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“There are no deliveries,” says a man, who I’m assuming is one of the guards. “State your business.”

Oscar clears his throat. “We’re from Tyger Security. They called us in to run an assessment and install some upgrades. Said it was an emergency. Heh… with everything going on, I bet you’ve got a lot of them, huh?”

Nice, Oscar… nice.

There’s a moment’s silence. “You could say that…” replies the guard. “Got your ID?”

“Sure.”

Another moment’s silence. I’m guessing he’s checking the picture and running it through their system to make sure we’re on it.

This is where Josh earns his money…

I know… he wishes he got paid for this shit, right!

“Is it just you two?” asks the guard. “Our paperwork says a team of four was dispatched?”

“Yeah, the others are in the back.”

“Okay, turn off your engine while we check the vehicle.”

“Sure thing.”

The engine stops. A heartbeat later, the rear doors open and a flashlight beam floods in, burning our eyes. The internal lighting is poor in the back, and we’ve had to rely solely on what shines through the windshield. We both hold up a hand to shield us while we adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Can I see your IDs please?” asks one of the two men standing in front of us.

Squinting, I reach into my pocket and hand him my badge. Ruby does the same. I watch as they move their lights over them. Outside, behind the guards, a cacophony of horns ripples along the street, and people hurry along the sidewalks — a visible urgency in their collective body language.

The guards hand the badges back with no fuss and slam the doors. Ruby and I look at each other again, and we both raise a relieved eyebrow.

“Okay,” says the first guard. “Drive through to the second checkpoint. Head right up ahead, and make sure you keep to the right of the drive. You’ll be issued with passes giving you the required security clearance.”

“No problem,” replies Oscar, calmly. “Thanks, guys.”

“Just do what you have to do, alright? Today isn’t the day to be racking up your overtime.”

Oscar chuckles. “Overtime? We should be so lucky!”

There are a few seconds of awkward silence…

“Yeah, I hear that, man,” says the guard. “Go on through.”

“Thanks, my friend.”

Oscar restarts the engine as the gates squeak and grind open. We drive through and I look over my shoulder again to stare ahead through the windshield. The driveway up ahead splits. Left would take us in a wide, shallow semicircle along the north lawn, and eventually lead us back to the street. We head right, toward the second checkpoint and the entrance to the West Wing.

Another guard appears, walking toward the van with his hand held up. Oscar slows to a stop, and the guard heads to the driver’s door.

“Tyger Security?” he asks.

“That’s us.”

“Just pull in on the left. We need to check the vehicle before we can issue your badges.”

“No problem.”

Oscar moves forward, turns a moment later, once again killing the engine.

This is the part I’ve been dreading. The fake floor is the only thing they could find, and if they do, it’s game over before the opening bell sounds. I just hope they don’t make us get out of the van…

“You okay?” Ruby whispers next to me.

“Yeah, just nervous — I want my plan to work.”

She pats my hand with hers. “We’ll be fine.”

Everything goes quiet outside. We’re far enough into the White House grounds that the noise from the street is less audible. I hear Jonas shifting in his seat. Oscar is drumming his fingers on the wheel.

I wish I could see what’s happening… I hate flying blind like this.

“You’re good,” says the guard through the open window. “Drive past the checkpoint and pull in anywhere on the right. Your passes are being printed, and you can pick them up when you enter the building.”

“Thanks,” replies Oscar.

He reverses, then drives on and turns right again a moment later. As soon as he turns the engine off, I climb out of the back and stretch, cracking my neck and shoulders.

I take a brief look around, familiarizing myself with the surroundings and layout. There are two rows of parking spaces, one running along each side of the drive. We’re on the right, nose in. A wall easily eight feet tall, partially obscured by bushes and greenery, runs along the perimeter in front of us, separating us from West Executive Avenue.

On the other side, the White House looms over us, lit from beneath by floodlights. It’s a remarkable building, you can’t deny it. Like the name suggests, it’s a brilliant white brick, which seems to shine, even at night. All the windows are bulletproof. I can’t see any from where I’m standing, but I know there’s a team of Secret Service snipers on the roof — all of whom will be a damn good shot.

Basically, if we try leaving here in any way other than normal, we’ve got no chance…

We gather at the rear doors of the van. I pass Oscar the tool bag and then lift up the floor panels, revealing the other bag and the pile of weapons. Jonas grabs his bag without needing to be asked.

“Everyone get your ID badges visible,” I say. “Clip them to your pockets or something. We’ll be getting our security access once we’re inside, and from there we need to head straight for the maintenance room so Jonas can do his thing. We need to move like we belong, understand? This is our job, this is who we are… no need to feel out of place or self-conscious.”

“There are gonna be security cameras everywhere in there,” says Ruby. “Shouldn’t we have baseball caps on or something?”

I shake my head. “Looks too conspicuous. That’s why we got the strategic makeovers. A normal team of security experts wouldn’t wear a cap inside, so why should we? We’ll be visible, but thanks to Veronica we look different enough that people won’t look twice at us. Worst case is they have facial recognition software running on their security system, but even then, it would take a lot longer to determine who we really are based on how we look now. It’ll be fine… we just have to play it cool.”

I look at each member of the team in turn. Oscar and Jonas are holding their respective bags and look impatient, like they just want to get it over with. Ruby looks different. She seems impatient as well, but her eyes are sparkling, alive with the rush and thrill of a job. Instinctively, I pat myself down to make sure everything I need is in the right pocket, then I fold the fake floor back into place and slam the rear doors.

“Here we go…

I start walking toward the main doors, hearing the footsteps of my team behind me. We stride confidently into the lobby. Inside is immaculate and wonderfully designed. The floor is a dark marble, complemented by mahogany highlights and accessories, where appropriate. In the corners are pillars that stretch to the ceiling. I think they’re more for decoration than necessity. There’s a half-moon desk with a gateway scanner beside it in the middle of the large entrance hall. Three guards are behind the counter. I step to the side to allow Oscar through first.

“Tyger Security,” he announces as he approaches the desk.

The man behind the desk is Caucasian, probably late forties. Judging by what I can see of his torso — his shoulders and chest — I suspect his stomach is preventing him from seeing his shoes. His muscles seem to sag inside his uniform.

He glances down, then back at Oscar. “Four of you?” He points to the scanner. “Place your bags on the side and step through.”

We move to the left and form a line in front of the metal detector. Another low counter runs along one side of the central desk, with the scanner level with it, roughly halfway along. Oscar places the tool bag down carefully, along with his ID badge. He walks through the scanner, which remains silent, and collects his things on the other side.