A growing crowd of demonstrators had already gathered in front of the gates. Selena showed her ID to the Marine guard and passed into the compound. Inside the embassy, a security desk manned by a Marine Corporal faced the double doors of the entrance. A second Marine manned a metal detector and x-ray machine by the doors, screening everyone who came into the building.
Selena showed the Marine her credentials. Not many people had ever seen that particular badge with the presidential seal. She wore a light weight linen jacket. She lifted it away to show the Marine the pistol at her hip.
"I'm armed," she said. She kept her hands where he could see them.
"You'll have to leave your weapon with me, Ma'am."
"I would prefer not to."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. It's regulations."
Selena unclipped her holster and handed it to him.
"It's de cocked, loaded and ready to go," she said.
"I see that. I'll take good care of it for you," he said. He took the Sig and locked it in a small safe. "You can go through now."
"Thank you."
Selena looked around. The embassy had been built during America's colonial era, designed to impress visitors as the outpost of a nation on the rise as a world power. A stairway with a wide, mahogany railing led to the upper stories. Selena spotted an elevator to one side. A wide hall that doubled as a gallery ran to the back of the building and a large ballroom used for events.
Two muscular Marines wearing spotless white hats with the globe and anchor, short-sleeved tan shirts and dress blue trousers stood at parade rest by the entrance, observing the crowd forming beyond the gates. They were armed with pistols and radiated alert tension. Selena had seen that look before, when Nick and Ronnie and Lamont expected trouble. She touched the radio transmitter in her ear that kept her connected to the rest of the team outside the embassy. It felt reassuring.
Like other presidents before him, President Rice had rewarded generous donations to his political campaign with ambassadorships. But Rice wasn't a typical politician. When it came to posts he considered critical for the security of the United States, he picked qualified people he knew to be competent. Rice considered the Philippines too important to entrust to a rich amateur with no diplomatic experience.
Ambassador Margaret Cathwaite was a career veteran of the State Department's diplomatic corps. Cathwaite looked out the windows of her office and wondered if the day would bring violence. It was nine o'clock in the morning. The main demonstration had not yet begun and protesters were already parading in front of the gates with signs denouncing the United States, President Rice and the Philippine government.
Today wasn't the first time or the first country where she'd looked out an embassy window at angry people who blamed the United States for all their problems. America was the perfect scapegoat when foreign politicians with an agenda needed a distraction.
She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, stretched in her chair and rotated her head from side to side, trying to free up the stiffness in her neck. She put her glasses back on and looked at a picture of her late husband, displayed in a prominent position on her desk. She wished he was here with her. The pain of his death would never go away, but after three years it had dulled somewhat. A second picture next to the first was of her daughter and two smiling children. Her daughter lived in Seattle and was happily married.
This was Margaret's last post. She was sixty-two years old and had decided to leave the service at the end of the year. She was tired of the constant pressure that went with her job and dealing with the egos and turf wars within the State Department. Margaret Cathwaite looked forward to retirement and spending time with her grandchildren.
A knock interrupted her reverie. Her secretary entered the room.
Helen Martinson was the kind of woman people called willowy. She was tall and supple, with straw colored hair pulled back in a tight bun, a pleasant looking woman in her late forties. Margaret thought she was one of the most efficient people she'd ever met.
"Doctor Connor is here to see you," Helen said. "She's your only appointment this morning. I haven't scheduled anyone else because of the demonstration."
"Wonderful. Send her in. No, wait, I'll go out to meet her."
"Did you remember to take your pills?" Helen asked. She'd been with Margaret a long time. Sometimes the ambassador thought she acted more like a mother hen than a secretary.
"Yes, Helen, thank you." She got up out of her chair and went to meet Selena.
"Madam Ambassador," Selena said. She smiled. "Hello, Margaret. Thanks for seeing me."
"Selena, it's been too long. Come on into my office."
Selena followed her in, feeling the absence of weight on her hip caused by her missing holster.
Across the street Nick stood in the shade of a tall flame tree, watching the crowd and the Filipino police outside the embassy. Branches loaded with feathery green leaves and brilliant red flowers spread over his head, breaking up the heat of the sun. He wiped away a light coating of sweat from his forehead. It was already hot and humid. The weather forecast was for a scorcher.
Lamont and Ronnie were with the crowd of demonstrators and speakers at the beginning of the march, some distance away down Roxas Boulevard. The color of their skin made it easier for them to blend into the mob than it was for Nick. No one would mistake him for a Filipino. So far there'd been no sign of unusual activity, unless you counted the gathering of thousands of people opposed to an American presence in the Philippines as unusual.
Nick's earpiece crackled. He heard Lamont's voice.
"The march is moving," Lamont said. "Lots of people and they all seem pissed off."
"Roger that," Nick said. "You and Ronnie stick together. Try not to get separated."
Lamont said, "There's going to be trouble."
"Don't get caught in the crowd. Stay on the edges."
"Roger. Out."
Nick waited in the shade of the tree. Soon he heard a rumble of sound in the distance. As the crowd got closer the rumbling became distinct words.
USA OUT!! USA OUT!! USA OUT!! NO MORE BOMBS!! NO MORE BOMBS!!
Nick watched the march approach and felt his adrenaline kick in. The hair prickled on the back of his neck. There was something primal about mobs like this, an echo of a time before humans became civilized. It was more than a gathering of angry people. It was an entity unto itself, a force that could not be reasoned with. The chanting vibrated underfoot and echoed off the walls of the buildings.
Nick looked for Ronnie and Lamont and saw them on the outer fringe of the marchers, a few rows back from the front. They looked stressed. He held his hand over his ear.
"Ronnie, Lamont, I see you. I'm under that big tree with the red flowers across from the embassy. Break out and get over here." He saw them look his way.
They pushed through the protesters toward Nick. No one paid any attention. The march halted in front of the embassy. A double line of nervous national police in riot gear with helmets, clubs and shields blocked the front of the gates. The protesters ignored them and focused on the leaders. A man took out a crude American flag and set it on fire. A man with a bullhorn began haranguing the crowd, waving his fist in the air and shouting out slogans.
Inside the embassy, Selena and the ambassador watched from Cathwaite's office.
"Does this happen often?" Selena said.
"Not on this scale. Every once in a while somebody sprays slogans over the embassy sign out front. There hasn't been a big demonstration like this for a year or two. This one seems well organized and larger than most."