“You okay, pal?” the officer asked, looking at White with suspicious eyes.
“Long night, brother,” White said, approaching the lone employee standing behind the counter.
“It certainly looks like it,” the second officer chimed in. “You need medical attention?”
White chuckled, but his smile quickly turned into a grimace. His whole face still hurt like hell. “Not much they could do,” he replied.
The cops shrugged and continued working on their coffees. The young man behind the counter politely greeted him with a smile, but White could see he was happy that the two police officers were there. White wouldn’t be surprised to see him offer unlimited refills to the officers for as long as the man with the messed-up tuxedo and beat-up face was inside the coffee shop.
“A large black coffee,” White said. “And a bottle of water.”
“Anything to eat?”
“I wish,” White said between clenched teeth. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to eat anything but liquid food for the next day or so.
“Sorry?” the young man said. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Nothing,” White replied. “Just the coffee and the water, please.”
White chose a barstool facing the street and carefully took a sip of his steaming coffee, feeling the bitter acidity wash over his tongue and gums. He swallowed, enjoying the lingering taste of the roast in his mouth, which didn’t do much to soothe his dark mood.
White sighed. What had started as the best day of his life had turned into the worst nightmare. His colleagues—his friends, really—were dead. And his career with the Secret Service was virtually over.
White had been fully aware that his position within the VPPD—the Vice President’s Protective Division—had ruffled more than a few feathers among certain more senior special agents who had been waiting years to go on the detail. Following his graduation from the Secret Service Academy, the Service had assigned White directly to the Protective Intelligence Division—PID—instead of having him spend his first four to six years in one of the Secret Service’s field offices investigating credit card fraud, identity theft, or currency counterfeiting. Fortunately for White, who truly had no real interest in these types of investigations but would have been ready to pull his weight and do his time for a chance to one day join “The Show,” somebody in human resources had concluded that White’s exemplary military records and advanced medical training would be put to much better use if he was assigned to the protective division. After White had put in only two years with the PID, Alexander Hammond had pulled a few strings to have him transferred to the VPPD, where he became the detail’s DSAIC—or deputy special agent in charge. A great deal of resentment and jealousy had been generated by his quick ascension and his direct access to Hammond.
One evening, just a few nights after her dad had officially joined the presidential ticket, Veronica had told him she had overheard other special agents talking among themselves about him. White, who’d always been confident in a leadership role and had never felt the need to please every single one of his subordinates for fear of not being liked, hadn’t probed further.
“Aren’t you curious to know what they’re saying about you?” she’d asked, pushing him gently.
He’d shrugged at the question. “It wouldn’t change anything, Vonnie,” he had finally replied. “I do my best every single day, and I challenge my team to do the same. It’s true that I expect a lot from them, both on an individual level and as a group, but I like to believe that this creates positive peer pressure where members of my team support and encourage each other.”
She had thrown him a man-melting smile and said, “Keep talking, I like your voice.”
“The thing is,” he’d continued, serious, “we’re all in this together. Members of the team who are stronger in one area are helping the others who are weaker.”
“So everyone’s a teacher and a learner,” Veronica had said.
“Exactly. You never stop learning,” he’d replied, nodding at her. “My point, Dr. Hammond, is that whatever they say or think about me won’t change the way I interact with them. I’ll continue to treat them fairly and with respect.”
While he spoke, Veronica had poured two glasses of her favorite Barolo. She’d handed him one, which he had accepted.
“That means you won’t care that they all think you’ll be the next assistant special agent in charge of the JJRTC?”