No one knew about the thwarted attempt on the president’s life, and Cam wasn’t about to confirm it. But she didn’t deny it either. “Be careful if you go deep again. This isn’t over yet.”

“I’ll keep your number handy.”

“You do that. Like I said, I still owe you.”

“I want them as much as you. It’s personal now.”

“Yes,” Cam said quietly. “It is.”

*

The maid came into the Russos’ dining room just as Franklin and his wife were finishing dinner. “Excuse me, sir,” she said diffidently.

Franklin wiped his mouth on a linen napkin and set it aside. “Yes, Maria?”

“There is a gentleman on the phone, sir. He apologizes but says it is important and insists on speaking with you.”

Franklin frowned. “Did he say who it is?”

“No, sir.”

Franklin sighed. He couldn’t take the chance something had come up affecting the campaign, although he thought Nora would let him know of any problems. Still, with the race for the primaries heating up, he had to be available. At least he’d have an excuse to leave his wife to whatever it was she did in the evening. He rose with a practiced smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’ll forgive me.”

She gazed at him almost vacantly, her eyes faintly dulled by whatever medication she’d been prescribed this time. Or perhaps it was just the extra pre-dinner cocktail she probably didn’t think he’d noticed. Her family money and political influence had proven useful over the years, but her usefulness had worn thin. He left her still seated at the table, walked down the hall to his office, and picked up the extension on his desk. “This is Franklin Russo.”

“Hope I didn’t drag you away from dinner,” Hooker said.

Franklin crossed the room and closed the door. “Why are you calling me on this phone?”

“Because you’re not answering the other one.”

“What couldn’t wait?” Franklin snapped.

“How about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

Franklin poured two fingers of scotch and carried the short, heavy glass to his desk. “What are you talking about?”

“I got a call from one of the militia. She says she has the money.”

“Do you believe her?” Franklin sipped the scotch.

“No reason not to,” Hooker said. “It sounds like she wants to bargain. Otherwise, why call? Why not just keep the money and buy a nice cabin on a river somewhere.”

“What does she want?”

“No idea. What do you want me to do the next time she calls?”

“Find out what she wants, string her along. Arrange a meeting or something and get the money back.”

“You think she’s just going to hand it over?”

“I don’t care,” Russo snapped. “This is our chance to come out of this clean with no losses. It’s your job to figure out how to do that. And for Christ’s sake, don’t call me on this line again.”

He slammed the phone down and slugged back the rest of the scotch. He hated loose ends. Hooker might be able to take care of this one, and then there’d only be one left. Like his wife, Hooker was close to outliving his usefulness.

Chapter Six

Cam nodded to the agents already seated in the briefing room and took a seat next to Paula Stark, midway down the right side of the table. Tom Turner, the boss of the PPD, stood at the end of the table waiting for everyone to settle in. Evyn Daniels, the lead agent on the advance team, sat on his left side and the assigned shift leaders opposite her. As the room slowly settled, Tom stood and clicked on the remote for the projector. He was a tall, thin African American in his mid-forties, his demeanor serious most of the time, although when he relaxed, which wasn’t often given his duties, he was famous for his stories about some of the now-legendary agents when they were still young, green, and occasionally stupid. Cam liked and respected him, even though they’d been at odds a few times in the recent past. They’d aired their differences and agreed that above all, beyond any personal considerations or ego, all that mattered was the safety of those they were sworn to protect.

Beside her, Paula Stark sat straight and attentive, her dark suit crisp and pressed, her cap of dark hair recently cut, and her brown eyes intently focused on Tom. Paula had replaced Cam as the boss of Blair’s security detail. She was young, still shy of thirty, but experienced beyond her years and completely dedicated to her work. Cam trusted her with the most precious thing in her life—Blair’s safety. She tried very hard to stay out of Paula’s road in matters of Blair’s security, affording her the respect she deserved, even though they had begun as mentor and trainee. Paula was far beyond that now, a seasoned agent, bloodied in battle more than once. Cam couldn’t help but worry when Blair was soon to be put onstage in high-risk situations, but having Paula in charge helped. As if reading her thoughts, Paula leaned close.

“I’m meeting with Egret after this to review her itinerary. We’ll have everything squared away before takeoff in the morning.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cam said, meaning it. Paula would do everything possible to assure Blair’s safety.

But they all knew what they prepared for was not the danger. The unknown was the enemy—the unexpected, the surprise, the illogical or irrational. Entire teams were devoted to anticipate what seemed beyond imagining, and the process never ended. Every day new technology or new weaponry or a new wave of fanaticism empowered their adversaries. No matter how well they prepared, they could never prepare enough when lives were at stake. So they would review the details, and review them again. As many times as it took.

“All right,” Tom said, pulling everyone’s attention to him. “Here’s the itinerary to date.”

A few dry chuckles sounded through the room. Everyone knew they’d be making adjustments on the fly once the trip was under way. Suboptimal but normal for this president. Tom laid out the stops, venues, and timetables planned for the eight-day, two-thousand-mile trip.

“The route follows Amtrak’s Southwest Chief commercial line from Chicago to Flagstaff. The tracks will be cleared for us forty-eight hours in advance of our next stop.” He put up a map and clicked on the red flags marking cities along the route and the distances from the train stations. “Twelve planned stops along the way in Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, and New Mexico.”

Tom handed the remote to Evyn Daniels. “Here’s where we stand with the advance.”

Evyn brought up a schematic of a train on the screen. “This is Thunderbolt. Twenty-five cars.”

“Jesus,” one of the agents muttered. “That’s a long parade.”

No one commented on the obvious. It was a very big, slow-moving target.

“We couldn’t get it down any smaller.”

“Maybe we could cut out the press cars,” another agent suggested with a hopeful note.

“Ah,” Evyn said lightly, “for this trip the president might consider them more important than us.”

“His campaign manager sure will,” someone shot back.

“Okay,” Evyn said, serious again, “here’s the present order of the cars.”

She reviewed the lineup of the cars, from the president’s working and private cars down through the USSS sleeping cars, press cars, dining, staff, cook cars, and special divisions: canine / EDU; CAT / ERT counterattack teams; fire rescue; communications; transport. She flicked the laser pointer. “Our command car is here and the medical car here.”

Wes Masters, the first doctor and head of the White House Medical Unit, frowned. “That’s too far from the president’s cars. And we need our base car moved too. Can you get us closer?”

Evyn glanced at Tom, who nodded. “Talk to me after—we’ll see what we can arrange.”

Wes nodded at her partner. “Good enough.”

“As noted,” Evyn said, “Eagle’s itinerary is not firm. Egret has appearances at every stop too. Simultaneous event coverage. Per usual, count on going OTR at any time.”

The lead agent handling vehicle movement and driver assignments said, “We’ll need to factor in time to refuel the backup limo and SUVs while the Beast is deployed on these off-the-record trips.”

“You’ll be refueling while the train is stationary. We won’t be carrying much in the way of fuel.”

“We’ll have to pull off-shift agents for that,” he grumbled.

“Can’t be helped.”

Cam listened as Evyn worked through the rest of the advance—where safe houses were located along the train route, which hospitals would be used for emergency evacuation, where the local law enforcement and field office agents would meet the motorcades when the president left the train for his scheduled appearances, the motorcades’ primary and secondary routes. Out of habit, Cam searched for holes in the planning, not really expecting to find any. She didn’t. Evyn Daniels was a superior agent and destined to be a boss before long.

“Anything else?” Evyn said.

Phil Virtucci from the canine division said, “Every time Eagle leaves Thunderbolt, we’ll have multiple primary sites to surveil—Thunderbolt, the motorcade, his destination. Lot of ground for the dogs to cover in a short amount of time.”

“One team will stay with the train and the other accompany POTUS in the motorcade,” Evyn said. “Locals will be working the public sites.”

Virtucci grunted. Canine teams were only as good as their handlers, and while most local teams were excellent, many communities were just phasing in the new divisions.

Stark said, “What about Egret’s appearances? We’ll need dogs then too.”

Evyn nodded. “We’ll be using locals for that too.”

Paula frowned but nodded. “All right.”

“Aerial surveillance?” someone asked.

The aerial security boss outlined timing and extent of the no-fly zones along Thunderbolt’s route and over the presidential appearance locations, the satellite image coverage, and ground-to-air defenses.