of the wall was where she belonged. Behind the scenes, out of sight, invisibly working as hard as she could so that she would never need to be noticed, because if she were that would mean that something had gone wrong.

  “Hi Ally, thanks so much for meeting with me,” Jane said, snapping the secretary out of her thoughts.

  “Of course.”

  “I just have a few questions for you that I thought better to handle in person. I need to make sure I have the details right and the entry was pretty sparse,” Jane said, taking a seat that was by the side of the desk out of the walking lane and pulling a notepad and pen out of her pocket.

  Right around when she started speaking, the president’s Chief of Staff, Arundhati Singh, stepped in and began looking through a binder she pulled from a shelf. Jane smiled faintly as she noticed her in the ro
om. Singh was more on the heavyset side with hair dark as night flowing down her back.

  “Alright,” Ally said, sounding a little miffed. She had moments when she could be touchy. “Which one are you talking about?”

  Jane produced a grin that she hoped would put the secretary at ease. This wasn’t meant as any kind of criticism of her data entry skills.

  “It looks like the president intends to take two hours of personal time on Saturday mornings, and the reason you put is bike riding. What kind of bike riding are we talking about here? Where does he intend to do this?” Jane asked as Ally blinked rapidly.

  “I’m afraid I’m not sure. He just said he wants to start getting out on his bike in the mornings on the weekend when the weather warms up,” she said.

  Jane giggled as though they were playing a game of cat and mouse with the information she needed.

  “That’s great, but two hours suggests a substantial amount of time to be on a bike. If he wants to joyride through the streets of D.C. every weekend, that’s going to present some fairly significant security challenges, not to mention a lot of disruption for people in the city. Here, let me try a more basic question. How fast does he go?”

  The distasteful look on Ally’s face grew. She was a professional and nothing was personal between them, but Jane had learned in the two months that she’d been on the job that being asked questions she didn’t know the answer to was something she didn’t like. Jane didn’t suppose she could blame her too much. As for herself, Jane despised not knowing things. It would mean she wasn’t doing her job well enough, and Ally very well could’ve felt the same way.

  The secretary grimaced and leaned to the side.

  “Arundhati, do you have any idea about the plan for this biking?” she asked the chief of staff, who was still looming on the other side of the room. She jerked back at them as though she’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. And for all intents and purposes, she should’ve been. Bothering someone in the administration’s senior staff wasn’t necessary, Jane thought.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can find out from someone else,” Jane said, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “We’ve had to deal with our share of joggers and runners, but cycling is different. Higher speed, greater risk of injury, you know.”

  Although Singh was gazing at Jane with a funny smirk on her face, she seemed to completely ignore her attempts to deflect the issue from taking up her attention.

  “No, I’m not sure. All I know is he’s big into it. We’d better ask him directly,” she said, setting the binder back on the shelf and walking to that ominous door leading to the Oval Office. “Come on.”

  Jane’s eyes widened and her heart started beating like she’d been on a bike for two hours.

  “No, I really don’t think…” she said, but her legs lifted her out of her seat of their own accord, and Singh nudged her toward the door.

  Jane clasped the knob and pushed open the door, and suddenly a gap appeared in the wall separating those who were behind the scene and those in the scene. The chief of staff had to literally push her through it, her hand firm on the back of her suit jacket as she resisted entering the glowing, dazzling space.

  She’d managed to spend an entire two years of her job without entering this room, long enough to almost take pride in it, but this new administration obviously had a different policy when it came to their doors. Suddenly the portrait of Benjamin Franklin and the bust of Abraham Lincoln were looking back at her. The Resolute Desk was in front of curtains of gold and windows providing a glimpse of the partly cloudy day.

  And there were people in the room too, some of them looking at the new entrants quite expectedly. Jane noticed the Secret Service agent in the room and the one just outside the door leading to the exterior colonnade, exactly where they were meant to be. The two couches had a single occupant, codename Dandelion, Vice President Harrison Jeffreys, an older man of tall stature with wavy gray hair.

  “The vice president is here too,” Jane whispered.

  “Oh yeah, he hangs out here all the time. Makes him feel like he’s doing something. Isn’t that right, Jeffreys?” Singh said to the now standing vice president.

  “My assistance is at the pleasure of the president,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  “Sir,” Singh said, approaching the desk and the man seated behind it as she pulled Jane along with her. “This is Jane Roe. She’s in charge of your Secret Service detail.”

  The chief of staff’s description of her role wasn’t exactly right, but Jane was hardly able to process that because of the person who was now standing in front of her behind his desk. The youngest President of the United States to ever take office at a mere thirty-eight years old, Alex Morrin, codename Cold Turkey because in one of his early speeches he talked about America quitting its addictions, was effortlessly handsome with an athletic build, deep blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw.

  It struck Jane that she hadn’t remembered to breath in some time and should probably do so again soon, but he was extending his hand to shake hers with a charming grin.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. What can I help you with? You’re doing a great job, by the way,” he said.

  The comment may have meant nothing to him, and perhaps he had no knowledgeable basis for making it, but having the President of the United States tell her she was doing a good job felt like her entire existence had suddenly been validated in a way she hadn’t known that she needed. After two years working for the previous president without ever meeting her or speaking to her, she never expected to be thanked for doing her job by the person she was charged with protecting, since she was never close by. All the thanks she had ever needed was the calmness and stability that success afforded them.

  Jane got ahold of herself enough to be able to return his look and shake his hand. She’d seen countless pictures of him, heard his speeches on TV, occasionally her work allowed her to watch him from afar, but being up close and directly engaging with him gave her a taste of the real magnetism he had.

  “My apologies for taking up your time, Mr. President. I just needed to ask for some additional information about the biking you had planned to make sure we’re properly prepared,” she said.

  A cringe came across his face as he looked away, causing a painful tweak in Jane’s heart at the assumption she’d said something wrong, but the president quickly turned his attention back to the vice president with a look of bitter discontent.

  “There’s no way we can let this mess disrupt the agenda I ran on! One hundred days, that’s all you get before it’s all about the midterms. And these days you’re only likely to be able to get one bill through Congress, and that’s it. One shot at a legacy, something history will remember you for. She’s really put me in a barrel on this one,” he said.

  The vice president leaned against the edge of the couch. At nearly twice the president’s age, Jeffreys could’ve been his father and had a sympathetic air to match.

  “Always with your head in the clouds trying to game out what people hundreds of years in the future will think of you. It’s time to come back to the present to figure out what we can do with the cards we’re dealt. Every president has a crisis. If yours is that your wife has decided to leave, it could be worse,” he said.

  President Morrin shook his head, scowling in a way that was uncomfortable for Jane to watch. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for being unable to focus on her question, but conversations between Secret Service members and their protectees were best measured in seconds and she’d already been with him for far too long.

  “Tell that to the millions of women whose support I just lost. Probably a statistically significant number of men too. My approval ratings are going to sink like a stone, and then no one will give me the time of day around Capitol Hill. How am I supposed to get one of my bills through when everyone assumes I’m on track to lose reelection?”

  “We’ve got problems that need to be addressed. The House and Senate are going to be inclined to
act if given the right chance,” Jeffreys said. “Besides, we don’t know how the divorce is going to play out and where it’ll leave us three and a half years from now. It’s not like it’s going to be contentious. Surely Bethany would be open to making the right statements to help smooth this over.”

  President Alex Morrin scoffed and began glancing around, again connecting eyes with Jane in what seemed like a search for any kind of support he could find. She smiled meekly, wishing she could blend in with the wall. He was only a couple of years older than her, and even at his age the most disconcerting thing it seemed he should be wrestling with was whether or not his team would make the playoffs or if he could replace the fan belt in his car himself.

  “It’s already been far more contentious than I ever would’ve imagined. She’s blindsided me with this and I have no idea what she’ll do next. I suppose I should be thankful she toughed it out until after the election and the transition, but if this was going to be a peaceful and calm parting it already wouldn’t be like this at all. I dread having to tell the Justice Department that they get to pull double duty as my divorce lawyers,” he said.

  “Mr. President,” Vice President Jeffreys said with a sigh, causing President Morrin to look up and raise his hand.

  “Oh, I’m not giving up. Far from it. This is just me internalizing the reality. We’re going to keep fighting as hard as we can, because people can’t afford for us not to. No point being surprised though when a lot of people find the chance to jump on what they see as a wounded president to be too good to ignore.”

  The way he said it had a lot of gumption to it and even some relish. It was easy to believe in him and imagine him finding a way to persevere no matter how badly he’d been hobbled by circumstances seemingly out of his control.

  “Maybe you should just answer the young lady’s question,” Jeffreys said, raising an eyebrow at Jane.

  “Yes, that’d be great,” Arundhati Singh said, and Jane wondered if the chief of staff felt nearly as out of place as she did considering what they just heard.