Page 35 of The Night Of
Nguyen sighed. Silence filled the line. I waited. “All right, what is it?” Nguyen snapped.
“Three days ago, there was a CIA briefing in the Situation Room. There was a man who met with President Baker in the Oval after that briefing. He was walked in and out by two agents. Who?”
“Me and Hogan.”
“You?”
“Yeah, asshole, me. Why?”
“Was there anything unusual about this guy? How was he when you were walking him out? Anything seem to upset him, or…”
“No. He was your typical suit. Face in his phone, too busy to be bothered. Nothing unusual at all.”
“He and Baker have a fight?”
“No. When we walked him out, Baker was stepping out to the Oval patio. Nothing unusual, like I said.”
“Thanks, Nguyen.”
He grunted. “I got a question for you now: you helping yourself to any of my guys?”
“Huh?”
“Carter and Wilcox. They haven’t shown up for their last two shifts. You running them on some bullshit and forgot to tell me?”
“No, man. I haven’t spoken to Carter and Wilcox in ages.” They weren’t at Camp David on the advance team. Last I’d heard, they had been moved around the White House, taking a breather from the intensity of the presidential detail.
“Shit. Well, then they’re missing. Now I gotta deal with that.”
“You got anyone else not showing up?”
“No, everyone’s showing up. Lot of guys aren’t functional, though. I’m pulling bodies outta my ass to try and fill all the holes. Everyone’s struggling with what happened. And… it’s contagious, you know? It’ll be a damn miracle if we can get through the next six weeks without one of our own swallowing a bullet. I got a half dozen counselors in Horsepower, and I’ve got one of the docs from Rowley down here to write prescriptions for whoever needs one, but… I dunno. It’s rough.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. I felt for him. Nguyen was trying to do the impossible right now: trying to keep the Service glued together, keep Jonathan safe, and keep his own people looking forward, not back. Not focused on the death of their president. “Hey, if you need anything—”
“I know exactly whonotto call.”
I snorted. “Look, I’m on close body duty with President Sharp. You can at least take that off your list, okay? I’m saying with him at the Observatory, and I’m driving him everywhere. Which, hey: can I get a car with blacked-out front windows brought to the basement?”
Another long sigh from Nguyen. “You know he’s supposed to ride in the back, right? I know it’s been a while since you were on the detail, but some things don’t change, you know?”
“You know, back when I was on, the president sat in the carriage while the Secret Service rode up next to the horse driver.”
Nguyen laughed. “Hey, I thought you weren’t messing around with Sharp anymore.”
“What?” My voice came out like I was being strangled. “Fuck do you mean by that?”
Whatever sweet, tender moment Nguyen and I had just vanished. “Jesus, man, relax. I meant what I said: I thought, since you moved out of the inner ring, you didn’t have anything to do with the first family or the VP anymore. I know they got to be friendly with you. They’re friendly people. I see it every day. I just don’t understand why Sharp asked for you for his Secret Squirrel shit.”
My heart pounded. The phone almost slipped from my sweat-slick grip. “Jealous, Nguyen?”
“Fuck you.”
“Nice talking to you.” I hung up as I pulled into the DC Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.
I was already inside, watching Carl Rose’s body be pulled out of the refrigerator, when Detective Casey ambled in, Starbucks cup in one hand. I looked from the coffee to him and then back to the coffee. He slurped and stared at me.
The sheet covering Rose had been pulled down to his waist. Three gunshots bloomed in his center mass, one bullet to each lung and a third right through his guts. That shot had nicked an artery. Rose had died slowly, drowning in his own blood as he hemorrhaged. A line of stitches ran up the middle of his chest, zigzagging to avoid the gunshot wounds.
