As soon as Blair had given Mitchell the interview, Cam had advised her team of it, leaving out most of the details but warning them to prepare for increased media attention at any moment.

"Let's get the team together so we can review the adjustments we need to make in the rest of the itinerary." Cam glanced at her watch. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll be in my room if you need me."

"Very well, Commander."

Cam left to shower and change, wondering just how much she was going to have to disappoint her lover. When she returned to the comm center, dressed now in her usual work attire—dark suit, white shirt, black tasseled dress shoes—all of her agents except those currently detailed to Blair were present. Most she had worked with since she had assumed command of Egret's personal security detail nine months earlier. There were a number of new faces—several agents who had been assigned temporary duty due to the increased security required when Egret traveled abroad and one replacement for a core team member absent due to injury.

Cam accepted all of them at face value because she fundamentally believed in the integrity of the Secret Service. On the other hand, she trusted fewer than a handful implicitly. Those agents had been tested under fire with her—more than once—and those select individuals she trusted without reservation. Those were the only people she would entrust with Blair's life, and she counted on them to take command in the event that anything were to happen to her. She had given the responsibility of shift rotation to Mac, with the understanding that at least two of these unofficial "core" agents would be present on every detail.

"Commander," a number of voices called as she entered.

Nodding to her team, Cam walked to the corner credenza. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a pot that sat brewing twenty-four hours a day and carried it to the center of the room where two aluminum catering tables placed end to end served as their conference table. She set her cup down and surveyed the waiting agents. Felicia and Reynolds—one of the newbies—were absent. Both were stationed outside Blair's room. After the morning briefing, those who were just coming off the abbreviated night shift would be off duty until their next rotation. The exception was Paula Stark, who as Egret's lead agent worked swing shifts—part of the day and part of the evening shifts—when Egret was most active.

"Good morning, all. Let's have the routine updates first." Cam slipped her PDA from her inside pocket, opened it, and powered up. She glanced briefly at Blair's itinerary for the next two days, although she knew it by heart.

Mac shifted printouts, then succinctly and efficiently reviewed the timetable for the day's scheduled events along with the personnel assignments. He opened a window on his laptop and a sectional map of Paris came up on a 42-inch plasma screen monitor at the end of the table.

"This is the planned motor route to the hospital. Two cars will be placed here," he highlighted an intersection, "and here, for backup and evacuation."

He tapped the keyboard, and an image of the front entrance of the massive hospital appeared. "Egret's ETA is 1600 hours. The advance team will vet the lobby and do a walk-through of her tour at 1300 and again at 1500, then detail here," he highlighted a point just outside the main doors, "to escort her inside with the primary team."

"What do we have on the surrounding topography?" Cam asked.

"Three structures within critical range and with sightlines to the entrance," Phil Rogers, the advance team coordinator, interjected. "All are commercial buildings, all open for business today."

Internally, Cam winced, because that meant dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people could potentially access a point from which to see, photograph, or fire upon the first daughter. Her face remained composed. "Anything turn up on the occupants?"

"No, ma'am," Rogers replied. "The French ran the leases and corporate ownership records when they got the advance itinerary from us last month. Nothing popped."

If the preliminary checks had revealed anything the least bit suspicious—a lessee with a criminal history or a business with strong ties to anti-American interests—deeper checks, including surveillance, would have been requested from "friendly" intelligence operatives in the region, most often CIA or their French counterparts.

"Employees?"

Rogers frowned. "Harder to evaluate. The French aren't so much uncooperative as lousy record keepers...their computer archives are even less capable of interfacing than ours back home."

Cam sighed. It was common knowledge within the intelligence community that the dozen or so U.S. agencies involved in information gathering and analysis often didn't talk to one another— and even when they wanted to, their data storage and retrieval systems were often antiquated and/or incompatible. As a result, interagency intel exchange was often impossible. Internationally, where diplomatic relationships with the host countries were often volatile at best, the situation was even worse. The upshot was that safeguarding political figures on foreign soil was more often than not a nightmare. "How many people are we talking about?"

"Fifty."

"Do you have teams on-site?"

"Yes, ma'am." Rogers glanced at his own PDA. "The Service de protection des hautes personnalites will deploy operatives to all three locations at 1200."

"Interior and exterior?" Cam asked sharply; She hated relying on any security forces other than her own, but it was neither practical nor possible to travel with the numbers of personnel truly required to protect an individual from all potential avenues of harm. A car containing explosive devices could careen through a roadblock and ram Blair's car; a suicide bomber could walk up to her on the street and self-detonate; a shooter could rent a room across from her favorite restaurant or salon and just wait. Eventually they would get a clear shot. Protection service relied on meticulous, exhaustive planning for any and all contingencies, but the save often came down to instincts and intuition.

"Yes, Commander."

"Risk assessment?"

"Low," Mac said. "Friendly government, economically stable, little in the way of recent unrest. Egret is popular, plus she has ties to a number of well-positioned people—diplomatically and socially—from the time she lived here." He smiled. "The French love her, Commander."

Some of the French a little too much. Cam considered the obvious attentions of the French ambassador's wife, whom she knew to be a former lover of Blair's, toward Blair at the gala the previous night. Cam's mouth quirked but she did not smile. "Very well—the hospital tour is a go."

As people made notes and shuffled papers, Cam set her PDA down beside her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the table. She leaned forward slightly, and when she said, "New developments," everyone immediately sat slightly forward in their folding chairs and gave her their complete attention.

"At approximately 0500 stateside—1100 hours local time— a news article will be released containing a personal statement from Egret that states she is romantically involved with another woman."

Cam surveyed every individual in the room. No one moved. Not a single eyebrow flickered. Satisfied, she sipped her coffee and collected her thoughts.

"The effect on our current situation is uncertain at this time. I expect that by the end of the day the news will have been disseminated internationally. It will definitely be a topic for discussion, but my concern is whether it will be a catalyst for any kind of action involving Egret." She looked at her new political analyst. "Parker?"

Cynthia Parker, early thirties, solidly built and confident, took her time replying. Her dark brown eyes, a shade richer than her hair, were focused and calculating. "I wouldn't expect an organized protest for at least twelve hours after the peak of the media exposure. In Paris in particular, sexual orientation and activity is not a hot button. I don't think we're likely to see much fallout." She shrugged. "The previous administration's sex scandal was a joke over here. Hell, most of Europe was laughing at us for even noticing who the president screwed."

"Agreed." Cam looked to Mac. "We'll need to increase our crowd control response."

"Roger that."

"It's also possible she'll be confronted by individuals at some of her upcoming venues," Cynthia continued, her gaze holding Cam's. "Possibly even socially."

"That's a personal matter which I'm sure that Ms. Powell will handle as she sees fit." Cam's voice was even and controlled, but she felt a surge of anger that Blair might be faced with even further invasion of her privacy. She knew without a doubt that Blair could handle any comments or questions, but she hated that her lover would need to. It was just another instance where Blair's personal life was on display and where others felt that because she was a public figure it was appropriate to question her about private matters. Cam drew a breath and pushed aside the anger. She needed to focus on her job.

"What about fundamentalist group reaction—religious opposition, right-wing cells?" Cam was not worried about picketers. While she did not want Blair harassed or embarrassed or accosted in any way, protestors were usually more of a nuisance than a threat. Usually. She was concerned about the groups with paramilitary or terrorist affiliations. A direct assault was not going to come from the established right-wing political parties, regardless of their doctrine. These groups were infiltrating the political structure through mainstream bureaucratic channels, helped by their increasing popularity in recent elections. Of much greater concern were the underground extremist groups, especially in light of increasing intelligence that these groups were forming loose coalitions across racial and religious lines.