Chapter Four
“Kendrick.” Brent Harris motioned him into the Secret Service office as he approached down the center hallway.
Inside, Shane glanced at the protectee locator, the electronic box listing the location of the president, vice-president, and their immediate families. Rafael was upstairs on the third floor. “What’s up? Pearce should be here soon.” Alan’s text had only said he’d be late and not to wait for him. Being late wasn’t acceptable, but it was their second week on the midnight shift, and they’d only seen Valor once. Odds were that Rafa was staying put upstairs.
In the three weeks since the false alarm at the park, he’d only gone out to foundation events or meetings, aside from one barbecue hosted by an old high school friend. He’d talked and laughed with his former classmates while eating hot dogs and drinking beer, but Shane had the feeling his heart wasn’t in it. There seemed to be a switch he flicked on when he had to be polite and friendly. He didn’t talk much otherwise and kept to himself most of the time. It made for an easy detail, at least.
“Actually, Pearce isn’t coming in,” Harris replied. They stood in the corner of the office, the other agents monitoring the live feeds from security cameras. This late at night there was fewer staff, but the office was of course monitored twenty-four seven. Harris went on. “He’s got a family emergency.”
Shane’s stomach dropped. “Serious?”
“His son has an infection. He’s been hospitalized.”
“But Al said he’s been doing okay.” Just the other day he’d shown Shane a video of the boy laughing as he and Alan played catch in the yard. There was a gap between Dylan’s teeth that he’d been eager to show to the camera. “Damn.”
Harris nodded grimly. “I told him to stay at the hospital and I’d cover if need be. I called Nguyen, and we’ve discussed it. If Pearce can’t come in the rest of the week, how do you feel about taking the night shift alone? Of course you’d have backup from the uniforms if need be, but Valor isn’t one for taking off at three o’clock in the morning to go party. Odds are you’ll barely even see him all week. Good thing it’s the mouse’s detail and not his sister’s.”
“Sounds good. It should be just fine. You can’t get anyone in to cover for Pearce?”
Harris sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re short-staffed. This election season is killing us. Between Livingston and Margulies and their veeps, we’re stretched thin.” He laughed humorlessly. “Fucking cutbacks. They keep asking us to do more with less, and who’ll get blamed if something goes wrong? My buddy’s on Livingston’s detail, and they’re constantly on the road. He’s barely slept. Working eighteen hours a day, but of course he’s only officially on the clock eight of those.”
“I hear you. Look, head on home. I’ve got this. Like you said, the kid doesn’t go anywhere at night. Pearce and I would just be shooting the shit anyway. I can handle this.”
“Great.” Harris gave Shane’s back a slap. “Have a good night. Call me if there are any issues.”
“You got it.”
Shane grabbed his radio and headed up to the state floor. Within the executive residence on a quiet night like this with only one protectee on site, they used small walkie-talkies that clipped on their belts instead of the ear pieces connected to wrist mics and radios. The president was still overseas, and Venus had left that morning for Los Angeles to stump for Margulies’s campaign. All was quiet. He stayed near the back stairs, since they were the ones Valor was most likely to use. As he took a seat in a wooden chair left there for agents, his phone buzzed. He answered quietly. “Al?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure things are okay there.”
Jesus, Alan’s voice was wrecked. Hoarse and wavering. “We’ve got it covered. Don’t give it another thought, okay? How’s Dylan?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“Not great. Fever’s high. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. He was still supposed to have a year before he got really sick. At least.”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay.” He wasn’t sure at all, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah. Thanks. Fuck, man. We just got this detail and I’m causing problems. They’re going to shitcan me first chance they get. I need this job.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. They understand.”
He laughed bitterly. “Nguyen and Harris, sure. But the top brass couldn’t give a shit. I barely made it back after…last time. My old boss fought for me to get back on a detail. They don’t want agents who can’t be on call constantly or work doubles or triples. They don’t want agents who have a life outside the job.” He paused. “Shit, I’m sorry. Listen to me—I’m a goddamn mess. I wouldn’t want me on the job either.”