Crisis Four Part 37

Sarah stood up.

"I'll finish getting ready and pack."

I followed her out to the stairs and pa.s.sed over my weapon.

"In the bags."

I was back at the coffee percolator as Josh finished his call. I motioned to see if he wanted more, and he nodded. The phone went back on the wall and he came to the table.

I took a seat beside him.

"We'll just have to wait now while she puts her face on."

He smiled as he unfolded the newspaper. I started to flap as the Washington Post was laid out on the table top, but the chances of the story still being in there after three days were pretty slim, especially given the amount of column inches devoted to events at the White House.

"Anything interesting?"

"h.e.l.l no, just the normal s.h.i.t."

He turned the paper around to show me the front page: pictures of Netanyahu and Arafat in town yesterday. The subject was a bit too close to home for me at the moment.

He turned the paper back as I asked, "What do think, mate? Think it will work? You know, the peace deal?"

He started to give his views on the summit. Not that I was listening, but I wanted him to talk, which was why I'd asked the question in the first place. The more he was gob bing off, the more I could just sit there and nod and agree or throw in the odd question, but at the same time get myself revved up for the job. I was in my own little world, so relieved the call had brought good news.

I heard Sarah coming down the stairs. It brought me back to the real world. He was now honking about all the roadworks and the D.C. traffic as Sarah came into the room with our bags and my jacket. She may not have had time for a shower but she'd made up for it with eyeliner and lip gloss.

Josh stood up, looking at his watch.

"OK, let's saddle up!"

I picked up our two bags while Josh ran upstairs. He didn't say why, but we both knew that it was to fetch his weapon.

A bleep came from the pickup and the lights flashed. Josh jumped into the cab, and Sarah and I went around to the pa.s.senger side. As I opened the door a toy racing car fell out. Crayons, a coloring sheet from McDonald's and other kids' c.r.a.p littered the foot well I put our bags in the back; our weapons were inside now, and would stay there.

Sarah picked up the toy from the sidewalk and climbed in. I followed; there was room enough for three in the front seat.

The morning sky was still overcast, but bright when the sun came out between the clouds. I had to squint as I looked through the windshield. A pair of mirrored sungla.s.ses were hanging by their cord from the rearview mirror. Josh put them on over his shiny head and fired up the ignition. The engine gave a big four-liter growl, and out we backed, the antenna automatically starting to rise.

The radio came on, and to my surprise it was a woman talking about the place of Jesus in today's world. Josh looked at me, obviously feeling that my unasked question needed an answer.

"Christian channel," he said, not at all defensively.

"A couple of guys got me into listening. It's been a help. I've even started going to a few meetings with them."

I said, "That's good, Josh," and wondered if his bible studies had got as far as Judas yet.

We headed north, back along the route by which the taxi had brought us. Josh chatted about how long it had been since he'd been to the White House, and what he missed about working there. The thing he didn't miss, he said as we gradually crawled our way to D.C." was the traffic. He hated it. As if we didn't know by now.

Sarah saw a filling station coming up and reminded Josh to stop for a one-shot camera. Twenty-five minutes after leaving the house, we were back on the Jefferson Davis Highway approaching the Pentagon. Instead of pa.s.sing it, however, we took a right onto a bridge that took us across the Potomac. Josh became the tourist guide.

"Left, that's the Jefferson Memorial, and farther over is the Lincoln Memorial. Sarah, you've gotta get Nick to take you to the Reflecting Pool at sunset; it's real romantic, just like the movies."

We had plenty of time to admire the view, as the traffic was backed up from halfway over the bridge. Eventually we started heading north on 14th Street, bisecting the vast stretch of gra.s.s that is the National Mall, running from the Capitol building all the way down to the Lincoln Memorial by the Potomac.

Once over the Mall we made a few turns. Josh said, "Here we are, where all the dirty deeds are done!" We drove past the target, leaving it to our left.

"We have to go around because of the one-way system. But that's cool, you get to see it from all sides."

Once we'd done a circuit counterclockwise, we landed up on 17th Street.

The front of the White House faced north, sandwiched between two gardens, Lafayette Park, which was part of the pedestrian area in the front, now that Pennsylvania Ave was closed to traffic, and, at the rear, backing onto the National Mall, the Ellipse, a large area of green that looked as if it had become a giant car park for government permit holders.

The White House was flanked to the west by the old Executive Office and to the east by the Treasury Department. Each of the two buildings had an access road between it and the White House, but both were closed to traffic. West Executive Avenue was closed off to pedestrians as well, but East Executive Avenue wasn't, to allow the public entry through the east wing of the White House.

We turned left and slowed down. Rows of cars were parked on the gra.s.s of the Ellipse, and in amongst them was a line of about a dozen yellow school buses.

Josh indicated again. The road had originally bent around, away from the White House, but had since been blocked off to create yet another car park. We pa.s.sed the gates to West Executive Avenue and stopped on the corner of State Place. Josh opened the window and put his hand out.

"Yo!"

He got a nod from a man dressed in a gray single-breasted suit and what looked like a reddish tie. He'd been standing by the gates and started to amble toward us.

"Davy Boy! Long time!"

"Yo, Josh, good to see you!"

Sarah and I looked at each other as they exchanged greetings. She had the same concern as I did: Was this guy going to stay with us?

"How goes it, Davy, get a place for me?"

Davy continued toward the wagon. I could see his tie now lots of small Dalmatians on a red background.

"Hey, you know what, just park in the West Exec duty pool."

As we got out of the vehicle Josh clapped Davy enthusiastically across the shoulders.

"Come here, let me introduce you to my friends from the U.K. This is Sarah." They shook hands.

"And this is Nick." We pressed the flesh.

"Hey. Good to see you. Welcome." Davy was in his mid-thirties, and very open and friendly. He was also tall, fit, good-looking and had all his own teeth white and perfect. If he hadn't been in the Secret Service, a great career would have beckoned as the Diet c.o.ke man.

Davy had everything arranged.

"I'll take you guys to the gate house, get you an ID pa.s.s each and take you in. As you know, it's kinda busy today, but we'll do what we can for you."

Sarah and I gushed our thanks as we started to walk off with him. Josh cut in from behind us, "See you folks in a few." I heard his door close and the wagon start to move.

Davy did all the small talk.

"Take long to get here?"

I looked at my watch. It was ten sixteen.

"No, not really, just over an hour."

"That's good. Was he complaining about the traffic?"

"He did nothing but moan."

Davy Boy liked that one. It seemed that nothing had changed with his old work mate Josh's black Dodge pa.s.sed us on the way to the gates that would let him into West Executive Avenue. We were going there as well, but via the security gatehouse. Josh stopped at the big, black iron gates, which opened automatically for him. The gatehouse was to the left, with a turnstile and airport-style metal detector. From a distance it had looked as if it was made of white PVC and gla.s.s, like a conservatory. As we got nearer, I could see that it wasn't; the white paint covered steel, and the gla.s.s was so thick I could only just make out movement inside.

As the gates closed behind him, I could see Josh parking in line, nose in to the pavement, about fifty meters up on the left-hand side.

There was a big round of applause to my right and the roar of excited children's voices coming from a huge marquee that had been erected in the rear White House gardens. Davy grinned.

"There are about two hundred of them in there. Been practicing all morning." He screwed up his face as the applause continued.

"At least they think they're good."

I could see more clearly into the gatehouse now that we'd gone through the fence, turned right and were standing by the metal detector. Just beyond that was the turnstile. Two bodies were inside the gatehouse. The door opened and one of them came out. An electric buzz came from the turnstile as Josh came through to join us. The guard was white and in his forties. His Secret Service uniform was a very sharply pressed white shirt, a black tie, black trousers with a yellow stripe and black patent-leather belt kit, holding a semiautomatic pistol and spare mags. He couldn't wait to have a go at Josh.

"Things must be getting desperate around here if they're bringing you back!"

Josh laughed; he'd obviously had this for years from this guy, because he gave him the finger as he replied.

"I've been sent to get rid of all the dead wood, so you'd better watch out, lard-a.s.s."

Everybody contributed to the banter as the fat one slapped his stomach.

Sarah and I were the gooseberries in this, so we just kept our mouths shut and concentrated on looking awestruck at standing so close to the official residence of the most powerful man on earth.

I could see that Lard-a.s.s and a younger black guy who was still inside the gatehouse were also responsible for manning a bank of TV monitors and radios. Davy got hold of a clipboard and went through the signing-in procedure.

"Nick, surname please?"

"Stone." Being with Josh, there was no option but to reply truthfully.

"OK, S-to-n-e." There was a few seconds' pause as he finished writing.

"And Sarah?"

"Damley."

He frowned, and she spelled it for him as she wiped her new gla.s.ses with a tissue from her pocket.

"OK, if you can just sign here and here for me, please."

The first signature was for the ID card, the second for the entry log.

Josh then signed himself in as well. Davy gave the clipboard back to the guard, who handed Sarah and me each an ID card. Lard-a.s.s smiled at Sarah as he pa.s.sed her card over.

"You're not going to let these two losers show you around, are you?"

"I guess I'm stuck with them for now."

He smiled and shook his head.

"The only place these two know is the canteen. You'll just be eating doughnuts and drinking coffee all day, and look what that did for me!" He looked down at his belly.

We joined in the laughter. Mine was out of sheer relief at getting even this far. It appeared that we weren't quite in the Good Lads Club because we didn't have our cards on nylon straps we had clips, with a black V on a white background, not for visitor, but volunteer. It must have been part of the deal, today being busy: no visitors. It seemed Davy and Josh had made a real effort for us. I hated that. It made me feel even more guilty, but I'd live. At least, I hoped I would.

Our IDs looked quite different from the ones Davy and Josh were wearing.

Theirs had a blue edge surrounding their pictures, and some red markings underneath. We clipped ours onto our jackets and Davy clapped and rubbed his hands together.

"OK, people, let's do this thing." He walked around the detector and waited with Josh as we walked through it.

As we all went through the turnstile I didn't know which feeling inside me was stronger, elation at getting past the first hurdle, or concern that I was now fenced in and the clock was ticking.

We walked north along West Exec Ave. We weren't inside the actual grounds yet, as the iron fencing that stretched away from the gate divided the White House from the road. We seemed to be aiming for an entrance about fifty meters farther up, which opened onto the front White House lawn. Looking through into the gardens, I could see the rear of the main building and the marquee. A member of the Emergency Response Team was standing under a tree, talking into his radio as he watched the road, and us. He really looked the business. He was dressed from head to foot in black: black coveralls, black belt kit, body armor and boots. He had a baseball cap with ERT on the front and a pager that was hooked onto the leg strapping that went around his thigh to keep his pistol and holster in place. It looked as if his main weapon, probably an MP5, was covered by a black nylon support across his chest.

Josh took a back seat as Davy started to give us the brief while we continued toward the gate.

"Regardless of what people think, this place is basically just an office complex. Over to the left-hand side" we looked over at the old Exec Building in perfect unison, like a group of j.a.panese tourists "that's where the VP's office is, and that's also the Indian Treaty Room. It's a fantastic sight, I'll try and get you in there later on, especially if our little tour the other side of the fence is cut short."

We carried on up the road between the two buildings, basically just listening to Davy Boy. The more you listen, the less you have to say and the less you can f.u.c.k up and the more time you can spend looking for anyone who looks remotely like a dark-skinned Al Gore or Bill Gates.

Walking purposefully between the two buildings, via the gate, were men in conservative suits and women in identical two pieces, each with an ID card dangling on a nylon cord. Television and power cables snaked across the tarmac, and at the top of the road, where it met Pennsylvania Avenue, satellite trucks were jammed onto every available square inch of s.p.a.ce.

As we got to within ten meters or so of the gate I saw Monica Beach in front of me, on the White House side of the fence. I looked at Sarah. She'd seen it, too. Multicolored umbrellas were pitched high to keep the light out of the camera lenses. Spotlights were rigged up for the reporters to look good in front of the cameras, and there were yet more power cables.

They seemed to have a life of their own. The whole place looked like a Hollywood location.

Beyond Monica Beach I could see another gatehouse, which I guessed was the press entrance point from Pennsylvania Avenue. Throngs of people with videos and cameras jostled against the railings to get a good shot of the building. They seemed to be photographing everything that moved, maybe in the hope of capturing some celebrity to show the folks back home. If this all went to rat s.h.i.t in a few hours' time, I guessed the police would be appealing for them to hand in their footage.

Davy continued to give us the general picture as we stood at the gate.

There was a bit of a bottleneck as ERT and uniformed Secret Service security scrutinized the IDs of everybody who was waiting to go through.

"The White House can be broken down into three main parts. The east wing"--he pointed to the far side of the main house; we looked, but I was more intent on scanning the faces of the news crews that were walking from the building up to the beach--"then, in the middle, the executive mansion. That's the part you always see in newsreels. As you can see, just outside, on the lawn, is where the ceremony will take place. The kids will be doing their thing in front of the stage."

Arranged on the stage were a couple of rows of chairs, and two lecterns emblazoned with the presidential seal. The flags of Israel, Palestine and the United States were being unfurled on flagpoles. The scene looked idyllic.

Sarah was watching the hordes of tourists poking their video cameras through the fence.

"Isn't it dangerous to be so exposed to the road?"