Chapter 207

“It is a risk. They also may save everything.”
—G.S. Jennsen, Sidespace

26 AUGUST 2022

In a different life—one I might have lived at a different time and place—I would have looked at all this as no big deal. Congress argues about shit all the time. It keeps them from doing anything drastic and screwing up the world. The Senate Leader keeps a tight rein on what comes before a committee or to the floor. The Speaker of the House follows his lead in nearly everything. There’s nothing about service reform that makes it stand out as different.

Except it’s personal.

I wonder sometimes if I was manipulated around this position by being heard by the commission, consulted on the bill, and touring the camps in California. But what difference does it make? I believe in service reform and I believe I’ve helped move it forward. But someone considers my voice to be too loud and made a move to silence it by kidnapping me and pressing me into service in a survival, search, and rescue team. If I’d stayed with them another four weeks, I don’t know if I’d ever have played the guitar again.

That pisses me off.

I’m recovering, but we still don’t consider it far enough along for me to play the concert this afternoon with Cindy, Desi, and Remas. Three concerts this weekend and I’m benched for all three. These won’t have political speeches attached to them, but I still regret that I won’t be able to play at the National Cathedral Sunday. Or at Kennedy Center tomorrow. I guess I’m okay with skipping the concert at the school today because it’s really just a warm-up. But I’m going to get those bastards who did this to me. And the only weapon I have is words.

I need to talk to Donna again.

I spent Friday morning at the OCS office. We discussed strategy for capturing the boss and for uncovering who was responsible for the kidnapping in the first place.

“We’re only partly trying to hide you,” Ron said. “We don’t want you to feel like you have to duck into corners. I think, though, that having your ID sealed in the Faraday bag is preventing a passive search for you. If they were actively searching, we’d have spotted someone around your house. Anyone with a little curiosity could find out where you live.”

“Like next door to the President’s daughter,” I said.

“That was a bit of a shock to us, too. Abigail got called on the carpet for not letting us know what was going on. The first encounter between our security watching your house and the secret service watching hers was tense. We’ve met now and there shouldn’t be any problems. We don’t have the budget for complete protection of your pod at the level of protection for the President’s daughter.”

“I thought the President’s kids didn’t get protection after they turned sixteen.”

“That’s past presidents. As long as her mother is a sitting president, she’s entitled to two agents. Everyone else you see hanging out there is contracted by her family. It’s good. They’re clean.”

“What do we have about who’s responsible?” I asked. “Can I get access to the National Service data base?”

“No, of course not,” Ron said, shaking his head. I knew that but it was worth a try. “However, you can have this list of information that is considered ‘public’ even if you’d have to get into some controlled servers to access it. I read a statement that a certain musician made this spring that said he was challenged to ‘follow the money’ and uncovered eight companies profiting from the current National Service administration. This is a list of candidates they’ve donated to for this year’s election. It’s ... interesting.”

I quickly scanned what he called ‘a page.’ It was more like twenty pages and at the top of the first page was Senator Jeffries’ name with an unbelievable total campaign contribution from all eight companies. I grinned at Ron and he pretended not to notice me put the page in my backpack.

I was backstage for each of the performances over the weekend. At the school, a number of students and teachers who had heard Cindy and me before came by to renew their acquaintance. Several expressed sympathy for my ‘hand injury,’ and I assured them I would be back on the tour soon.

No one really knew me at the Kennedy Center or at the National Cathedral. In all likelihood, there would be few local DC people at those concerts. But the name would get out, even if I wasn’t performing. It was still Marvel and Hopkins and Company.

Sunday afternoon, after the cathedral concert, we were all invited to Abigail’s house for dinner.

“You and your mother are the only ones who have ever invited our entire pod to dinner,” Rachel said.

“And for your mother, we had to entertain for our dinner,” I laughed.

“Well, you have to admit that having your whole family over for dinner is about the same as throwing a party,” Abigail laughed. “I wouldn’t have done it without help.”

“We’re happy to have you over for get togethers. We get so used to cooking and feeding thirteen of us that we don’t think about what a strain it is for others,” Donna said. “Something smells wonderful!”

“It’s been cooking all day. Ramon says it is just bean soup, but knowing him it’s made with some rare flavorful bean that only grows in the Andes or something,” Abby said.

“Ramon? Sounds exotic.”

“We got along well when I was living at the White House. I asked him to come over and help me today. It’s usually his day off.”

“I hope we’ll be able to thank him!”

“Come and take the whole house tour. I think it’s built much along the same lines as yours. I think you did a much better job on the decorating, but this one was decorated by my father’s secretary. We don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

“It seems like such a waste for you to have bought this house in order to have secret service people near us when we’ll be hitting the road for the next two months,” I said.

“You’ll have someone to water the plants then,” Abby said. “Um ... and I might have assignments that take me to some of the same places you go.”

“Really?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of assignments could take you to the same locations as our tour?”

“Oh, busywork, you know. The office wants to know if there is any sign of voter discrimination or discouragement going on in certain districts. I won’t be at all of them, but we’ll stop and visit when our trips overlap. I don’t plan to go by bus.”

“Speaking of which, how is that going to work, Em?” Beca asked. “Are we doing the motorhome routine again? It was kind of crowded with seven of us in it. What will it be like with thirteen?”

“Even more when you count the crew that is traveling with us,” Em said. “Logistics for this tour have been a nightmare since the day I reenlisted. We’ll have a motorhome, but it has been reconfigured with four beds and the kitchen. It’s really a moving hotel room. In general, we won’t be riding in it while traveling unless someone is super tired or wants a private space while in transit. The motorhome will simply be driven from location to location and will be parked and set up when we arrive. Our general transportation is a coach, a step up from what we used in California. It’s arranged for conversation and practice, has WiFi, and is as much our office as our transportation. And finally, instead of towing a trailer and maneuvering it behind one of the buses, we have a twelve-foot box truck for all equipment, props, costumes, and instruments. When we’re moving, the box truck will go straight to the venue and will be secured there. The mobile bedroom will go straight to either an RV park or designated parking area. The coach will be a leisurely ride and will take the family to the venue, park, or anyplace else it needs to go.”

“Which are you driving?” Desi asked. Em scowled at her.

“None. I’m in management. We have people for that.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I hated having you isolated from the rest of us and having to do all the driving,” I said. “There are times when we’re traveling that I just want to have you next to me. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I think we all know.”

The ‘bean soup’ Ramon served us was actually a French cassoulet and possibly the richest soup I’d ever tasted. It had duck, sausage, beans, and a pork and vegetable ragout. It was served with hot crusty bread, fresh out of the oven. There was a small green salad served before the soup and dessert was a very light fruity salad. It was perfect, but I ate too much, of course.

“You really enjoy eating, don’t you, Jacob?” Abby said.

“You know, I never thought about food that much,” I said. “But four weeks in the mountains without a hot meal and with sometimes questionable ingredients changed my perspective,” I said. “I don’t just enjoy eating, I’m more aware of my food. I guess I’m a little prone to overeating, but I run ten miles a day, so I’m burning off 1400 calories before I even start my day.”

“Did you do that during your survival training?” Abby asked.

“My responsibility on the team was to build endurance and the ability to move long distances quickly. Each morning we ran ten to twenty miles before we started our other training. Believe me, with a diet of 2400 calories a day, no one gained weight.”

“Tom has trailed your run a few times. He says you and Nanette and Lyle really keep a good pace, but it’s nothing like when Livy runs with you.”

“Tom’s one of your secret service guys?”

“Tom and Jenny. Tom is more engaged in area security, watching the neighborhood and environment. Jenny is the one who’s always stepping on my toes when I try to do something stupid,” Abby laughed.

“Like what?”

“Like getting a coworker to buy me a bottle of rum and sitting in the park getting drunk while I listen to punk rock on my headset. Not that the daughter of the President of the United States would ever do something like that!”

I liked Abby in spite of myself. I was still suspicious. I thought the whole idea of having the President’s daughter living next door smacked of spying on us rather than protecting us. But it was hard not to like her. I knew Rachel had to deal with her a lot more than any of the rest of us, but Emily, Joan, Beca, and even Donna had all run across her in the office.

Donna had elected not to join the service and not to become employed by them. She held on to her independence as the producer of Marvel and Hopkins. Jo was responsible for getting venues and Simon for marketing concerts. Rachel was the onsite coordinator with local service personnel who provided security and other services. Donna was in charge of everything that happened inside the venue. She worked with the stage techs, lighting, sound, and facilities to make sure our shows were flawless. Or as flawless as Cindy and I could make them. I was concerned that she was no longer teaching, but she’d assured me in bed that she was spreading her wings in an area she’d always been fascinated with.