Lust, Money & Murder (7 page)

“We’ll let you know.”

CHAPTER 1.7

When Elaine received the official letter informing her that she had been accepted into the Secret Service, she let out a whoop and did cartwheels through her little apartment.

She called Ashley and Kaitlin and told them the fantastic news.

Ashley still couldn’t understand why Elaine wanted the job, and she could tell Kaitlin thought it was a little weird, but they both congratulated her.

A month later, Elaine began to wonder if she had made a mistake. The qualifying process had been bad enough, but the Secret Service training course was like going from the frying pan into the fire. It was one of the most challenging and stressful experiences Elaine had ever been through.

The first part of the course was conducted at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Glynco, Georgia. For 10 weeks she and 47 other new hires received an intensive education in criminal law and investigative techniques. It was mostly “book learning,” as her father would have called it, something at which Elaine excelled.

The going got tough during the second part of the course. The 17-week intensive for Special Agents was held at the Secret Service James J. Rowley Training Center, in Laurel, Maryland. There were no signs indicating the facility’s existence, except for GOVERNMENT PROPERTY—KEEP OUT postings around the fenced in, 500-acre perimeter. The center boasted six miles of roadways, 31 buildings, including the simulated downtown area of a city, underground bunkers, obstacle courses, a firing range, a high-speed driving course, and a simulated airport and helipad, including perfect mock-ups of Air Force One and Marine One, the president’s airplane and helicopter, respectively.

The training was intense. Even though Elaine’s knowledge of intaglio printing had slated her to work in the Anti-Counterfeiting Division, she was required to pass the same stringent requirements as any other Secret Service agent, including those who protected the President of the United States.

“By mid-term, half of you will have dropped out,” the leather-faced instructor barked the first day, “and the other half will sorely wish you had.” He glared out at the trainees, his eyes mere slits. “Those of you who survive until the very end will know how to protect this country against terrorists, threats against critical infrastructures, including our financial system.” He chuckled. “You’ll also learn how to kill a potential assassin three different ways before his body hits the ground.”

One of the things Elaine quickly learned to loathe were the simulated attacks on presidential motorcades, on a just-landed presidential airplane or chopper, or on buildings where the highest government officials were being protected. The attacks would begin with “flash-bang” bombs, simulating sudden, unexpected gunfire. Computer-controlled cardboard cutouts of people would jump up in windows and on the street, some wielding various deadly weapons, and others who were merely innocent civilians holding a wallet or a telephone, caught up in the havoc. Agents had to react with split-second precision, without thinking, knowing exactly what to do in each and every scenario.

If there was one motto that the Secret Service lived by, it was:

Expect the unexpected.

A key part of the training involved replacing instinctual human responses—such as flinching at the sound of a gunshot—with practiced responses that were designed to neutralize the attacker and protect the intended target from harm.

Of course, firearms and marksmanship training was fundamental. Elaine had never liked guns, and the first time she held a pistol in her hand, she flashed back to the day her father committed suicide and she carried his gun to the Rising Star Modeling Agency offices, intent on teaching Ronald Eskew a lesson.

Elaine struggled to achieve the high marksmanship standards that the Secret Service demanded. At night, she tossed and turned, the instructor’s voices still in her ears.
Come to the ready position! Lock the slide to the rear. Decock—reholster with one hand. Check the chamber and magazine well. Check, check, check twice!

It seemed that Elaine’s ears rang all the time with the sounds of gunshots, even though she wore ear protection. The pungent odor of gunpowder permeated her hair and clothes.

She had to qualify on a .357 caliber pistol and a shotgun, and be functionally familiar with virtually all other weapons known to man. There was a gun vault on site where they were shown a wide range of weapons, including those made from the latest technological advances, such as cellphone guns. She had to learn how to shoot in the darkness, from a moving vehicle and how to accurately hit moving targets from a variety of positions. She had to learn to draw her gun in a split second, to click off the safety, and to fire with pinpoint accuracy.

* * *

The training device Elaine dreaded most was The Dunker. The horrid contraption sat in a huge swimming pool that was in simulated sea crashes of Air Force One and Marine One. Strapped into the seats near an instructor who posed as the President, the machine was slammed into ice cold water at a random angle. Underwater, often upside down, you had to orient yourself and then release your safety belt and rescue the “President,” who was unconscious. You had to swim him safely to the surface and protect him from harm. Like many of the students, the first time Elaine was dunked, she inhaled half a lung full of water. She was sure she was going to drown.

The Dunker alone caused six students to drop out of the program.

By the end of the fourth week in Laurel, Elaine was telling herself that if she had any sense, she ought to drop out, too, that she should abandon this crazy idea of being a Secret Service agent. She could use her RISD degree to get a mundane job at a copy shop designing stationery and business cards. But then, in her mind’s eye, she would see Ronald Eskew’s sleazy face, and she would find new resolve.

* * *

Elaine’s worst nightmare came in the form of her martial arts instructor. All the instructors used pseudonyms. This particular woman called herself Luna Faye.

Luna Tic, Elaine thought, would have been more appropriate.

Luna was a jet black, 5 foot 10 inch tower of power. She had a face like a viper, with triangular jaws and beady eyes. Her voice was an octave lower than Elaine’s. She sported a man’s figure, her trunk-like legs tapered up to a stocky torso. Her breasts like two flattened cupcakes riding on 50 pounds of chest muscle.

Elaine was about the only trainee who looked, dressed, and acted like a woman, or who at least tried to. This seemed to infuriate Luna.

The first day, in front of all the other trainees, Luna gently raised Elaine’s arm by the wrist. “Your nails are
so
beautiful,” she cooed in her husky voice. “Do you do them yourself, or do you have them done at a salon?”

There was a lot of laughter.

Despite Luna’s ridicule, Elaine actually did well in the course, at least in terms of learning the basic martial arts moves. All her aerobics and swimming and running she did at RISD kept her in great shape, and she easily mastered difficult moves that made other students sore for days, such as some of the more challenging Tae Kwon Do kicks.

Elaine’s problem was that after spending so many years in sports facilities, she had developed a habit of gazing at her own reflection in the wall mirrors to make sure she was moving correctly. And, if the truth be told, to see if she looked good.

Luna picked up on this the third day. “You just can’t stop watchin’ your pretty self in that mirror, can you, honey?”

All the other trainees laughed.

Every time Elaine glanced at herself in the mirror, even for a split second, Luna mercilessly took her down. “This ain’t no fashion show, baby-doll. You take your eyes off your assailant, you dead, and so is the person you’re supposed to be protecting.”

The second week of training, as Elaine dragged herself off the mat for what must have been the tenth time, Luna said, “You look at yourself so much in that damn mirror, I’m gonna start callin’ you Alice. Alice through the lookin’ glass.”

All the students got a kick out of this.

“Can’t we do the training somewhere else?” Elaine suggested. “Maybe outside?”

“Outside?” Luna snickered. “Why, baby-doll, you’d just admire your pretty self in the window reflections.”

There was more laughter.

* * *

Elaine wanted to strangle the woman, but she also knew that Luna was right. When acting as a Special Agent in a protection role, she had no business looking at anything but the face, hands, and feet of an assailant. She found that glancing at her reflection was an incredibly difficult habit to break.

Luna only exacerbated the problem, constantly baiting Elaine during the training sessions with comments like, “Your hair’s out of place,” or “Your thong’s showing.”

Every session with Luna became a living hell.

* * *

Elaine began to worry that her “Alice” habit was her Achilles’ heel, the weak point that would knock her out of the training program and out of the Secret Service for good. The day before her final review in Luna’s martial arts class, Elaine ran into the big woman on the way to the obstacle course.

“Why don’t you just throw in the towel right now, Alice? You ain’t gonna make it.”

“I’m not quitting,” Elaine said.

“You can’t shoot worth a damn, you’re lousy on the obstacle course. My grandmother can drive a car better than you, and she’s been dead twenty years. There’s no way in hell you’ll pass my review tomorrow.”

“I’m not quitting.”

Luna shrugged. “Face it, honey, you’re too much of a girly-girl for this kind of work. Why don’t you just get a job at some department store cosmetics counter and save yourself the humiliation?”

Elaine brushed passed her.

Luna looked on, snickering. “If you go on like this, I’m warning you—you might chip your nail polish.”

* * *

Elaine did not sleep more than two hours that night, worrying about Luna’s martial arts review.

Luna made Elaine wait until the very end of the session and watch everyone else get their reviews. Six of the students failed and had to take the “walk of shame” back to the main building to turn in their equipment and officially drop out of the program.

“Now, who’s left?” Luna said, looking around.

Elaine slowly raised her hand.

Luna said, with a sigh, “Okay, Alice, come on,” as if Elaine’s failing the test was merely a formality.

Elaine put in her mouth guard and Luna started circling her.

“Your lipstick’s smeared,” Luna said, taking a light jab at her. “Don’t you want to check it in the mirror, Alice?”

Elaine kept her eyes locked on Luna’s viper-like face.
Don’t even blink
, she willed herself.

“Your mascara’s running,” Luna said.

Ignore the bitch. If you don’t pass this test, you’re out of the Secret Service.

“Come on, Alice,” Luna jeered. “Don’t you want to check your pretty doll-face in that lookin’ glass?”

At that instant, one of the students cackled.

Luna’s eyes cut in that direction.

Elaine’s right leg shot up. It was a perfectly executed snap kick. It connected solidly with Luna’s jaw. The big woman’s head jerked up, and then her heavy frame went down hard, hitting the mat with such force she let out a loud “ugh!”

Elaine leaped on top of her, twisted her arms behind as required for cuffing.

All the other students were stunned. No one had ever knocked Luna down before.

Luna quickly rolled over and got to her feet, wiping her mouth with her hand. She looked at her fingers. They were smeared with blood.

Elaine backed away, terrified.

The room was so quiet that all she could hear was the sound of her own shallow breathing.

Luna glared at Elaine for a long moment, and then her lips pulled into a crimson smile. “Well done, girl. Looks like there’s hope for you after all.”

* * *

From that day forward, it seemed like the rest of the training was downhill for Elaine. She was filled with elation, thankful that she hadn’t given in to the temptation to quit halfway through, like some of the others. She and Luna became close. Elaine was thankful that she had faced such a formidable instructor and had passed all the tests. Her father would have been proud.

When the 15th week of training finally began, Elaine was excited—this was when the anti-counterfeiting modules began.

The instructor for the first day was a man who simply used the pseudonym “Judd.” Rumor was that he was an official from the highest echelons of the Secret Service Anti-Counterfeiting Division, perhaps even the director of the entire unit.

When the balding man entered the room, everyone stopped talking. Even though he was thin and walked with a cane, there was an intensity about him that was intimidating. He had a shock of red hair and a ruddy complexion. He seemed ill-tempered before he even opened his mouth.