Page 65 of Edge of Honor

He was only on the second page when the encrypted messaging app on his personal phone pinged with a text.

Taking out his phone, he read the message. Vice President Chris Cates’s chief of staff was letting him know that everything was set. At the appointed time, the VP would be exactly where he needed to be and prepared to say exactly what he needed to say.

Senator Blackwood smiled and, after returning the phone to his jacket pocket, tore the executive summary out of the binder in front of him and threw the rest of the Sky Shield briefing book into the garbage. If he had to, he could wing it.

In reality, he knew that after today, Sky Shield was the last thing anyone was going to be talking about.

CHAPTER 33

With nothing but her passport and cell phone, Sølvi had shown up at the Embassy of Norway, ready to begin her stint as an adjunct protection agent for Norwegian Prime Minister Anita Stang.

Prime Minister Stang and the Norwegian delegation would be arriving at Dulles International Airport. Sølvi, and the U.S. Secret Service agents augmenting Stang’s existing detail from the Norwegian Police Security Service, also known by the acronym PST, would meet them at their plane and escort them to waiting vehicles on the tarmac.

One of the PST agents, an old friend of Sølvi’s named Bente Bergstrøm, would be transporting her body armor, CZ Nighthawk Custom pistol, her Norwegian Intelligence Service credentials, and a handful of other items she had left behind in Oslo.

The Secret Service would be providing all the Norwegian protective agents, including Sølvi, with special, temporary credentials, as well as a unique lapel pin that readily identified them as precleared security professionals.

Arriving at the embassy, Sølvi parked her car and sought out the chief of embassy security. They did a full walk-through of both the embassy and the Ambassador’s residence. Since it was technically still an “active” crime scene, portions of the residence, including the kitchen, had been closed off with heavy sheets of plastic and yellow crime tape. Nevertheless, because she was a detail person, Sølvi wanted to have eyes on any and every area that the PM might elect to see or pass through.

Because of all the stress and upheaval caused by the attacks, President Mitchell had graciously offered Ambassador Hansen rooms at Blair House, the state guesthouse just across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House. While the Ambassador and her husband had politely declined, they had accepted on behalf of Prime Minister Stang, who under normal circumstances would have stayed at the Ambassador’s residence. Blair House was where Sølvi had scheduled to go next.

The Secret Service team augmenting Prime Minister Stang’s Norwegian detail was composed of two male and two female agents. Sølvi had been given their information the day before during her meeting at Secret Service headquarters, but had yet to meet them.

The team arrived at the embassy a few minutes early and double-parked their black Chevy Suburban outside. When Sølvi stepped out, they exited the vehicle and introduced themselves.

They all shook hands and traded cell phone information, then the agent in charge, Jonathan Miller, gave her a quick tour of the vehicle, pointing out where the medical kit was, along with some other equipment. Once that was complete, they mounted up and headed for Blair House.

As they made the short, two-and-a-half-mile drive, Miller broke down how the rest of the day would unfold.

The Secret Service had arranged for a large private suite at one of the fixed base operator buildings at Dulles Airport.

Once Prime Minister Stang’s Scandinavian Airlines flight had arrived at the gate, the Norwegian delegation would be deplaned first and taken down the jet-bridge stairs to three waiting Secret Service vehicles and driven to the FBO. There the Prime Minister and her team could relax, have something to eat, and even shower if they wanted, while their luggage was collected and their passports were processed. Then, once everything was in order, they would head to Blair House.

It was all pretty straightforward. Removing a special NATO Summit lapel pin from his pocket, the agent in charge handed it to her and indicated which side it should be pinned to.

When they rolled up to the police checkpoint just before Blair House, the young, broad-shouldered FBI agent driving their Suburban, Eric Sorola, bantered with one of the cops. As the barrier arm wasraised, the cop saw him off with the Marine Corps motto, “Semper Fi,” which Eric proudly repeated.

“A United States Marine,” Sølvi said approvingly from the second row of seats.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sorola replied.

“How long were you in?”

“Eight years. Then college. Now the Bureau.”

“Did you see any combat?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Afghanistan?” she asked.

“And Iraq,” the young man responded.

“What was your MOS?”

“Started out infantry, drifted into Marine Security Guard duty, and ended up doing a lot of dignitary protection.”

“Makes you perfect for this assignment,” said Sølvi.

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