Chapter 451

Back in the house Jenny asked, “BJ, what the hell is going on?”

“We are targets and have been for some time. I should have realized it after the Morton Field attack. Every time we are successful at thwarting an attack on an embassy or at a college, we move higher on that list and give them growing determination,” I replied.

“The weakest thing we do is walking across that road from the house to the gym several times a day. We are making ourselves easy targets to get gunned down from a car down the road, or run over, or kidnapped. Before we know it, the two boys will be big enough to want to go over there ten times a day, another kidnap risk,” I replied.

“By completing the tunnel we eliminate all of that plus no more bad weather to trek through. We are also running out of office space again; once it is finished, we can look at what can be moved down there. The spooks, the server’s, records storage, entire departments?” I said.

By the time I finished, their heads were nodding approval. The realization of events had sunk in. I didn’t really pressure Bob but I hoped he would pull men off other jobs and make it a real priority for us.

Supper was at the Seafood Inn and I asked for the private room again. In between food servings, we discussed tomorrow and made plans. Dad and Mom were going with the six of us in two SUVs.

The email from the White House contained parking passes and initial IDs to get to the security screening check point. There was valet parking available at the official White House parking lot.

As we were leaving, Elmo Cartwright - reporter and editor of the local county paper - was standing at the reservation desk, “I thought those were your SUVs in the parking lot. Are there any rumors you would like to put an end to tonight?”

“I try not to deal in rumors or comment on them,” I replied.

“You are not going to tell me, confirm or deny what the big media is saying?” he replied.

“You know the rules the dark side has to live by,” I replied.

“What time are you going to Washington?” Elmo asked.

The old bird was trying to be cagey.

“We have a meeting at the Pentagon at 0900; we have finally gotten our foot in the door for contract work with the Air Force. It will mean more work for Morton Field with more international flights to Europe, the Middle East and Africa originating from Morton. It will be a win for the county, JBG Aviation and the Air Force. I expect more hiring will be necessary!” I replied.

“When are you going back to Africa to the refugee camp?” he asked.

“As soon as we get a plane load, it will go. You know, if you put a plug in your paper every week that we are taking financial contributions and clean clothing from toddlers to adult sizes, that may speed things along,” I replied.

“You know you could buy ad space for that,” he replied.

“How about a deal; you run a free ad one week and we will pay for the same size the following week, up to 26 ads in a year,” I replied.

“Who do I see about doing that?’ he asked.

I see the wheels turning, picking up speed in his brain. I would bet the ads would be half or full page, replacing the free filler he got from somewhere.

The local paper was filled with so much filler and fluff that if outhouses were still around, it would have replaced the Sears catalog.

“Try the public relations department under Ching Lee,” I replied.

We made our way out the door before he could ask any more questions.

At 0600 we were on our way across the bridge. This time of day it was rush hour; four lanes running 80 miles an hour, bumper to bumper. The zoo had opened the gates and let out everything crazy they had and they were driving. The key to survival was to run with the traffic. It was 70 miles and we made it in an hour, even with all the turns and stops.

We pulled into the parking lot where the instructions directed and the valets took our vehicles. Then we made the short walk to the entrance that we were scheduled for.

I was expecting reporters to be staking out the entrance but I guess it was too early for them.

An hour early would give us plenty of time to make it through security. I was carrying both my Glock and the knife that I always had with me, and all the IDs I had; my Maryland drivers license, my federal permit to body guard everyone but the president as part of our State Department contracts, my Ambassador’s ID that a few more days left on it, my JBG ID and finally my passport.

My girls and I were all wearing our bullet proof vests. They were now a standard wear item unless we were home or in the gym.

Dad, Mom and the girls had their licenses, passports and JBG IDs; hopefully that would be enough and the girls had their own federal IDs.

We made it through the first security that just checked our papers, bags and my portable office. Both laptops I carried had to be inspected, even removing the batteries and powering them up after the batteries was reinstalled. They checked both my phones - my personal and the state department issued one.

The next check did not go over so well, the metal detectors picked up both the knife and my Glock. The agent who was running the scanner was so shook up, he was shaking.

“We can’t let you carry those in,” he responded.

“How many times have you been shot?” I asked the young man.