The Sentinel (40 page)

"Of course the garage, the elevator, and the lobby will be fully secured and posted."

She cleared her throat. "Then the President goes to a holding room?"

"A different holding room than the one we normally use. Anyone who has noted his movements at the Kennedy Center in the past will not know where he will be tonight."

She dropped the report on the desk. "Go ahead."

"The President remains in the holding room until five minutes before curtain time, when he is led to his box-"

"The Presidential box?"

"I've arranged for Box 12 on the other side of the balcony."

"Very good."

Wintergreen coughed dryly. "During the first intermission, the President and the First Lady return to the holding room to place some international phone calls."

"First Lady will be attending?"

"Last I heard."

"Please continue."

"Then the President and the First Lady will move from the holding room to different balcony seats."

"It sounds like you have made very thorough preparations, Mr. Director."

"I've had my best advance security team at the Kennedy Center for the last two days. With what has been going on, we can't be too cautious. In fact, I'm heading over there to double-check every part of the security plan."

She picked up a pencil, made a note on a yellow pad, and then sat back in her chair.

"The inspection sounds like a very good idea. But looking at the overall situation, the question before us might be posed as whether it's safe for the President to go to the Kennedy Center tonight at all. Whether he should be in any public place until this security situation is fixed."

Wintergreen knew exactly where she was going with this, and he was enjoying the exchange. He knew that she wouldn't have called him in unless the President had already decided to go to the Kennedy Center, probably against her recommendation. People like Pierpont always underestimated others. She'd called him to her office not for a cheerleading session to make sure that all security procedures were in place for the visit, but to get him to recommend to the President that he cancel the visit to the Kennedy Center altogether. She was standing
by her man.

"Garrison is at large and he knows all about Secret Service security procedures," she went on. "One might assume he has both the unique ability and the inside knowledge to defeat those measures and possibly kill the President. Is that not true?"

"Like I said, everything is being done-"

"What, precisely, are you doing to insure that Garrison cannot defeat your security plan ... any Secret Service security plan?"

"I thought we went through this with the President."

"Well, now we're going to go through it again."

"Yes, ma'am. No one is taking this lightly. I have confidence in the agents I have assigned-"

"You had confidence in Garrison too."

"Did you call me here to rub my nose in the Garrison issue? Is that what this is all about?"

She folded her hands on the desk. "Are your bomb procedures adequate?"

"Our bomb dogs search every square inch of the Center. The moment an area is searched, agents are posted and the area is secured all the way to the end of the Presidential visit. No one has access except Secret Service agents. When the guests arrive, they are put through magnetometers. We do this every day at every location the President visits, Ms. Pierpont. As I said, I was just on my way to the Kennedy Center to inspect the security setup. I'm going to double-check every part of the security, hands on."

"What would you think about recommending to the President that until this Garrison issue is resolved he remain in the White House?"

"Not much."

She glared at him. "Why?"

"My job isn't to help him make up his schedule. It's to protect his life in any and every situation. He has approved the Kennedy Center visit and it would be inappropriate for me to get involved in such matters.

Pierpont studied him for a moment.

"Thanks for stopping by," she said coldly, her eyes riveted to his.

Walking out of the office, Wintergreen felt a rush. He was in the middle of the most important day of his life and the first half had gone well. His careful steps along the path had taken him nearly all the way, and his time had finally arrived.

At the Kennedy Center, Wintergreen swerved off the road onto a long driveway leading into the underground parking lot.

The Center was a sterile, conservative block of white stone with flags at the entrance; a building that belied its history, built with funds donated by American blue-bloods, the elite of Boston and New York and Washington, D.C. He parked his Secret Service sedan in an open parking space among a line of police sedans, K-9 sports utility vehicles, and Secret Service cars. He adjusted the rearview mirror and straightened his necktie, an original Armani silk he'd purchased recently. He climbed out and took a zippered leather briefcase from the trunk.

Carrying it under his arm, he walked to the employees' entrance.

"Afternoon, Mr. Director," said the Secret Service uniformed officer posted at the door.

Mr. Director. Wintergreen had always liked the sound of the words. The years of playing politics had been worth it to him. Soon, he would be rich.

"Where are the bomb dogs working?" he asked a uniformed officer at the entrance.

"They've finished here. They're in the main hall upstairs."

He took the elevator to the main floor.

"Find the advance agent and tell him I want to see him," Wintergreen said to a Secret Service uniformed officer whose hair was reaching his collar.

To Wintergreen, untrimmed hair was a sign of innate weakness and sloth.

"Yes, sir."

Wintergreen ambled inside the lobby, where dozens of plainclothes agents and uniformed officers were going about the business of carrying out the security plans for the Presidential visit that evening.

He walked across the lobby, passing through an open doorway into the main auditorium. Below, four bomb-detection teams comprised of one military officer with a bomb-sniffing dog were moving from row to row in a crossway pattern, examining every seat for explosive material. Once the auditorium and stage had been thoroughly searched, agents would be posted at every entrance and exit, sealing the room. Later, when guests began arriving, they would be required to pass through magnetometers to insure that they were carrying neither weapons nor explosives. Only then would they be allowed to take make their way to assigned seats.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Wintergreen?"

Wintergreen turned. Ronan Squires was one of his best advance agents.

"Run it down for me, Ronan."

"The bomb types have already finished with the holding room, the parking area, and the hallways. I have agents posted. We'll be done in here in a few minutes, including the dressing rooms and the backstage area. The staff advance man tried to set up a photo opportunity outside and I talked him out of it. Once I lock it down, we're ready for the Man. I'll have full security in effect two hours before the President arrives. The magnetometers are in place. All guests will have to go through. When the Man is in the Presidential box, I have agents on either side of him and a look-back."

The look-back agent was designated to squat at the edge of the balcony or bandstand during the performance, keeping his eye on the people in the rows behind the President in the event an assassin popped up.

"As someone once said, if the President were to be saved from assassination, it would be by an advance agent rather than the White House Detail working shift," Wintergreen said.

"Yes, sir."

"I'd like to inspect the posts."

"Follow me."

They walked along the route the President would take when he arrived. Squires pointed out the post locations, and Wintergreen noted that the agent whose duty was to guard the holding room area was down the hall, away from the holding room.

"What do we have worked out in case of bomb threats?"

"With the area already secured, telephonic bomb threats will be nothing more than a nuisance. The President will be entering a bomb-free, assassin-free Kennedy Center."

"Very good, Ronan."

Wintergreen stopped and looked up at the Presidential box.

"Any significant intelligence information I should know about?"

"Nothing other than the Garrison thing," Squires said somberly, lowering his voice.

Wintergreen raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

"Ronan, may we speak in confidence?"

"Of course, Mr. Director."

"I realize that you and the others consider Garrison to be a friend and colleague. It may be hard to believe what he's done, but I don't want that to get in the way of what we may have to do here. Garrison killed Walter Sebastian in cold blood."

"I'm aware. Every agent has been briefed."

"Garrison knows this game, Ronan."

"I've taken that into account. I've doubled the security posts. Hell, I have half the Washington Field Office augmenting the detail."

"I'm certainly not implying that you aren't on top of this. But I can't emphasize enough that Garrison is coming for us. For whatever reason, he's turned into a killer. Make sure every agent knows he or she will be backed up from the top if anything goes down. I believe we owe Garrison a bullet in the brain. If he shows up here, I don't want him to leave alive. Let the word go out that the sonofabitch Garrison is free game."

"Yes, sir."

"By the way. I'd like to see the holding room."

"Sure."

Squires led him down a corridor lined with doorways and into a comfortably-furnished holding room that was furnished with two sofas, an entertainment center, and a desk on which were two White House telephones, a red Pentagon radio-telephone, and a portable computer. At every location the President visited, a holding room was designated for him. Wintergreen knew that part of the job of protecting him was shielding him from potential embarrassment. The President could not be forced by circumstances to stand in a hallway or be confronted by members of the general public. And security considerations required that the President be near White House communications at all times. Whether the President was at a baseball stadium, a military airport hangar, or a convention hall, he had a place where he could make telephone calls in private, confer with aides without being disturbed or overheard, or simply kill time.

"The President will spend some time here before he goes to his assigned box, and then will return here during the first intermission. The First Lady has to make some international calls."

"Fine," Wintergreen said. "The bomb dogs have been through here?"

"Over an hour ago. The agent posted at the end of the corridor has secured this room."

"Sounds to me like you're on top of this advance, Ronan."

"Without a doubt, Mr. Director."

They left the holding room and walked down the hall. Squires got a call on his radio, and told Wintergreen that he had to go to the other side of the center to meet with some police officials.

Wintergreen slapped Squires on the shoulder.