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  Meeting Monday

  A Jake Monday Chronicles Origin Story

  Robert Michael

  Copyright © 2013 by Robert Michael

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  INFINITE WORD PRESS

  Broken Arrow, Oklahoma

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  To JA: thank you for the inspiration to try this grand experiment.

  1450 hours, CEST

  1950 hours, CEST

  2120 hours, CEST

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To JA: thank you for the inspiration to try this grand experiment.

  Berlin, Germany July 16, 2020

  Hotel Adlon

  1450 hours, CEST

  The rain was light. It would not affect the party, she was assured. Halley did not mind. The rain would keep it cool until the festivities began. With more than four thousand attendees, she was positive that her blazer would be drenched before the evening was through.

  She began her detail with the usual checks. Coffee, check. Handgun, check. Identification, check. She continued her list, drilling her mind to remain focused. Being the rookie on the detail was no excuse for mistakes. These mental drills kept her alert and her nerves controlled.

  She waited patiently, glancing at the other members of her detail. Comstock, Wesson, Johnson, and Clavelle. She was the only female on Ambassador Welsey’s detail. Yet, this was not why she was nervous.

  Halley knew the Ambassador personally. Actually, it had been her parents who knew him. She had only been a child living in New York when Welsey and his wife had spent summers at her parent’s house. It was why she was assigned here. The other agents knew this. She suspected that there was some disdain for her. It did not help that she was a woman.

  Even this assignment was a fluke. Normally, US Secret Service were only assigned to visiting dignitaries. Other agencies handled much of the protective duties overseas. Yet, President Vine had signed an executive order commanding a USSS presence during Ambassador Welsey’s visit to Germany’s newly elected president, Hadley Buschheuer. Welsey, and several senators as well as the Secretary of State had been invited to a glamorous summer party that was a tradition of the national presidential leader for years.

  The President intended to show his support for Buschheuer, a West-Berlin native whose parents had campaigned for unification during the Cold War. Despite the German president’s largely ceremonial role in the everyday governance of the nation, this show of support was intended as a good public relations move. The presence of the US Secret Service also was largely ceremonial here. Halley felt that they were redundant.

  Comstock held his hand to his ear. He was the leader of the detail. Comstock was pure military. Close-cropped hair. Perfect posture. Standard issue Secret Service. His demanding personality was grating to most agents under him, but his rigid attention to detail got him noticed by his superiors. He made no mistakes.

  “Count down ten minutes to departure. Clavelle, Parks, stand watch at the entrance. Wesson, Johnson, stay with me. We will escort BREAD WINNER to the vehicle.”

  Who made up these code names, anyway? Halley wondered.

  She stood, straightening her pencil skirt. Normally at an event like this, she would feel uncomfortable in such a conservative attire. Dressed this way, though, it would be easier for her to concentrate on her job.

  Agent Clavelle nodded to her and opened the door.

  “After you,” he said cordially. She knew it was a farce. He hated her. His male chauvinism was palpable.

  They made their way down to the lobby in silence. There was not much to discuss. The threat assessment level was low. The only difficulty that they anticipated were some protesters. A new political party had come into popularity in Berlin and their supporters were very vocal about government corruption. The perception was that big businesses were supporting candidates in exchange for political favors.

  Halley was about as apolitical as she could be. That did not make her anti-patriotic, just practical. Her father would say that she was being cynical. Her retort would be that she was being realistic.

  The lobby was essentially empty save for a clerk and a manager. They maintained discreet eye contact. Through the entry doors Halley could see two agents standing with their backs to her. Senator Haskell’s Secret Service detail. She had met Driscoll and Travers this morning in the kitchens as she was securing breakfast.

  Clavelle cleared his throat. She glanced his way.

  “We should post here. We do not want to seem redundant,” he said.

  She shrugged. Their orders were to post outside, but she was a rookie. What did she know? As far as she was concerned, they were already redundant.

  “Sure,” she said. She turned her back to the entrance and opened her jacket.

  She caught Clavelle staring at her breasts. Just a brief glance. She almost shuddered. He was at least fifty. Smoked. Married. Unabashed womanizer. He made her skin crawl. She stared ahead and tried not to notice.

  After several minutes, she began to worry. The Ambassador had not arrived. She glanced at Clavelle. He was pacing from foot-to-foot. He needed a fix, probably. She watched him check his Timex. Pat his jacket pocket where he kept his Malboros.

  “Ahem,” she managed. When he glanced at her she raised her eyebrows.

  He nodded. Pressed his finger to his ear.

  “BOSTON, we are awaiting the arrival of BREAD WINNER. We are stationed inside the entrance, over.”

  He squirreled up his mouth and glanced at her. She was not wired.

  “Yes. Understood.”

  “What?” Halley asked. She tried to keep the irritation from her voice. It did not work.

  He looked over at the clerk and manager and then turned his head away from them.

  “BREAD WINNER is in a meeting.”

  “Ok,” she said. This was her first post. Maybe this was routine. It seemed to her, though that it would be best if they stuck to the schedule. It was not like Compton to allow a timing mishap.

  “We need to step outside,” he continued.

  She furrowed her brow.

  “Now?”

  “Orders,” he explained.

  He opened the door for her and she stepped outside. It had stopped raining. It was already becoming humid. They were on the other side of the building from the mass of tourists that came to visit the Brandenburg Gate.

  Agents Driscoll and Travers nodded at them as they took post perpendicular to them and the street. Halley nodded. Clavelle smirked. She caught a glimpse of an unspoken message between them. Men.

  “What is the delay?” she asked, realizing that Clavelle was hesitant to remark on the Ambassador’s delay in public.

  He merely shook his head crossed his arms behind his back.

  “Problem?” Travers offered. He was handsome. A bit too smug, but at least approachable. He had told her this morning that his family had a legacy of military sons all the way back to the civil war. Since he was the only son, he was the first to buck that trend. She respected him for that.

  She lifted her left shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
r />   “Delay.”

  “On Compton’s watch? He will have to drink Metamusil for a week straight to get unstuck from that.”

  “He will have to mainline Prozac is more like it,” Driscoll joked. He was shorter and bald. Looked like he maybe ate too many donuts. He was constantly joking.

  “They will arrive soon,” Clavelle said.

  “Soon is not a time, son,” Driscoll intoned, imitating Agent Compton’s gruff voice.

  “Where’s the rest of your detail?” Halley asked. She wanted to change the subject. It was against her nature to mock a superior. Even if he or she deserved it. Respect was important.

  “Brady and Forillo are with our charge. Vine is taking a call in the lounge,” Travers answered. He said the last name with some contempt.

  “I haven’t met Agent Vine. You seem to dislike him,” she said.

  “Hotshot. Upstart, rookie,” Travers said.

  “Yeah. He thinks just because his father is the president that he can just walk onto whichever detail he wants,” Driscoll complained.

  Clavelle coughed.

  The door opened and the agents stood straighter. Halley buttoned her jacket.

  “Good afternoon, agents,” Ambassador Welsey said. He looked directly at her and smiled. He was over sixty, but he was still handsome. A narrow jaw, a widow’s peak with shock-white hair and thick eyebrows to match. “Halley,” he said.

  “Ambassador.” She bowed her head in respect and closed her eyes. She could tell the other agents were staring at her.

  “I am glad you are here. I hope you all enjoy the festivities. I hear President Buschheuer is planning a wonderful party,” he said. Compton, Wesson, and Johnson remained behind the ambassador. Halley could see that Compton was not pleased.

  “If you will be so kind, sir. We must be going. I have been informed that a crowd is forming at the entrance to Schloss Bellevue. We cannot compromise your safety,” Compton pleaded.

  Ambassador Welsey looked as if he were about to argue, then nodded.

  “Of course. You are right. We are already running behind aren’t we?” His placating smile was not lost on Halley. He despised Compton. Welsey reached out and gently touched the back of her hand. “I am so glad you are here,” he said tenderly.

  She tried to smile, but it wavered. She did not want this attention. She could see Compton’s disapproving look.

  “Thank you, Ambassador.”

  Just as Clavelle and Johnson helped the Ambassador into the rear of the Ford Expedition, Halley turned to see Compton whispering to Travers. Compton was staring at her and Travers was smiling as though they were sharing a particularly funny joke.

  Another man—tall, with dark unruly hair—towered over Compton, slapping him on the back with a loud clap.

  “Agent Compton! I don’t believe that is appropriate discussion for an agent. Wouldn’t you agree?” He maintained a smile, his hand resting amicably upon Compton’s shoulder. His eyes were locked on hers. They were ice blue. Halley felt a shiver run down her spine and her mouth drop open. She was ashamed of herself, but hopeless to stop it.

  “Mind your own business, Agent Vine,” Compton said brusquely.

  Agent Vine nodded.

  “That is good advice,” he said and released his grip upon Compton’s jacket. He walked toward her and as he passed, he turned. “And, Agent Compton, I will have you know that my name is not Vine. I denounced that name several years ago.”

  “I continue to forget,” Compton said, venom in his voice. “Agent Monday.”

  Agent Vine/Monday nodded and then glanced down at her.

  “Don’t trust them,” he said out of the side of his mouth and then ducked into a Suburban.

  Driscoll and Travers followed him and the SUV peeled out from the curb.

  “Let’s go,” Compton commanded.

  Halley stared off after the SUV for one moment.

  “Is he really the President’s son?” she asked.

  Compton looked at her with disdain.

  “Agent Parks, don’t ask stupid questions,” he said. “Everyone knows this. That is why he thinks he can get away with talking to me like that,” he explained.

  She nodded.

  “I see,” she said.

  Halley climbed into the vehicle, ignoring the derision in the eyes of her team mates.

  Berlin, Germany July 16, 2020

  Schloss Bellevue

  1950 hours, CEST

  Jake leaned against the cold limestone wall, wishing the night would end. He wanted to get back to the States. His father had dreamt up this assignment. Jake was opposed to the whole operation. He found this was typical when it came to his father.

  Jake was still fuming from the encounter with Agents Compton and Clavelle. He knew the men and their reputation. Compton was a hard line ex-CIA operative that had experience with mercenaries the world over. His temper was seen by his superiors as an asset, keeping the younger agents on their toes.

  Jake’s personal opinion of Clavelle was even more clouded. Clavelle was always on the borderline of criminal. His methods were questionable, his contacts unreliable. His specialty had been working counterfeiting in Chicago. A large bust went awry and Clavelle was force onto bodyguard duty. He voluntarily joined Compton’s detail. The two had been almost inseparable since.

  Despite his simmering anger at the slight, Jake did his best to do his job. The Senator was a visible figure, the other four agents shadowing him wherever he went. Jake’s job was to scout and provide threat assessment.

  He picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of his bespoke custom Trofeo Zegna suit jacket. The wool was perfect. He admired his purchase. It had set him back over a thousand dollars.

  Jake had a soft spot for beautiful things. Suits. Shoes. Cars. Jewelry. Homes. Women.

  The shame was these that things cost enormous sums money. The more beautiful the item, the expensive the sacrifice. On his salary, he could only indulge from time to time.

  He smiled, thinking of the agent he had met earlier. She was certainly beautiful. She would set him back much more than a thousand dollars. Her team mates were uncomfortable around her. That was plain enough.

  Jake could relate.

  The son of the standing President is a conspicuous presence on a US Secret Service team. He had lost his Washington post. He worked in the Miami office for a year and then transferred to Los Angeles and finally ended up in Nashville. It was his work there that had gotten him noticed.

  Jake sipped a warm club soda and scanned the grounds. The Schloss Bellevue was a veritable castle. The front lawn was decorated with festive lights that twinkled unimpressively in the waning light. Corporate executives, politicians, and security personnel mingled and spoke raucously in groups of expensively dressed partygoers.

  The sounds of the band playing mixed with the stridency of the voices that competed with it made his head hurt.

  “Enjoying the party?”

  He turned to face Agent Parks.

  “Honestly?”

  “Unless that is a difficult proposition for you...”

  “I am not,” he said plainly. He sipped the soda and looked away. It was best to seem aloof, he felt. Disinterested.

  “You seem to dislike this assignment as much as I do,” she remarked.

  Her smile would stop a train, he thought. He felt his palms get sweaty. He found himself distracted. He sighed.

  “I thought you were hand-picked?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “My team seems to think so,” she said, a tinge of sadness and anger in her voice.

  “No. The Ambassador told me. He said that he insisted. He is close friends with my father.”

  She seemed to consider this, her eyes dropping.

  “You like to namedrop? Your father, I mean,” she said.

  He let the accusation hang in the air as he smiled.

  “No. In fact, if I could replace my father with one less remarkable and more ordinary and normal, I would.�
�

  She blinked and smiled.

  “Someone is bitter,” she said. The turn of her mouth, the dimple that raised as she teased him, was the only thing she needed to be forgiven.

  “I suppose so,” he said. He raised his eyebrows.

  “And you: are you always defensive when confronted with your gender?”

  She laughed.

  “You really are a jerk, aren’t you?”

  “Is that what they say?” He asked, holding up his glass to indicate the group of agents attending the Ambassador as he exited the Men’s restroom.

  She glanced at them.

  “Unanimously. Not that I hold their opinion with any sense of credibility. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” she said.

  “I see.”

  Her mouth turned down and she half turned to him, her face framed in the setting sun. She squinted.

  “I must go. Compton will surely press me into night watch again if I don’t attend the Ambassador,” she said.

  He bowed.

  “Please. Do not let me keep you from your duties,” Jake said.

  She stepped away and then turned back.

  “Perhaps later you can find a way to dispel these awful rumors,” she said. The mirthful play of her lips was irresistible

  “I am afraid I will only lend them more credence.”

  She tittered.

  “That is just as well. Otherwise I believe you would be too good to be true.” The lids of her eyes drooped slowly. Then she walked away. She was definitely precious, he thought.

  Jake occupied the next hour by walking aimless around the grounds, listening to conversations and watching some of the most impressive people in the world get lit. Voices became louder as the sun completely set. The air smelled heavy of cigarettes and an unfortunate mix of perfumes.

  Couples danced. Groups of women stood together, their laughter clamorous. Jake slipped past them, hoping none would notice him.

  He found the Senator. He was speaking to President Buschheuer. Agent Brady spoke to a lady that Jake assumed was Mrs. Buscheuer. She hung from his arm lasciviously. Jake just shook his head. He was glad it was not him. The German President did not seem to notice or to mind. Brady looked uncomfortable. The other agents looked amused.