Act of Treason

32

R app hadn’t worked up a sweat, so he got dressed and waited outside for Rivera. She came out ten minutes later, her hair wet and pulled back in a ponytail.

“So, I suppose you hung around to gloat.” Rivera threw open the right side of her black trench coat and placed her hand on the hilt of her service pistol.
“No, but from your tone it sounds like you could use another ass kicking.”
“What do you want with me?” She sounded irritated.
“We need to talk. Have you had breakfast?”
She looked at her watch. “No time. I can’t be late for work. I’m under double secret probation.”
“Is that the reason for your attitude?”
“If you really care to know, yes it is. Three months ago I was a rising star and now I’m an embarrassment.”
“Come on.” Rapp grabbed her by the elbow. “I spotted a breakfast place around the corner. We need to talk about a few things.”
“I told you I can’t. They’re looking for an excuse to fire me. I need to get to work.”
“F*ck ’em. You didn’t do anything they didn’t train you to do. Come on, let’s go.”
She dug in her heels. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You followed Secret Service procedure. Plain and simple.”
“And what is wrong with our procedures?” she said defensively.
“Oh, you’re a pain in the ass. Just drop the feminist, bull dyke bravado for thirty minutes, alright? I’m buying. Let’s go.”
Rivera’s eyes squinted. “Did you just call me a bull dyke?”
“No…I said drop the bull dyke attitude. You know…the whole female cop that has to prove she’s tougher than any man.”
“You think I’m a lesbian?”
“I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, bi, or whatever the hell floats your boat. All I’m telling you is that I don’t need your f*cking attitude. I showed up here this morning, because I have something important to talk to you about, and you pull that classless, cheap shot, bullshit move, thinking you’re all tough.” Rapp got in her face. “My f*cking back is killing me. You dropped me on my f*cking gun…You’re lucky I didn’t break your jaw.”
“Yeah…well if it makes you happy, I think you broke one of my ribs.” Rivera slid a hand under her jacket and winced as she touched her side.
“Good.” Rapp looked around and then said, “Can we go have breakfast now?”
“I’m not kidding. They’re building a file on me. Any excuse to get rid of me.”
It occurred to Rapp that she was so outside the loop that she had no idea he’d captured the man responsible for the motorcade attack. “Did you read the paper or turn on the TV this morning?”
“No. I got up and ran five miles and then came here.”
“Five miles and then you came here?”
“Yeah…that’s probably why you beat me. Next time I’m going to make sure I’m ready.”
“Are you delusional?”
“No…just realistic.”
Rapp shook his head and started walking. “Come on. I need something to eat.”
“I’m serious. I have to go. Maybe we could meet for lunch?”
Without breaking stride, Rapp yelled over his shoulder, “Did I mention that I found the man in the red hat?”
Rivera hesitated for a second and then called back, “What?”
“You heard me.” Three seconds later the Secret Service agent was at his side.
“Are you jerking me around? Because if you are, I swear…”
“Easy, killer. You really need to calm down.”
“You should talk.”
“I’m a guy.”
“There you go with the sexist stuff again.”
Rapp glanced at her sideways and decided to ignore the comment. “I found the guy on Cyprus, dragged him back here yesterday, and handed him over to the FBI. They’re going to announce the whole thing at ten o’clock this morning.”
“Does the Secret Service know?”
“I talked to Jack Warch this morning. He knew.”
“Bastards. You think they would have called me.”
“Relax. There’s a chance they only found out this morning.”
Rivera shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t exist to them anymore. All I am is a reminder of one of the Service’s greatest failures.”
Rapp supposed she was right. They came up on a small diner, and Rapp grabbed the door and held it for her. They went to a booth near the back, and Rapp practically had to fight Rivera for the side that faced the door. Rapp took off his trench coat and when he sat down he lifted his right arm and checked out the torn seam on his suit coat.
“I’m going to pay for that,” Rivera said.
Rapp ignored her. “So I have a few questions for you.”
“I’m serious about paying for it. Don’t ignore me.”
“Are you always this confrontational, or is this all related to work?”
“I think I used to be a pretty positive person.” She got reflective for a moment. “I was happy with my job. My life was good, although, things were a little barren in the love department, but when we’re in campaign mode there’s no time for anything, and then the damn bomb went off and it’s been pretty shitty ever since then.”
Rapp studied her, slightly surprised by her honesty. Rivera was an extremely attractive woman. She could use a little softening around the edges, but the beauty was undeniable, and it was all natural. She didn’t have to work at a thing. Without any makeup or real sense of style she was an effortless eight. At a place like the Secret Service that would make her a ten, and like all law enforcement agencies the Secret Service had no shortage of puss hounds. If he remembered her file right she was in her mid-thirties. Any woman who was this attractive, and still single at this point in her life, must have some issues.
“You ever wish you had died in the attack?” Rapp knew it was a common reaction from survivors. Especially, survivors whose job it was to protect those who died.
Rivera studied Rapp for a moment and then said, “I think wish might be a little strong, but yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
The waitress pulled up to the table and killed the conversation. They both ordered coffee and water, and Rivera ordered the heart-healthy omelet while Rapp asked for the corned beef and hash. When the waitress was gone, Rivera began peppering him with questions about the man in the red hat. Rapp gave her the vanilla version only, maybe just a little more than what the FBI already knew and then he took control of the conversation.
“I haven’t read the report in sometime, so I can’t remember, did you use electronic jammers that morning?”
Rivera shook her head. “That was one of the things I’ve been criticized for.”
“They were available to you and you didn’t use them?” Rap asked a bit surprised.
“That’s what they say, but there wasn’t a person on the detail who knew that, and no one back at headquarters ever told us directly that they were available. They dug up some bullshit, cover your ass, interoffice memo that they claim was sent to us. The only problem is, during the campaign, we’re on the fly nonstop. We don’t have time to read a forty-page memo on our BlackBerry.”
“So no jammers.”
“Correct.”
Rapp grabbed the salt-and-pepper shakers and lined them up one in front of the other and then switched them. “But you shuffled the cars, right?”
Rivera shook her head.
Her answer shocked Rapp, but he hid his surprise. “All right, walk me through the last five minutes, please. How were you deployed? When did you begin to roll…the whole routine.” While Rivera began to talk, Rapp started to consider the possibility that Gazich had lied to him about the phone call telling him it was the second limo. If he’d lied to him about that, what else had he lied to him about? Rapp only half listened to Rivera as she relayed the details of the tragic afternoon. He was already trying to figure out how he could get his hands on Gazich for a more in-depth interrogation.