Honor Bound

At a little before seven that night, Cam stepped into Command Central and walked wearily toward her desk in one corner of the room. She had finally finished the briefing with Blair that had originally been scheduled for earlier that day. Blair had been cordial but cool as they reviewed her official activities for the next ten days. When Cam had asked her about any personal engagements, she had merely smiled thinly and said she had none. Cam admitted to herself that she had probably appeared more abrupt than she meant to be too. It was hard seeing Blair after a six-week absence with everything between them suddenly in chaos.

Sighing, she looked at a stack of memos that Mac had left for her along with a binder filled with field reports from the time that Mac had been in charge and she had been on medical leave. Just as she sat down and pulled the pile of papers toward her, Paula Stark stepped up to the side of her desk.

"Excuse me, Commander," Stark said, her spine stiff and her tone formal. The only thin missing was a salute.

Cam looked up distractedly and said, "What is it, Stark? Problem?"

"No, ma'am," Stark said. "I wanted to apologize for the breakdown in security earlier this afternoon. I take full responsibility."

Cam leaned back in her chair, studying Paula Stark's serious countenance. Eight months ago, Stark had made what might have been the biggest mistake of her career. She had allowed Blair Powell to seduce her. That one night compromised her professionally and should have led to her transfer or even her dismissal from the service. But Stark had done something unusual. She had come to Cam immediately and she had accepted responsibility without excuse. She gave her word that it would never happen again, and as far as Cam knew, it hadn't. Cam didn't think about whether Stark still had feelings for Blair. That was none of her business. What had happened that morning, however, was very much her business.

"Stark, with this kind of detail, apologies are neither acceptable nor sufficient. You are in charge of the day shift and that means if something goes wrong, it's on you."

Stark's eyes widened slightly, but she merely said, "Yes, ma'am. I understand that."

Cam nodded. "I know that you do. I also know that Egret can be very difficult to predict. I told the team once before, and it bears repeating, that the safest course of action is to assume that she is an uncooperative subject. That means you have to plan for the unexpected movement. I'd say you got lazy today, and you got lucky. If I hadn't been walking across the street, you would have lost her."

"Yes, ma'am." Stark thought about that for a second, her stomach clenching. They had all been lulled into a false dense of security the past few months when it seemed as if Egret had been calming down. She hadn't eluded them for so long they forgot to be on guard. She remembered the sick feeling she'd had that morning when she'd watched on the monitor as Egret walked right past the front desk and out the door. What if thehad lost her, and then what if something had happened?

Cam suppressed a smile. Stark looked like she was headed for the guillotine. Cam blew out her breath and said quietly, "Stark, you're a good agent. You're a valuable agent, because there are places that you can go with her that no one else can. Be careful, be vigilant, be alert. That's all."

She had already turned back to her paperwork as Stark replied, "Yes ma'am. Thank you very much."

An hour later she had looked through most of the documents and set aside the ones that needed more attention. She just couldn't read anymore. She'd left Florida the night before at midnight and had gotten no sleep for over 36 hours. Ordinarily, that wouldn't bother her nearly as much as it did currently, but the stress of seeing Blair again under such difficult circumstances had worn on her. She was tired, and she was lonely. She stood and stretched and headed for the door. She wanted a drink and to go to bed.

Just as she was about to step through the door, Hernandez, one of the agents assigned to the night shift, called out to her. "Phone call for you, Commander,"

She turned, suppressing a sigh, and picked up the nearest phone. "Roberts," she said sharply, no hint of fatigue in her voice.

"This is Carlisle," a familiar male voice said.

"Yes sir?"

"Be in D.C. tomorrow for a briefing at 0800," her supervisor said. "We'll convene in the conference room at my office."

Cam was instantly alert, her exhaustion fleeing. This kind of request was unusual, and her suspicions were immediately aroused. Something serious was going on, and it must involve Blair if he was calling her to Washington. "I need to know if I should institute heightened security with Egret, sir."

There was a moment of silence that confirmed her suspicions. There was an information blackout and it involved Blair. Out of habit, she checked the monitors, which revealed closed-circuit video images of the entire building, every entrance, the parking garage, the elevators, the hallway outside of Blair's apartment. It was almost as if she expected to see someone attempting an assault.

"There's no need for any special action at your end. Just be at the meeting, Roberts," he said gruffly.

Then she was listening to a dial tone and cursing under her breath. This was one situation where shewould know what was happening, because she could not afford not to.

*

At 0750 Cam walked down the deserted corridor outside Stuart Carlisle's office. Some of the rooms in the warren of offices that opened off the industrial-tiled hallway were already occupied, but many doors were still shut, awaiting secretaries and staff to arrive for the workday. She pushed open the door stenciled with the word 'Conference' and stepped into another of the generic rooms that seemed to comprise all government buildings. She nodded to the redhead, a woman she had never seen before, already seated at the table.

A long rectangular conference table crowded the center of the room, surrounded by a number of straight-backed chairs. A coffee caddie stood in one corner. She moved around the end of the table, helped herself to coffee, and settled into a chair opposite the woman who was reading a stack of papers she appeared to have taken from the open briefcase beside her. Neither of them acknowledged each other beyond their first neutral nod, assuming that eventually whoever would be running the meeting would make the appropriate introductions.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, the door opened three times, each time admitting a man dressed in the regulation garb of a government agent. Navy blue blazers, gray flannel trousers, white shirts and rep ties abounded in the Department of the Treasury building as well as the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and every other security agency on Capitol Hill. The last person to enter was Cam's direct supervisor, Stuart Carlisle. They had known each other for over a decade and were probably as close to friends as one could be in that kind of environment. Each understood that regardless of personal feelings, the system they served had the ultimate power, and, like all governments, was not immune to error. Error that sometimes destroyed careers and lives. They also both believed that however flawed, it was probably the best version currently available.

Carlisle nodded to her briefly and proceeded to the head of the table. From the end opposite him, a mid-forties, iron-gray haired man, thin and fit appearing, coolly appraised each individual in the room. Across from Cam, to the left of the redhead, a man about Cam's age with a faint five o'clock shadow who looked like he might have played football in college, sat staring at her, something hard in his gaze. Cam did not recognize any of the other people present, but she recognized the type. The woman, early thirties, short well-cut hair, understated make-up, conservative suit, had a look of self-contained confidence that suggested she didn't work for any of the men in the room. An independent consultant or perhaps a forensic analyst. She had apparently come to give an opinion, and she probably didn't care about inter-agency politics. The men were a different matter all together. The two men in addition to Carlisle were FBI, CIA, or both. They were unsmiling, faintly belligerent looking, and plainly annoyed -- probably because the meeting wasn't on their turf. That concerned Cam. Because if the meeting was here on her ground, it suggested that it had to do with Blair, and that worried her more than she cared to admit.

Carlisle, at precisely 0800, began to speak. "Let's get the introductions out of the way. Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts, who commands Egret's security detail," he said, nodding at Cam, his eyes unreadable as they skimmed over hers. Indicating the gray-haired man at the far end of the table, he went on, "Robert Owens, National Security Agency. Special Agent Lindsey Ryan, from the behavioral science division of the FBI," signifying the redhead, "and," pointing to the man opposite Cam, "Patrick Doyle, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI task force investigating Lover Boy."

Cam stiffened but her expression remained carefully neutral. Lover Boy was the code name assigned to the man who had stalked Blair Powell the previous year, leaving her messages, photographing her, and presumably making an assassination attempt which had resulted in Cam being wounded. This was the first that she had heard of any ongoing task force. The fact that Mac had not mentioned it led her to believe he was unaware of it also. Which meant the investigation had been taken out of the hands of the Secret Service, leaving the people directly responsible for Blair's safety in the dark. She was furious, but she needed more information before she knew precisely where to direct her anger. So she listened, her fists clenched under the table, her jaws clamped tightly enough to make her teeth ache.