“Well, Agent Ryker, I must say, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Oleg said.
The Russian extended his hand. Marcus stared at it. He was tempted to look to his superiors for guidance but felt certain this would offend the very man who could alone determine whether this summit happened or not. So he gave Oleg Kraskin a firm handshake, and then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment was over. The Russian returned to his seat, and the meeting proceeded as if nothing had happened.
41
COLORADO SPRINGS—JUNE 2017
Marcus didn’t mind standing post all night in front of the presidential suite.
He was just glad to be back on the Front Range.
Andrew Clarke, the newly elected president, had come to the Springs and was staying overnight at the Broadmoor Hotel and Resort, with several items on his agenda. First and foremost was visiting the headquarters of NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, once located deep inside Cheyenne Mountain but since 2006 situated at Peterson Air Force Base. Though he’d never served in the military himself, Clarke had entered office insisting he would both restore the honor of the men and women who served in the military and rebuild America’s armed forces, which he said had been “gutted” by his “loser” of a predecessor.
The second priority on the president’s list was serving as the keynote speaker for a high-dollar fund-raising dinner for Republican senatorial candidates. It was early yet. The all-important midterm elections wouldn’t be held until the following year, but the president was determined to create, if at all possible, a veto-proof majority in the Senate that would enable him to pass the sweeping health care and tax reform bills he had so far been unable to get through Congress and signed into law.
Both items had been checked off the list the previous day. This morning the president was focused on the third item on his agenda: having breakfast with a dozen evangelical leaders whom he counted both key to his stunning upset victory and just as key to his reelection campaign.
Marcus hadn’t given any of the three a single thought. His sole interest in this trip—aside from keeping POTUS safe—was the chance to catch up with family. With the permission of the special agent in charge, Marcus had taken some personal leave and flown out to the Springs a day before the president arrived. He’d taken his mom up Pike’s Peak for the day, then out for dinner at her favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Monument. He’d shown her the latest pictures of Lars, who the week before had celebrated his eleventh birthday, on his mobile phone and caught her up on her grandson’s latest exploits.
Right on time, about halfway through dinner, Mrs. Ryker made her semiannual plea for Marcus to retire from the Secret Service, move back to Monument, and give Lars “a real childhood.” Marcus listened patiently and asked his mother—for the umpteenth time—if Elena was actually paying her cash to make this case every six months. When she denied it like every other time, he gave her his standard reply: “Thanks, Mom, but really, we’re doing fine.”
The cruise disaster had long ago blown over. Marcus had apologized profusely. Elena had forgiven him. They’d met with Pastor Emerson for several months of counseling, and Marcus was finding ways to cut back on his hours and make a little more time for his wife and son.
When he got back to Washington on Friday night, he told his mother, he was going to meet Elena and Lars for a big night he had planned for them at the Kennedy Center. And yes, he assured her, when he finally felt the time was right to retire, they would definitely come back to Colorado.
The morning the president was to arrive in the Springs, Marcus had breakfast with his in-laws. He asked them to come over to the Broadmoor so he’d be ready to meet the motorcade when it arrived just before noon, and they were more than happy to do so. They loved their son-in-law and were as eager as ever to see the latest pictures and to hear the latest news. They just wished their daughter and only grandchild could have come too.
“The Kennedy Center sounds exciting,” Javier Garcia said, his eyes brightening when Marcus explained what he was planning. “What are you going to see?”
“Actually, it’s all Lars’s idea,” Marcus explained. “He’s been studying Moby-Dick. You know, ‘Call me Ishmael,’ and the like. Anyway, he’s gotten kind of into the whole thing, and his teacher heard that there was going to be a performance of an opera based on the novel at the Kennedy Center. Can’t say I’m a big fan of opera, but it’s gotten great reviews, and you know how your daughter is determined that our son learn about more than just fly-fishing and hiking fourteeners.”
“That’s our girl,” Mrs. Garcia said with a laugh.
“But in this case it’s really all Lars,” Marcus said.
“What time is the show?” Mrs. Garcia asked. “You’re sure you’ll get back on time?”
“Oh, it won’t be a problem,” Marcus assured them. “The opera starts at 1900. Air Force One is wheels down at Andrews at precisely 1736. We’ll chopper back to the White House. The moment we touch down, my shift will be over. My tux is hanging in my locker. I’ll grab a cab and meet them there. Chick-chock. No problem.”
But there was a problem. The president’s meeting with the evangelical leaders went long—very long—and by the time they got to the airport, Marcus knew he wasn’t going to make it back to Washington on time.
42
Marcus called Elena from the tarmac.
“Don’t worry; I may be a little late, but I’ll make it,” he insisted after explaining the situation. “I promise.”
“It’s okay—don’t worry about it,” Elena said gently. “How ’bout if we meet you there? I’ll leave your ticket at will call.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said. “And, honey?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she said. “Stay safe, and we’ll see you soon.”
Just then she started a sneezing fit.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Probably just allergies.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, too,” he whispered. “Gotta go.”
They had come a long way. Elena had made her peace with his job and its challenges, and he was making far more of an effort to be a loving and attentive husband and father. It wasn’t perfect. But it was working, and he was grateful.
He hung up the phone, checked in with the SAIC, received orders to board, and bounded up the stairs and took his seat. Ten minutes later, Air Force One surged down the runway. When he heard the landing gear retract, Marcus checked his watch again. They were forty-seven minutes behind schedule. He knew the pilots could make up some of that time in the air. They were going east, with the jet stream at their backs. Still, POTUS had nothing on his formal schedule that evening, which meant there was no particular reason the pilots needed to push. But worrying wouldn’t get them there any faster. Stress is a choice, Marcus told himself. Lay it down.
He tilted his seat back, closed his eyes, and uttered another prayer that the pilots would make up lost time. He didn’t exactly look forward to a night of opera, but he couldn’t bear the thought of missing a single moment of such a special evening with Elena and Lars. He’d missed far too many already.
Lars took the news well.
Better than Elena had feared. After nearly a year of marriage counseling with Pastor Emerson and Maya, it was true that she had made her peace with Marcus’s crazy job and crazier schedule. But Lars had not. He was struggling in school, drifting in class, underperforming on tests, and occasionally even getting into fights. The school psychologist said it was only preadolescence. Elena knew it was more. A boy needed the love and discipline and strong presence of his father in his life. It was no more complicated than that. But she was done being angry and worked hard to let go of her bitterness. These were the cards God had dealt them. She’d done herself and her marriage and her son no good complaining about her hand. She needed to be grateful and play them as best she could.