“At eleven sixteen a.m., it went dark.”
“How did it go dark? Did the battery die?”
Gil says, “Even if the battery were to die, the GPS would continue to signal. It’s powered by a radioactive source, good for a year.”
“Then what happened?”
Gil says, “Something happened to the phone. It was damaged or destroyed.”
“Wait, I thought those suckers were pretty much indestructible.”
“They are,” he says. “But if someone really wants to do something … like take a blowtorch to it or put it through an industrial-strength shredder, or break it open and dunk it in the water, then—”
A thought comes to me. “Gil, okay, thanks, you’ve been great.”
“Sally,” he says quickly. “I’ve got to know … when you called me, you said this was an unannounced drill, right? A security drill to see if the First Lady can be found via her cell phone.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Just a training drill.”
“But … well”—and he utters a nervous laugh—“the way you’re talking, well, it seems like it’s the real deal. Not a drill.”
“Gil?”
“Yes, Sally?”
“Anybody asks, from your shift supervisor to a congressional committee someday, to the best of your knowledge, this was a goddamn drill.”
I switch off. “Pamela!”
She’s over by the horse, along with Brian and Tanya, the other agent. She looks up, and I say, “Show me that map again.”
Pamela joins me back at the SUV, and I say, “Nearest body of water to the trails. Right now.”
She doesn’t hesitate, traces a blue line on the map. “Here. Taccanock River. Cuts right through the property. Not much of a river … more like a wide stream.”
“Her horse … what’s his name?”
“Arapahoe.”
“The trail Arapahoe came down—”
She says, “Yeah, the trail heads up there, then runs parallel to the stream.”
“We’re going there, right now,” I say. “Her dead phone … one of the ways to disable it is to break it open and dunk it in water.”
“Like she fell off the horse.”
“We go. Now.”
I take control and make the arrangements, and to Scotty I say, “Stay here. Get Arapahoe back to the stable … but you’re our command post. And keep any press away, or curious kids, or anybody else.”
Scotty’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t like the assignment, but he’s a good agent and will do what he’s told. I hustle the detail into the near SUV, and Brian says, “We’re driving out on the trail?”
“We are.”
“The owners … they won’t like it.”
I climb into the rear. “They’ll get over it.”
And I notice something else before closing the SUV’s door.
All three of these agents from the First Lady’s detail have reddened eyes.
I know why.
They’ve been weeping over the fact that they’ve lost their protectee, the First Lady of the United States.
The trail is barely wide enough for the SUV to pass through without branches or well-trimmed brush scraping the windows or fenders. At points, other wide trails leave from the main one, and I say, “There are no signs. How do the riders know which trail to take?”
From the front Pamela says, “If you ride here, you know. It’s a given, like if you have to ask how much something costs, you can’t afford it … hey, Tanya, not so fast!”
True, because even with seat belts and harnesses fastened, we’re bouncing up and down, and something from earlier puzzles me, and I say, “Hey. What’s that you said before, about CANARY riding for medical reasons? What medical reasons?”
The SUV engine growls as we continue along the trail. Pamela shifts in her seat, looks back at me. “It’s … well, a secret, I guess. Back when the President was governor of Ohio, the First Lady, she had breast cancer. For whatever reason they kept it quiet back then … and still do.”
“How is she now?”
“Fine,” Brian speaks up next to me. “More than five years have passed … but horseback riding, it relaxes her, helps with her blood pressure … and other things.”
“What other things?”
Another moment of silence. The other agent in the detail, Tanya, works the steering wheel and keeps her eyes forward. “Because of the treatments she received, the ones that saved her life … she had early induced menopause.”
“Oh,” I say.
“That’s right,” Tanya says with disapproval. “Her husband delayed and delayed having kids until it was too late.”
CHAPTER 20
THE SUV BREAKS free from the woods and now we’re in a field, the dirt-and-gravel path for the horse trail clearly visible as it shifts to the right. The drive goes on for another minute, and then Tanya hits the brakes and we slide to a halt.
Up ahead is the body of water that Pamela Smithson calls a stream.
The water races by at a high rate of speed, sending up waves and plumes of spray as it hurtles past exposed rocks and boulders. What she calls a stream is wide, deep, and menacing.
We all get out and walk to the water’s edge. There are woods across on the other side and a hint of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.
“Hell of a stream you got there, Pamela,” I say.
“The rains we had last week … the runoff … who knew …”
I bite my tongue, thinking, You and your detail should have known, and then I get back to work. “All right. Brian and Tanya … go upstream, see if you can find a place to ford, get across, and start walking downstream. Pamela and I will work this side … and let’s make it quick. If she fell off, she’s probably injured, and we don’t have much time before it gets dark and cold.”
Brian and Tanya do as they’re told, and I move downstream with Pamela, the detail leader, and think to myself, This isn’t right; we should have a full-scale search going on here, this isn’t right …
And I remember.
Orders.
I say, “You three … you seem pretty dedicated to CANARY.”
“Absolutely. She’s different,” Pamela says. “Doesn’t want to accumulate power, doesn’t want to save the world, doesn’t care how much anybody weighs … but children—that’s always been her focus, ever since Inauguration Day.”
“That’s why she comes here?”
“And other places too,” Pamela says. “The press only sees a portion of what she does. From the start, she didn’t want a big detail. Jackie Kennedy … she made do with three, and Mrs. Tucker, that’s exactly what she wanted. Three, to keep it quiet and relatively unobtrusive. And lots of times, when the President is traveling, she goes out to area shelters or soup kitchens, or foster homes, and volunteers or makes donations, or just … listens. She’s a great listener.”
A shout. I look over, and Brian and Tanya are on the other side of the rushing water—they wave, then keep on searching. Their pants are soaked up above their knees.