“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been recalled back to DC. I fly back tomorrow. Hell, practically the whole team flies back tomorrow.”
“But the president arrives tomorrow.”
“I know. They’ve already sent agents to relieve us. I’m just out here with you guys to try to do as much as I can before I leave.”
“I like America,” Detective Rojas said. “I do. But sometimes I don’t understand your country. Hollywood produces movies like this all the time. My wife loves Pretty Woman.”
Cain smiled. “Well, that woman from last night got a huge disappointment. Tom Jackson is no Richard Gere.”
“I can’t understand this. Your government sends you all back because of one prostitute’s complaint? This woman is a troublemaker. Plain and simple. I kicked her out of the station. I took care of this for you.”
“I wish it were that easy,” Cain said. “But the truth is my boss and his bosses see this whole thing differently than you and me. The Secret Service is embarrassed by this because they were notified after the American embassy was informed. The Service doesn’t like surprises. Surprises are bad—really bad—in this line of work. They’ll see it as a black eye on our agency.”
“Since you are leaving tomorrow, do you still want to continue working now?”
“Absolutely,” Cain said. “And I’d better use that ATM. I need some quick cash. There’s still enough time for my partner to get into more trouble.”
Detective Rojas nodded. “I’ve been a police officer for twenty-eight years. I know what it’s like to have shitty partners.”
“It’s nice to have things in common,” Cain said. “But I wish that wasn’t it.”
Several hours later, after conducting the advance security preparations and host-nation liaison, Cain returned to the hotel. The same bellman was on duty. He always seemed eager to practice his English. “Mr. Lemaire, you look like you had a lot of sun today.”
“Yeah.” Cain dragged out the word. “I guess you could say I got burned today—in more than one way.”
“Are you finished now?” the bellhop asked.
“Sure am. It was a long day, but I’m glad it’s finally winding down now. How was yours?”
“Very busy, too. Many guests today. I mailed that package to Japan for you.”
“Perfecto! Muchas gracias.” Cain handed him a generous tip before he continued toward the elevator. As was his habit, he automatically scanned the lobby for anything out of place. He stopped when he recognized the acne-scarred man walking toward him.
Chapter 8
“Good to see you again, brother!” Cain’s academy classmate, now an agent from the Atlanta office, bear-hugged him.
“It sure is, Teddy! Just wish it were under different circumstances.”
“You’re telling me! I was this close”—he signaled with his thumb and index finger—“from busting a counterfeit ring. Got a group of Nigerians putting out the best hundred-dollar bills I’ve seen in my career.”
“Ah, man. I’m sorry. I can’t believe they’d pull you from that case to come down here for this.”
“I’m not surprised. Nobody in our agency cares about investigations. If you want to get promoted in the Service, you have to be on the president or vice president’s detail. Otherwise, before you know it, you’re fifteen years in and still guarding a garbage can in a hotel alley. I’ve become best friends with Oscar the Grouch.”
“Well, the Service is overreacting on this one. I’m hoping it will blow over as soon as they get the full details,” Cain replied.
“Tomcat and some of the others, I can see. But you? I’m not judging. I was just surprised to see your name.”
“It’s not what it appears,” Cain said. “When a skunk sprays, a lot of bystanders have to deal with the smell, too.”
As Cain talked with Teddy in the lobby, he noticed other agents hauling suitcases and coordinating room requests with the receptionist. The hotel had been booked completely, so getting the exiting agents checked out and their bookings replaced with the new agents was causing a logistical nightmare.
“Cain, you’re one of the few on the president’s detail who I actually like,” Teddy told him. “You don’t have an ego the size of Air Force One. So, I don’t want you blindsided on this one. This is gaining more traction than you probably expected. The SAC in Atlanta is referring to your team as the Dirty Dozen. And apparently the White House is concerned that if the media gets ahold of this, it will overshadow the president’s participation at the Summit of the Americas. The Service’s PR guy is already talking to the White House in case they need to issue a press release.”
“A press release? Are you yanking my chain?”
“Afraid not, brother. I don’t want you getting burned over this.”
Cain chuckled. “If today had a theme, it’d be getting burned.”
“Just watch your back.”
“I’ll deal with management as soon as I get back. Don’t worry about me. You just stay focused on keeping the president safe here. You’ve been out doing field investigations for so long you’ve probably forgotten how to do protection.”
“I had to knock the wax off my earpiece,” Teddy joked.
“That’s disgusting.”
They laughed together. Cain described the security assessment and explained the primary and secondary routes and safe havens. He handed his colleague business cards and contact numbers for key personnel he had interacted with.
“Sounds like you’ve done all the work for me,” Teddy noted. “I would have expected nothing less. Any other agent would have quit as soon as he learned he was being pulled from this trip. But not you.”
“I’ve double-checked all the routes with the local police. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but don’t let your guard down. These international conferences are publicized well in advance, and always make me nervous. The manager has another route you can take the president tomorrow to escort him to his room. He’ll show it to you tomorrow morning when he’s back on the clock. That way you can avoid going through the kitchen. I always have a bad feeling about that.”
“Remember Bobby Kennedy,” Teddy said, referring to the senator’s assassination in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel. “We must have seen that video clip a hundred times in the academy.”
Cain nodded. “At least a hundred. Should you run into any hiccups or have any questions, just shoot me an email or give me a call. My flight isn’t until eight in the morning. And I’d rather talk to you than Jackson.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
Cain smiled. “Good luck with the visit.”
As Cain started toward the elevator, the agent’s eyes were diverted downward. “Those gators waterproof?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“They’ll need to be to wade through the shit you’re about to trudge through in DC.”