White House Advance, the military liaison officer, and agents of the Secret Service had already made three trips to the venue. Alternate routes had been planned, motorcade parking squared away, hospital trauma centers scouted, and local law enforcement liaised. A presidential lift was a complicated dance under the best of circumstances. Fairbanks, Alaska, was isolated enough from the rest of the United States that it qualified as an overseas trip.
An early walk with Montgomery would give the two men time to discuss any security concerns while providing a quiet excuse for exercise that might go a long way toward lowering their collective blood pressure. The good Lord knew Ryan could use a little of that.
Cathy felt him reach for his glasses and she gave a long, feline yawn. “I have to do a retinal procedure at nine. I could really use another half an hour…”
Ryan swung his feet over the edge of the bed, searching for his slippers. “Of course, my dear,” he said. His mind was wide awake, but his voice was still thick with sleep.
He brushed his teeth and then slipped into a gray jogging suit with the presidential seal on the jacket that he’d laid out the evening before.
“I had a dream about Ding’s son,” Cathy said through another yawn. “Patsy says he got a little homesick during Boot Camp, but he’s doing well now.”
Ryan looked up at the smooth curves of his wife under the sheets in the blue shadows of the bedroom and thought seriously about kicking off his sneakers instead of tying them.
“He’s a good man,” Ryan said. “And a fine Marine.”
Ding and Patsy Chavez’s son — and John Clark’s grandson — had only recently graduated from the Marine Corps’ Infantry Training Battalion after finishing Boot Camp at MCRD San Diego.
Cathy pulled the sheet up over her face. “Turn the light on if you need to.”
“I’m fine,” Ryan said.
“You think JP gets special treatment because his godfather is the President of the United States?”
Ryan scoffed. “I’m betting he keeps that little tidbit of information to himself if he doesn’t want to get his ass kicked on a daily basis.”
“I guess,” Cathy said. “Poor kid’s got too much to live up to. Hey, there’s a little bag on the table in my dressing room. Could you get someone to drop it off at Carter’s office? It’s for their new baby.”
Ryan chuckled. FLOTUS put together her own gift bags and gave POTUS honey-dos. His press secretary, Carter Bailey, had just returned from family leave. “I’ll drop it off myself,” he said. “It’s what? Ten steps out of my way. Gary and I are doing a walk and talk this morning anyway.” He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, which was the only bit of skin exposed, until she lowered the sheet and puckered her lips, eyes closed.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now go save the world.”
He winked at her, then realized she didn’t have her glasses on so she could barely see him anyway. Getting old was hell, but if he had to do it, he’d just as soon do it with Caroline Muller Ryan.
“You, too,” he said.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” the Secret Service agent posted in the West Sitting Hall said when Ryan eased the bedroom door shut behind him.
“Morning, Pauline,” he said, nodding crisply to the stocky brunette. He made it a point to learn a bit about everyone on his detail. Along with being a crack shot, Special Agent Pauline Dempsey had an Olympic silver medal in the eight-hundred-meter run.
He held up the pink floral gift bag he was delivering for Cathy. “I know what you’re thinking,” Ryan said. “This doesn’t go with the tracksuit.”
Dempsey smiled. “Not at all, Mr. President. Perfect accessory.”
She’d been up all night and was just reaching the end of her shift, but her smile was genuine and without guile, like someone who was self-assured enough to be comfortable in her own skin around the President of the United States. She was there to protect him. She was good at her job, and she knew it.
Dempsey spoke quietly into the beige mic pinned to her lapel as he passed on his way across the hall.
She nodded at the response she got over the radio.
“Special Agent in Charge Montgomery will meet you downstairs, Mr. President.”
Ryan thanked her and boarded the elevator across the sitting hall, adjacent to the old cloakroom.
