“I didn’t know you knew where I lived, Adelphia,” Stone said.
“You know where I live, it work both way,” she snapped.
Suitably rebuked, Stone sat back in his chair and stared at his hands.
“Oliver was just telling us that his face is much better,” Alex said quickly, giving the woman what he hoped would be a clear segue into her concerns.
However, Adelphia said nothing, and there was another awkward silence until Kate remarked, “I actually knew one of the attorneys from the ACLU who worked on your relocation case in Lafayette Park. He said it was a tough battle.”
“I believe the Secret Service were very aggressive in not wanting us back for security purposes,” Stone agreed.
Adelphia suddenly broke in. “But then the rights of people, they win out. People here have good rights. That is why this country is great country.”
Stone nodded in agreement.
“Yes,” Adelphia continued. “My friend Oliver, he has sign. It say ‘I want truth.’”
“Don’t we all,” Kate said with a smile.
“But sometime truth, it must come from inside a person,” Adelphia said forcefully as she touched her chest. “One who asks for truth, they too must be truthful, is this not so?” She looked around the group as she said this.
Stone was clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He responded slowly, “The truth comes in many different shapes. But sometimes even when the truth is staring someone in the face, he fails to see it.” He abruptly stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have someplace I have to be.”
“It’s pretty late, Oliver,” Alex said.
“Yes, it is late, and I hadn’t anticipated visitors tonight.”
His meaning was clear. They all stood and hurriedly walked out with mumbled good-byes.
Alex and Kate gave Adelphia a lift back to her apartment.
From the backseat she said, “He is in trouble. I know that this is true.”
“What makes you so sure?” Alex asked.
“He come by the park today with his friend, the giant one. He on a motorcycle. Riding in a sidecar.” She added this last in a tone implying that doing such was a criminal act.
“A giant man? Oh, you mean Reuben,” Alex clarified.
“Yes, Reuben. I no like him much. He has, how you say, the shifty pants.”
“You mean shifty eyes,” Alex corrected.
“No, I mean the shifty pants!”
“It’s okay, Adelphia,” Kate said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
Adelphia shot her an appreciative look.
“But you still haven’t told us why you think he’s in trouble,” Alex said.
“It is everything. He is not same. Something troubles him much. I try to talk to him, but he will not speak. He will not!”
Alex looked at her, puzzled by the intensity of her response, and his suspicions were suddenly engaged. “Adelphia, is there something else you want to tell us?”
She looked terrified for an instant and then assumed an expression of deep offense. “What do you say? That I lie!”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“I am no liar. I try to do good, that is all.”
“I’m not—”
She cut him off. “I no talk any more. I no tell you more lies!”
They were stopped at a light. She jerked open the door, got out and stalked off.
“Adelphia,” Alex called after her.
Kate said, “Better let her cool off awhile. She’ll come around soon enough.”
“I don’t have time for that. I leave tomorrow morning.”
“And tomorrow is when I start my vacation.”
“What? When did that happen?”
“After last night I needed some time off, so I’m taking a week. Maybe I’ll come up to see you in Brennan. I hear it’s a real happening place.”
“It’s probably a cow pasture where a president happened to be born.”
“And maybe I’ll have some time to check out your Mr. Stone and his friends.”
He looked at her in alarm. “Kate, I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
“Or I can start trying to find the people who wanted us dead. It’s your call.”
He put up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Go after Oliver Stone and company. Damn, talk about the lesser of two evils.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” she said, giving him a salute.
CHAPTER
48
THE SECRET SERVICE ADVANCE team touched down in Pittsburgh at seven A.M., and the equivalent of a small army rolled off the planes and headed directly to Brennan. The president traveled hundreds of times each year. And at least several days before he got to a particular location the Secret Service sent a regiment of agents who would spend collectively thousands of hours checking every conceivable detail to ensure that the trip would be uneventful from a security standpoint.
Since the president had numerous trips planned on his campaign and would hop from one state to another, there were multiple advance teams out in the field, which had stretched the Service’s manpower. Normally, an advance team would have a full week to do its work, but because of the number of events President Brennan had booked on the campaign, the Service had had to prioritize. Events deemed lower risk were allotted less advance time. With higher-risk events the Service had its usual week to prepare. The Brennan, Pennsylvania, event had been deemed low risk for a number of factors. Of course, what that meant for Alex Ford and the rest of the advance team was that they would have to cram a week’s worth of work into a few days.
The Service set up shop at the largest hotel in Brennan, taking over an entire floor. It had been renamed the Sir James, in honor of the president’s first name. That had caused about ten minutes of funny one-liners from the field agents, until their leaders came within earshot. One room became the communications center and was consequently stripped of all furniture and completely debugged. From this point until the Service left there’d be no room service or maids allowed there.
That afternoon the Service met with members of the local police forces. As Alex watched, the lead advance agent faced the cadre of law enforcement officers while briefing books were handed out.
“Just remember,” he warned. “In another room near here there may be a group of people planning to do the exact opposite of what we’re trying to accomplish.”
Alex had heard this spiel many times, but as he looked around the room, he couldn’t believe that many of those present were buying the line. Still, Alex, with all his experience, discounted nothing. Secret Service agents were paranoid by nature. While Brennan didn’t look like a potential trouble spot, no one had expected Bobby Kennedy to be shot in the kitchen of a hotel. James Garfield bought it at a train station; William McKinley went down at a rope line after having been shot by a man who wrapped his revolver inside a “bandage”; Lincoln was gunned down in a theater and JFK in his open limo. Not on my watch, Alex kept telling himself.
Not on my watch.
Potential motorcade routes from the airport to the ceremonial grounds were discussed, and possible trouble spots with each were considered. Then the group broke into smaller units, and Alex found himself asking the usual questions of the local law enforcement. Had gun sales peaked? Were any police uniforms missing? Were there any local threats against the president? What were the locations of the nearest hospitals and potential safe houses?
After that, they drove out to the site. Alex walked the ceremonial grounds and helped establish sniper posts. He eyed the area, locating what the Service referred to as the assassin’s funnel. You had to think like a killer. Where, how and when could the person be expected to strike?
The stage was finished, and a work crew was putting the finishing touches on lighting and sound and the two giant TV screens that would allow the crowd to see the president up close, at least digitally.