“I’ll brief you in private later.”
He licked his lips as she saluted and walked off. “Thoroughly.”
“Come on, don’t be coy. How many bad guys did you kill?”
Brown did his best to ignore the awe-struck White House aide next to him. As a tuxedo-clad waiter came and took his empty plate, he tried changing the subject and laid on the dummy routine.
“Well, now that was something else. Never would have imagined a po’ black boy from Mississippi be eating a hundred dollar steak in the White House ballroom. Wish my mama could see me now! It’s nice playing general for a day.”
The kid edged closer. “Dude, seriously, what did it feel like? I get that it must be hard to talk about. I mean, I play a lot of Call of Duty, so I know how intense it must be—”
Brown’s indulgent smile melted away. He locked eyes on the war perv next to him and thought of something witty to say. “Get the hell away from me.”
The confused civilian just muttered “cool” over and over and moved on to the next table. Brown plastered on a wide smile as one of the eagle-eyed Secret Service agents in the corner took careful interest in him. Brown casually broke eye contact and cast about for any way to mingle. For some reason, the surly vet routine made security nervous.
Where the hell was Jessica? His only link to reality wandered off ten minutes ago to chat. A good example for him to follow, but he didn’t trust himself around any of the empty-headed civilians. He sure as hell couldn’t bring himself to look the other Medal of Honor recipients or their families in the eye. Fighting back the bile in his throat, he stood and forced his feet towards the table of clucking reporters.
He spotted Jessica on the far end and waved. She gave his cheeriness a skeptical smile as he stuck out his hand. “Hey babe, why don’t you introduce me to—”
“Everyone sit! This room is on lockdown. No one move.”
Some agent materialized out of nowhere and nudged Brown back towards his seat. Two more came out of the kitchen entrance, both whispering into their wrist mikes. Brown glanced around and tried to mirror all the timid and confused reactions. The Secret Service obviously didn’t know everything.
If they did, there’d be more shooting going on and less palavering.
The oldest agent in the room spoke up. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. One of the steak knives is unaccounted for. I’m afraid we’re going to have to search everyone again. Please line up against the far wall. Males on the left, females on the right. I apologize for the inconvenience, but this will only take a few minutes.”
Someone from the reporter table snickered. “Is this some kind of joke? I’ve been a White House correspondent here for ten years and I’ve never seen such paranoia. Are you guys that bored?”
Real emotion crept into the agent’s robot voice. “We’ve stopped more attempted assassinations in the last year than in the last 200. We’ve also lost more agents this year than in the entire history of the Service. So pardon me for doing my job, but get in line right now or I’ll personally escort you off the premises.”
The civilian kept muttering under his breath, but he moved with a sense of purpose. Brown chuckled and got in line as well. As promised, the agents patted everyone down swiftly. Way too efficient. He had hoped for a little more time to think, but the line shrunk fast.
Brown feigned boredom as the last person in front of him stuck his hands against the wall. He still had no idea how to ditch the six inches of sharp steel in his pocket. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind and casually slid his hands into his pockets. Six against one, plus God knows how many in the halls between here and the Oval Office… Well, he’d been through worse odds before.
On the other end of the room, Jessica flashed him a grin. Panic immediately wiped away her playfulness as she read his body. She’d seen that placid look on his face once before. Way back in Florida. Just after freeing her, but just before sauntering into a rebel headquarters and slaughtering everyone.
The agent ahead must have had eyes in the back of his skull. He swiveled his head around at Brown’s loose stance and bolted upright. His hand disappeared into his jacket.
Too slow. Brown smiled wide and leapt forward… just as another agent yelled.
“POTUS is here early!”
Flipping the chill out switch, Brown bent down and picked something up.
“Did you drop this?” The agent narrowed his eyes and took the pen, slowly easing his weapon back into the holster.
Brown slapped on a fan girl smile and spun around. The big double doors on the other end of the room swung open. A half dozen more agents entered in a loose phalanx. From behind them, a famous voice scolded his detail.
“What’s this all about? Why is my staff telling me I can’t come in here?”
“I’m sorry sir; it’s just a precaution. We’ll be done in a minute.”
The president frowned and pushed through the security team. A small army of assistants, eyes glued to a hundred phones and tablets, followed in his wake.
“If I’m not safe in a room full of America’s finest heroes, then I’m not safe anywhere.” He raised his hand as the frustrated agent tried to argue. “That’s enough. You will not insult my guests again. Clear?”
The president strolled over to the uniformed men, not waiting for a response. Brown stood at attention with the rest of the Medal of Honor recipients as the president turned on the charm.
“Gentlemen, at ease, please. The ceasefire is as chaotic as the war. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it earlier, but I’ve cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. This isn’t just a simple ceremony; I want to get to know you all.”
Brown waited 15 minutes for the president to small talk his way over to him. All the other soldiers had family with them, though thankfully no kids attended. Every one of the guests got a little personal face time with the leader of the Free World, or what was left of it.
It took all of Brown’s self-control and discipline to fake a smile when it was his turn. Slowly unclenching his fist, he seized the president’s out struck hand. Brown forced his wired-up muscles to relax, even managed to un-grit his teeth. Out the corner of his eye, Brown caught a Secret Service agent studying him with acute interest.
“It’s an honor to shake your hand, Sergeant Major Brown.” To the soldier’s surprise, the president’s grip was firm. When Brown subconsciously tried to bend the offered wrist and put his hand on top, the prematurely graying politician twisted their shake until both hands were perpendicular to the ground. Brown couldn’t help but grin a bit. So he thinks we’re equals, huh?
The president nodded at something in Brown’s eyes. His cheeriness disappeared as he stepped closer. Brown tensed when his sworn enemy draped one arm over his shoulder and spoke so softly the reporters couldn’t hear.
“I can only imagine what hell you’ve been through. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hate me. I mean, I started this whole mess, after all. I…” he shook his head. “Well, talk is cheap. Just know that your sacrifice and those of your brothers and sisters weren’t in vain. We’ll end this damn war soon. We’re in the final stages.” The president gave him a slight wink. “Then it’s time for payback. Soon.”
With a quick squeeze, he moved off to another soldier in line. This one with his right sleeve pinned over a stump at the elbow.
What the hell was that in Brown’s eye? He cleared his suddenly stuffed up sinuses. Jessica smiled at him. Why was she staring at him so sympathetically? Jesus Christ.
Before he could lose any more nerve, some protocol aide cheerily gave Brown the call to arms he’d been waiting for.