The President introduced the remaining member of the group, a thin man with grey-flecked hair and crow’s feet spreading out from his steel-blue eyes. ‘And, finally, the Director of the Secret Service, Dirk Moran.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Connor, offering his hand. ‘I’ve been told I’m reporting to you.’
‘That’s right,’ the director replied. His handshake was brief and cool, and Connor got the feeling he was being appraised right from the start.
They all sat as the chief of staff poured out the coffee. Although he didn’t actually like coffee, Connor accepted a cup out of politeness.
‘Is this your first time in the States?’ asked President Mendez, dropping a lump of sugar into his drink.
Connor nodded. ‘But I like what I’ve seen so far.’
‘And what would that be?’ asked Dirk.
‘Well, the White House. It’s certainly well protected,’ replied Connor and, wanting to impress, added, ‘Snipers, bullet-resistant glass, hidden cameras, infra-red sensors …’
The general raised a wry eyebrow in Dirk’s direction. ‘The boy’s done his research.’
‘In fact, I was surprised I wasn’t searched on arrival,’ finished Connor.
The President looked to his director for an explanation of this apparent lapse in security.
‘That’s because you were scanned discreetly as you passed through the lobby,’ explained Dirk. ‘You don’t know all our security measures, young man. No one ever does.’
‘Sometimes not even the President himself!’ laughed President Mendez, putting down his coffee cup. ‘President Eisenhower once said, “America is best described by one word: freedom.” And that is true. But Thomas Jefferson, our third President and Founding Father, also observed that “the price of freedom is eternal vigilance”. Unfortunately, in this day and age, vigilance isn’t only a byword, it’s a way of life. Especially for the President and the First Family. We need constant, round-the-clock protection from the Secret Service.’
He sighed, the weight of office momentarily seeming a burden rather than an honour.
‘This can be hard to live with, day in, day out. Which is why my daughter has taken exception to such imposing protection. And why Buddyguard’s services have been requested.’
No longer able to contain the burning question that had been on his mind ever since his selection, Connor put down his un-drunk cup of coffee and asked, ‘Why did you choose me?’
President Mendez clasped his hands almost as if in prayer. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. Your father saved my life.’
Connor’s jaw dropped. ‘When? How?’
The President sat back, surprised at his reaction. ‘Has no one ever told you this?’
‘No,’ admitted Connor. ‘I was just told my dad was killed in an ambush in Iraq and that he died a hero.’
‘That’s correct. He gave his life to rescue me.’
The President then recounted his trip to Iraq six years previously as US Ambassador. How the British and American forces were working together to secure peace and that an SAS detachment had been assigned to help protect high-profile visiting diplomats. He spoke with passion about his miraculous escape from the attack on their convoy and how Connor’s father had risked all to ensure his safety.
Connor listened rapt. This was the first time he’d heard the details of his father’s heroic act. But it now explained the Soldier’s Medal – the one embossed with the American Eagle – that was among the possessions his mother kept in the ‘memory box’. She’d always been too distraught to talk about his father’s death, and as he’d grown older he’d stopped asking about it. But, at last, he knew the whole story.
As the President came to the end, he slid a small scratched key fob across the coffee table to Connor.
‘I kept this to remind myself of the true meaning of sacrifice,’ he explained. ‘To ensure that I lived a life of sacrifice for my country as their President. Your father held this in his hand as he died. And now I return it to you.’
Connor stared down at his father’s talisman. From beneath the plastic, a picture of a familiar eight-year-old boy smiled up at him.
‘In my eyes, Justin Reeves was a very courageous, loyal and noble soldier,’ said President Mendez earnestly. ‘And you have his blood running through your veins. Which is why I’d only trust my daughter’s life with a Reeves buddyguard.’
Connor was speechless, choked with emotion and grief at the account of his father’s selfless bravery.
Seeing the impact his words had, the President said, ‘I’ll perfectly understand if you feel you can’t accept this role, Connor.’ His expression was kindly and sincere, yet at the same time hopeful. ‘But I would sleep more soundly in my bed knowing Alicia is truly safe – not only protected by the Secret Service, but by you.’
Connor stared at the key fob. His dad’s key fob. Losing a father was a pain no one should have to bear. But, in his father’s case, could it possibly be deemed ‘worth it’? He’d saved the life of a man who went on to become the President of the United States. A leader who was being hailed as a new dawn for America, according to what Connor had read about him. A visionary who could steer the country to peace and prosperity. And all this was possible only because of his father. Connor felt an immense sense of pride in him.
Gripping the key fob in his hand, Connor said, ‘I can assure you, Mr President, I’ll do my best to protect your daughter.’
‘That’s all I ask of anyone,’ replied President Mendez, smiling warmly.
‘Now, Connor, remember your assignment is to be kept confidential,’ explained the White House Chief of Staff. ‘Aside from us in this room, a few key Secret Service agents and the First Lady, no one will know your true purpose.’
‘And Alicia, of course?’ added Connor.
Dirk intervened, ‘No, you’ll be introduced to her later as a special guest of the President on an exchange programme. The White House have done such exchanges before so it won’t raise suspicion.’
‘So Alicia won’t know I’m guarding her?’ queried Connor.
‘Hopefully not,’ replied the President. ‘With any luck, she’ll think she’s looking after you.’
‘Over ten thousand death threats a year are made against the President and his family,’ stated Dirk Moran, as he led Connor down another windowless and indistinguishable corridor.
After his meeting with President Mendez, Connor had been driven with the director to an unmarked building in downtown DC. Although it looked like any other office in the street, it actually housed the headquarters of the Secret Service. Having been issued with a security pass, Connor was then escorted by the director deep into the labyrinthian complex.
‘That’s thirty potential attacks every day,’ Dirk emphasized in a grave tone. ‘Each and every one has to be investigated.’ They passed a busy office to their left. ‘In there, our Intelligence Division are tasked with differentiating between those who make threats and those capable of carrying out such threats. Then the agency’s job is to prevent any viable threat becoming a full-blown attack.’
They came to an unmarked door and the director stopped.
‘Before we go any further, Connor,’ he said, his expression hardening, ‘I need you to understand something.’
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dirk pulled out a slim black leather wallet.
‘Our mandate is to Protect the man. Protect the symbol. Protect the office. And the Secret Service’s Presidential Protective Division is the last line of defence,’ he explained.
With a flick, he snapped the wallet open in front of Connor’s face. Inside was a golden badge with an eagle on the top. At its centre was the American Stars and Stripes, the miniature flag surrounded by a five-pointed star. Above and below the star were emblazoned the words UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE.