CHAPTER
51
AT ONE O’CLOCK IN THE afternoon Air Force One touched down at Pittsburgh International Airport. All other air traffic had been diverted from the area, as it would be when Air Force One took off again later. The long line of cars was ready to go. In a presidential motorcade there was a basic rule that one risked ignoring at his peril: When the president’s behind touched his seat in the Beast, the motorcade left. And if you didn’t have your ride yet in one of the other vehicles when this occurred, you weren’t going to the party.
The road the presidential motorcade took had long since been closed off by the Secret Service, and motorists sat in foul moods staring at the Beast and the other twenty-six cars sailing by. In the presidential limo with Brennan was his wife, his chief of staff, the governor of Pennsylvania and Carter Gray.
When the motorcade pulled into the dedication grounds, they were already filled with more than ten thousand people waving banners and signs to show their support for the town and its namesake. National media trucks were parked outside the fence, and perfectly coiffed anchormen and -women stood next to far younger and hipper but equally well coiffed news candy types from the cooler cable networks. Collectively, they would broadcast the event to the nation and the world, although with various spins of their own; the younger voices were predictably far more cynical about the entire proceedings.
Alex Ford was positioned near the stage but then moved behind a roped-off area and toward the motorcade as it pulled into the fenced grounds. He stiffened for an instant as he saw Kate, Adelphia and the Camel Club in the crowd, about midway back but working their way forward. Kate waved to show she’d seen him. He didn’t wave back but did nod his head a bare inch at her, and then he returned to trying to spot potential trouble. In a crowd this large and boisterous that was nearly impossible. However, the magnetometers had been set up at all pedestrian entrance points, which had given the Service some comfort. Alex took a moment to gaze at the tree line where he knew the snipers were positioned, although he couldn’t see them. If it comes to it, don’t miss, guys, he said under his breath.
When the president appeared, he was boxed in on all sides by the A-team protection detail that formed a wall of Kevlar and flesh around him. Alex knew these agents; they were a rock-solid crew.
The president stepped onto the stage and shook some important hands while his wife, the governor, the chief of staff and Gray took their seats behind the podium. Brennan joined them a minute later.
The event started off right on schedule. The mayor and some local dignitaries spoke and attempted to outdo one another when it came to extolling their president and their town. Then the governor rambled on a bit longer than the schedule had dictated, which caused the chief of staff to start frowning and tapping her high heel. Air Force One’s next stop was a fund-raiser in Los Angeles that was far more important—at least in her mind—than the renaming of this small if ambitious Pennsylvania town in her boss’s honor.
Alex continued scanning the crowds. He noted a number of military personnel in the front row, near the rope line. He could see from their uniforms that most were regular army. A number of them were missing arms and legs, probably from their tours of duty in the Middle East. There were a couple of National Guardsmen, including one with a hook for a left hand. Alex shook his head in commiseration for their sacrifice. Brennan would certainly go down and see these soldiers after he had spoken. He’d always been good about that.
As Alex’s gaze swept across the thousands of faces, he noted quite a few Middle Easterners. They were dressed much like everyone else around them. They carried signs and sported “Reelect Brennan” buttons and appeared to be just like the rest of the happy, proud and patriotic crowd. However, Alex had no way of knowing that some of these people were not happy or proud or patriotic.
Captain Jack’s men were organized in various pockets throughout the crowd so that their fire would cover maximum ground in front of the podium area. They’d all already keyed on the hook-handed National Guardsman. It had been easy after that, since the man stayed planted at the rope line waiting his turn with the president.
Indeed, they were all waiting for James Brennan.
At about the time Air Force One had been making its final approach into Pittsburgh a sleek black chopper was taking off from a helipad in downtown New York City and heading south. Next to the pilot sat another man dressed in a flight suit. In one of the seats in back was Tom Hemingway. In his hand he held a portable television set that he was watching intently. The crowds in Brennan were very large, and the grounds were already packed. That was what worried Hemingway most of all. The crowd.
He checked his watch and told the pilot to hit it. The chopper shot across the Manhattan cityscape.
For the past two hours Djamila had been on an outing with the children. As she pulled the van into the Franklins’ driveway, her plan was to make them all a quick lunch and then it would be time to go. As she opened the door, carrying the baby on her hip with the two toddlers in her wake, she received a shock so paralyzing that she almost dropped the baby.
Lori Franklin was talking on the phone in the foyer, still dressed in her tennis outfit, although she was barefoot. She smiled at Djamila and motioned that she would be done with the call in a minute.
When she clicked off, Djamila immediately said, “Miss, I not expect you home. You say you at club for tennis and then lunch there.”
Franklin dropped to her knees and gave her sons big hugs as they rushed to her. Then she took the baby from Djamila.
“I know, Djamila, but I changed my mind. I was talking with some of my friends from the club, and they’re going to the dedication today. So I decided to go too.” She bent down and said to her two oldest boys, “And you’re going too.”
Djamila drew in a sharp breath. “You take them?”
Franklin stood and waved the baby’s dimpled fist with her hand. “And this little guy.” She cooed to the baby. “You wanna see the president? You wanna?” She looked at Djamila. ?
??It’ll be fun. And it’s not like the president comes to town every day.”
“You go to dedication?” Djamila said in a soft, disbelieving voice.
“Well, I voted for him, even if George thinks he’s an idiot. That’s between you and me,” she added.
“But, miss, there will be large crowd there. I read in papers. Do you think it good to take the boys? They are so small and—”
“I know, I thought that too. But then I realized it would be such a wonderful experience for them, even if they don’t remember it. When they grow up, the boys can say they were there. Now I’m going to grab a quick shower. I thought we could get lunch beforehand—”
“We?” Djamila said. “You want me to come?”
“Well, of course, I’ll need help with the strollers and the rest of their stuff. And you’re right about the crowds, so I’ll need an extra pair of eyes and hands to make sure the boys don’t get lost.”
“But I have much to do here,” Djamila said dully, as if this moment she cared about housework.
“Don’t be silly. This will be a wonderful experience for you too, Djamila. You’ll see firsthand what really makes this country so great. You know, we might even get to meet the president. George will eat his heart out even if he says he doesn’t like Brennan.”
Franklin went upstairs to shower and change. Djamila sat down in a chair to steady herself. The oldest boy tugged on her shirt, asking her to come to the playroom with them. At first Djamila resisted but finally she went. As she heard the shower start in Franklin’s bathroom, she knew that she needed some time to think.
She put the baby in the playpen and spent some time with the older boys. Then she went to the bathroom and ran some cold water over her face. The shower was still running upstairs. Djamila knew that Franklin didn’t take quick showers.
Finally, Djamila knew there was no way around it. She went to get her purse.
“A storm is coming,” she said to herself, practicing it before she had to say it for real on her cell phone. It was four simple words and then her problem would be over, and still her skin tingled. It would perhaps not be such a good resolution for Lori Franklin, who had picked today of all days to do something with her sons.
When she saw it, her heart nearly stopped. Her purse was turned upside down on the floor. She’d stupidly left it on the chair and forgotten to move it to higher ground. She dropped to her knees and searched through the objects strewn there. Her cell phone! Where was her cell phone?
She raced to the playroom and found the oldest boy, Timmy, the one who had made a habit of taking things from her purse until she started