Page 9 of Valor on the Move
“You’re the new suit guards on Valor’s detail, huh?” the officer asked. He looked about sixteen with blotchy skin, but had to be at least twenty-one to be in the Secret Service. The uniformed officers only needed high school diplomas and tended to be younger.
Shane kept his tone even, despite the insult. “Yep.” The quickest way to get under a Secret Service agent’s skin was to call him or her a “guard.” He’d heard there was sometimes friction with the Uniformed Division, but he couldn’t blame them if they were jealous. They were the low men on the totem pole.
“Little mouse won’t give you any trouble. They say he’s even better behaved than Chelsea Clinton was.” The officer yawned and glanced to his cohort in the gatehouse running their credentials as the guard dog went to work.
Shane watched the dog in his side mirror. It was similar to a German shepherd, but was called a… His mind spun. Holy shit, what was it called? He wracked his brain, which was alarmingly blank. He knew this. He knew this. As it finally came to him, he resisted to urge to say, a-ha! It was a Belgian Malinois, which the service had determined to be the best sniffers and attackers. Sheesh, the flutters in his belly were ridiculous. He hadn’t been this nervous since training. Alan seemed calm beside him. He’d been on what they called the “little show” before—the VP’s detail—so this was apparently old hat to him.
The dog finished his inspection, and the guard pulled a ball from his pocket. “Now he gets to play for a few minutes.” He passed back their ID and patted the Suburban’s hood. “Have fun in there.”
The gate whirred shut behind them, and Shane parked in the numbered spot they’d been assigned. He and Alan walked around the West Wing before going inside the residence through the Palm Room. They entered the center hall of the ground floor, which used to be considered the basement since the residence was built on higher ground. Their leather shoes were silent on the thick orange carpet as they passed under the vaulted ceiling, where simple chandeliers hung down every several feet. Marble busts stood sentinel.
Shane thrummed with eager electricity. He was working a regular detail in the White House. Granted, Rafael Castillo would be back at school in Virginia in September, but for the summer, Shane would get the chance to really be on the inside of the president’s home.
They passed the entry to the kitchen on their left, and Shane’s pulse spiked as they reached the door of the Secret Service command post.
“Come on, let’s go meet our new boss.” Alan led the way.
Inside the office, a small Asian woman with her hair pulled into a bun stood and extended her hand. “Kendrick—good to meet you. I’m Sandra Nguyen, SAIC. The box creatures give you any trouble? They can get uppity with new agents.”
“Nah,” Shane answered. “No trouble at all.” As special agent in charge, Shane hoped Nguyen lived up to her reputation as fair and fierce. It had taken years for the good ol’ boy network of power in the service to finally give way to more diversity. She introduced him to a few other agents manning the console and wall of TVs with security camera feeds. After she went over the protocols, she gave Shane and Alan their earpieces, mics, and radio transmitters to attach to their belts. A clear coiled cord connected the earpiece to the transmitter beneath their suit jackets.
When they were set, an older agent came in and introduced himself as Brent Harris. “I’m staying on as Valor’s new detail leader, so if you have any questions, ask away. Good to see you back on the job, Pearce.”
“Thanks,” Alan said. “Anything we need to watch out for? Does Valor have any tricks up his sleeve these days?”
One of the agents at the console chuckled, and Harris answered, “No way. The kid’s a mouse. Virtue and Velocity are the ones to watch out for. But they only come to DC a few times a year now, so it’s not our problem.”
Shane went through the list in his head. Virtue was Adriana Castillo—twenty-five years old. After college she traveled and had “internships” at international PR firms. She was now an associate at an LA firm that worked with movie stars. Big party girl. Velocity was Matthew Castillo—twenty-three, star swimmer at UC Berkeley. Came close to making the last Olympic team in the freestyle and butterfly. Stayed in California to train after graduation. Member of the national swimming team.
“What about Vacation?” Shane asked. Christian Castillo—twenty-seven, a lawyer in New York, married to a leggy blonde model/actress. One of People’s Sexiest Men Alive the year before, and Shane couldn’t argue with the declaration. “He’s not around much either?”
