Valor on the Move

“Nope. He never really has been, and he wasn’t a problem,” Nguyen answered. “He’s Vagabond and Venus’s golden child.”

Vagabond was the president, and Venus the first lady. “What about Valor? What’s their relationship with him?” Shane asked.

Nguyen and Harris shared a glance. Harris said, “He’s a really nice kid. Shy. Wound pretty freakin’ tight. Never puts a foot wrong, and doesn’t say much. Vagabond doesn’t seem to pay him much attention, and Venus has always been caught up with the other kids. But it seems now that Virtue’s settled down a bit from her party days and less likely to get arrested on a coke bust, Venus is taking a closer look at her youngest.”

“She sounds like a treat. Are the stories true?” Alan asked.

The agents in the room all made affirmative noises, including Nguyen, who sighed. “Frankly, she can be a demanding bitch. She’ll treat you like the help, and won’t thank you for jack shit. But she’s fair—I’ll give her that. She may not thank you, but she won’t bust your balls for no reason. And if her agents tell her she can’t go somewhere, she listens. She’s a very smart woman, and she won’t give anyone a hard time for the sake of it. But warm and fuzzy isn’t in her wheelhouse.”

“She’s one of those people who’s always on,” Harris added. “You know what I mean? Never has her guard down. Maybe up in the family quarters, but from what her aides say, not even then.”

“Got it.” Shane nodded.

“The most Valor will do is sneak down to the kitchen late at night,” Harris said. “But he won’t dick you around. When his parents are away, he cooks up a storm in the kitchen on the third floor, but he has to poach the ingredients from the main kitchen. The staff have orders to tell Venus if he does, but they cover for him.”

Shane frowned. “Why isn’t he allowed to cook?”

Nguyen rolled her eyes. “Who knows? Too menial? Not macho enough? He’s always had an interest, but his mother’s tried to crush it since he was a little boy, apparently.”

“What’s she afraid of? He’s not gay, is he?” Alan asked. He glanced at Shane, and Shane half expected him to add, Not that there’s anything wrong with that. While Shane wasn’t flying rainbow flags, it had never been a problem with the agents who knew, like Alan.

“Not that we know of,” Harris answered. “He’s a sensitive kid, and I could certainly believe it. Obviously anyone could be gay. But if he is, let me tell you he’s hidden it extremely well. Never a whiff of it. No clandestine movements to meet secret lovers, and we’d know if he was sneaking off for quickies in the bathroom. He and his girlfriend are two peas in a pod.”

Alan asked, “What’s the deal with her? Will she give us problems?”

“Nope. As you know, she’s in Paris for the summer. She’ll be back for September when you guys head down with Valor to Charlottesville. She’s friendly. Respectful. Sleeps over in his dorm room from time to time. No issues. They hang around with a few other students sometimes, but Valor isn’t very social. Always polite, but he keeps people at arm’s length. Easier that way, I imagine. He was the same in high school—he’d have kids over, and went to parties and such, but it didn’t seem like any of his friends were close to him.”

“We’re reducing his detail so some of the agents can go on Livingston’s watch,” Nguyen said. “Two of you will do just fine. He’s not going to be happy that his other agents are gone already, but that was the way Venus wanted it. Thinks it’s easier to rip off a Band-Aid.” She checked her watch. “He should be up soon. Let’s take a tour of the ground floor and make sure you’ve got your protocols down cold. Then you can meet Valor.”

The taupe and cream checks of the floor of the White House entrance hall shone brightly, buffed to perfection. Marble columns soared almost twenty feet above, and the enormous chandeliers were turned off, the sun streaming in through tall windows topped with thick red and gold curtains. The Red, Blue, and Green Rooms opened off an east-west hallway where former presidents in oil paint watched from gilt frames as Shane and Alan followed Nguyen to what was officially known as the Family Dining Room on the west side. There was a private dining room upstairs on the second floor of the residence, but apparently Mrs. Castillo preferred the first floor for reasons unknown.

At a shining wooden table that at the moment was set for eight—the smallest size, Shane guessed—Rafael Castillo looked up from a tablet and bowl of soggy-looking Cheerios he was half-heartedly pushing around with his spoon. Across the table, on the other side of a low bouquet of pink tulips, sat his mother and a young female aide reading off the first lady’s morning schedule. Impressionist portraits hung on warm yellow walls, and yellow velvet curtains framed the windows. The chandelier over the table was an explosion of cut crystal. Shane could only imagine how ornate the State Dining Room was next door.