“Asshole,” I mutter to Pam.
When I reach the stairs, I give my name to the Secret Service agent. He searches the list he holds in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, what was that name again?”
“Michael Garrick,” I say, pulling my ID from behind my tie.
He checks again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrick, I don’t have you here.”
“That’s impossi-” I cut myself short. Over the agent’s shoulder, I notice Simon looking our way. He’s wearing that same grin he was wearing the day he sent me home. That motherf-
“Call it in to Personnel,” Pam says to the agent. “You’ll see he’s on staff.”
“I don’t care if he’s on staff,” the agent explains. “If he’s not on this list, he’s not getting on this plane.”
“Actually, can I interrupt a moment?” Simon asks. Pulling a sheet of paper from his inside breast pocket, he steps back to the front of the line and passes it to the agent. “In our rush to get this together, I think I inadvertently left out a few people. Here’s an updated clearance sheet. I should’ve given this to you earlier, it’s just… with this terrible loss… ”
The agent looks down at the list and checks the code on the clearance sheet. “Welcome aboard Air Force One, Mr. Garrick.”
I nod to the agent and shoot my coldest stare at Simon. Nothing needs to be said. To get on board, I better be on board. Anything else is going to have its consequences. He steps aside and motions me forward; I steel myself and climb the stairs.
On a normal day, staffers use the rear staircase-today, we get the front.
When I step into the cabin, I look around for a stewardess, but there’s no one there. “First time?” a voice asks. To my left is a young guy in an immaculately starched white shirt. The patches on his shoulder tell me he’s Air Force.
“Is it open seating or… ”
“What’s your name?”
“Michael Garrick.”
“Mr. Garrick, follow me.”
He heads straight down the main hallway, which runs along the right side of the plane and is lined with bolted-down plush couches and fake-antique side tables. It’s a flying living room.
As we enter the staff area, rather than shoving everyone into one big hundred-person cabin, the seating is broken into smaller ten-person sections. The seats face one another-five on five-with a shared Formica table between you and the person you’re facing. Everyone watches everyone else. Around here, it’s the easiest way to encourage work.
“Is it possible to get a window seat?” I ask.
“Not this time,” he says as he comes to a stop. He points to an aisle seat that faces forward. On the cushion is a folded white card with the presidential seal. Under the seal, it reads, “Welcome Aboard Air Force One.” Beneath that, it reads my name: “Mr. Garrick.”
My reaction is instantaneous. “Can I keep this?”
“I’m sorry, but for security purposes, we need it back.”
“Of course,” I say, handing him the card. “I understand.”
He does his best impression of a smile. “That’s a joke. I’m joking, Mr. Garrick.” As soon as I catch on, he adds, “Now would you like a tour of the rest of the plane?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love t-” Over his shoulder, I see Pam heading our way. “Y’know what, I’ll pass for now. I’ve got some work to do.”
Checking the card across from me, Pam finds her name and sits down.
I’m about to throw my briefcase on the table between us, but instead, I put it below my seat. “How’re you doing?” I ask.
“Ask me when it’s over.”
By seven A.M., we’re boarded and ready to go, but since it’s not a commercial flight, most people aren’t in their seats-they’re standing together in small groups or wandering around, exploring the plane. Without question, it looks more like a cocktail party than a plane ride.
Looking up from her newspaper, Pam catches me leaning into the aisle and staring up the hallway. “Don’t worry, Michael, she’ll be here.”
She thinks I’m looking for Nora. “Why do you always assume it’s about her?”
“Isn’t everything about her?”
“That’s funny.”
“No, Charlie Brown is funny… ” She lifts her newspaper and snaps it into place. “Yeah, that Charlie Brown… he sure does love that Little Red-Haired Girl… ”
Ignoring her, I get up from my seat.
“Where’re you going?” she asks, lowering the paper.
“Just to the bathroom. Be back in a second.”
At the front of the plane, I find two bathrooms, both of which are occupied. To my left, on a bolted-down end table is a bolted-down candy dish. Inside the dish are books of matches with the Air Force One logo on them. I grab one for Pam and one for my dad. Before I can get one for myself, I hear the pulsing thumps of incoming helicopters. The bathroom door opens, but I head straight for the windows. Peering outside, I see two identical multipassenger helicopters. The one carrying Hartson is Marine One. The other’s just a decoy. By switching him between the two aircraft, they hope would-be assassins won’t know which one to shoot out of the sky.
The two copters land almost simultaneously, but one’s closer to the plane. That’s Marine One. When the doors open, the first person out is the Chief of Staff. Behind him comes a top advisor, a few deputies, and finally, Lamb. The man’s amazing. Always has the ear. Nora comes next, followed by her younger brother, Christopher, a gawky-looking kid who’s still in boarding school. Holding hands, the two siblings pause a moment, waiting for their parents. First, Mrs. Hartson. Then the President. Of course, while everyone’s staring at POTUS, I can’t take my eyes off his daugh-
A strong hand settles on my shoulder. “Who you looking at?” Simon asks.
I spin around at the sound of his voice. “Just the President,” I shoot back.
“Incredible sight, don’t you think?”
“I’ve seen better,” I jab.
He shoots me a look that I know’ll leave a bruise. “Remember where you are, Michael. It’d be a real shame if you had to go home.”
I’m tempted to fight, but I’m not going to win this one. Time to be smart. If Simon wanted me out, I’d be long gone. He just wants silence. That’s what’s going to keep this out of the papers; that’s what’s going to keep me at my job; that’s what’s going to continue to keep Nora safe. And like she said in the bowling alley, that’s the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this.
“We understand each other?” Simon asks.
I nod. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Good,” he says with a smile. He motions to the back of the plane and sends me on my way.
I return to my seat feeling like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
“See your girlfriend?” Pam asks as I’m about to sit down. Once again hiding behind the newspaper, her voice is quivering.
“What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer.
I reach over and tug on the paper. “Pam, tell me what’s… ” Her eyes are welled up with tears. As the paper hits the table between us, I get my first look at what she’s reading. Page B6 of the Metro Section. Obituaries. At the top is a picture of Caroline. The headline reads: “White House Lawyer Caroline G. Penzler Dies.”
Before I can react, the plane starts to move. A sudden lurch forward sends Pam’s purse to the floor, and just as it hits, her White House pen slides onto the carpet. After a short announcement, we head down the runway, ready for takeoff. Some people return to their seats; others don’t care. The cocktail party continues. The whole cabin’s trembling from the final thrust of takeoff. Still, no one’s wearing a seatbelt. It’s a subtle gesture, but it does imply power. And even en route to a funeral, that’s what the White House is all about.
The landing at Duluth International Airport is much smoother than the takeoff. As the runway comes into view, the television monitors in the cabin flicker with life. The TVs are built right into the wall-one over the head of the person on my right, another over the head of the person on Pam’s left.