The Devil's bed

chapter
six

The First Lady arrived in a dark blue Lincoln Town Car escorted by two state patrol cars and by two Regals from the field office, each carrying several of the agents on permanent FLOTUS duty. Bo stood just behind Annie Jorgenson as the limousine stopped in front of the house.

Special Agent Christopher Manning emerged first. He wasn’t tall, just under six feet, nor remarkably broad in chest and shoulders, yet in his compactness there was something powerful. He’d always reminded Bo of a jack-in-the-box, tense and ready to spring. He wore his red-blond hair in a neat crew cut. To Bo, the most remarkable feature of Manning’s face was that it usually displayed all the emotion of a bowling ball.

The woman who stepped out after Manning, Bo had met only once in person, when she was seventeen. During all the operations Bo had overseen at Wildwood, Kathleen Jorgenson Dixon had been absent, either in Colorado as the state’s First Lady or in Washington, D.C., bearing the same title for the nation. He’d seen the family pictures, of course, framed inside the Jorgenson house, and along with most other Americans, he’d been treated to more than enough television, magazine, and newspaper coverage to know the basics of her life story. It was of a vivacious young woman, always smiling, eyes bright, raised in an international arena. There were pictures of the Jorgensons in Paris, Rome, London, Amsterdam, many posed with leaders of great renown. In them, Kate Jorgenson, the oldest of the children, usually stood holding hands with her sister, Ruth, and her brother, Earl.

Kate had grown into a Nordic beauty, tall, large-boned, blonde, with striking gray eyes. Although Bo had always been impressed with her composure and with the strength of her character, when he saw her emerge from the limousine, it was, much to his own chagrin, her long and slender legs that he noted. He considered wryly whether this might somehow be a breach of his patriotic duty.

“Aunt Annie.” The First Lady sounded near tears.

“It’s all right, Katie,” Annie Jorgenson said as they hugged. “We’re all together now. It will be okay.”

“He looks so broken.”

“Come on in, sweetheart, and we’ll get you settled. Then, if you’d like, we’ll go back and see him together.”

Two more agents stepped from the Town Car, along with a woman whom Bo knew from report and reputation, Nicole Greene, who functioned as the First Lady’s communications director.

“Agent Aguilera,” Manning instructed one of his team, a tall woman, “you’re with the First Lady. Gooden, give a hand with the luggage.” He turned, finally, to Bo. “I’ve been in communication with Diana Ishimaru in the Minneapolis office. She indicated you have the Operations Center ready.”

“The guesthouse,” Bo replied, pointing toward the maples. “We’ve checked the security cameras and radio equipment. We still need a frequency cleared for emergency communication, but we should have that momentarily.”

“Good,” Manning replied with a nod.

Stu Coyote, who’d driven one of the Regals, joined them. “County deputies are stationed at the entrance to Wildwood. State patrol’s assigned us these two units for the duration of the First Lady’s visit.” He indicated the burgundy-and-tan patrol cars. “Anywhere she goes, they clear the way.”

Manning said, “We’re going to try to limit her traveling to between Wildwood and the hospital. According to the contingency report I have, there’s only one main road to Stillwater.”

“The St. Croix Trail. The road we just traveled,” Coyote said. “That’s it.”

“I don’t like the idea of keeping to a single route.” Although his words betrayed concern, Manning’s face didn’t show it. “Show me the Op Center. Carter, Searson, Jones,” he called to the other agents. “Get your things.”

Bo led him to the guesthouse. On the lawn in front, secured to a concrete slab as if it were being held captive, stood a huge, twisted sculpture of stainless steel. As they passed the polished metal, a blast of reflected sunlight blinded Manning, and he lifted his hands to block the glare.

“Jesus, what the hell is that?”

“Don’t you recognize great art when you see it, Chris?” Bo said. “That’s a bona fide masterpiece, or so I’ve been told. The guesthouse used to be the studio for Tom Jorgenson’s infamous brother, Roland. A true eccentric, from what I understand. Died twenty years ago in a car accident. Drove his Porsche into a tree. Created his final sculpture, a heap of metal with him at the heart. Goddesshere is the only piece left at Wildwood. Everything else is in museums.”

“Goddess?”Manning said. “My ass.”

Bo shared the lack of enthusiasm. The sculpture was a wild thing that gave the feel of monstrous forces barely contained. The polished steel itself was beautiful, but to Bo it had always seemed like a dream that had been warped by a dark subconscious into a nightmare.

“You learn to ignore it,” Bo said and led Manning inside.

Bo briefed him on the layout and the bedrooms. Manning made assignments for his team. Then they went down to the Op Center, where Bo’s people were already at work. Manning checked the sweep of the cameras. “Nothing that looks beyond the buildings,” he said. “At night, you could hide an army in those orchards.”

“We have motion detectors and motion-activated cameras on the wall around the orchard,” Bo told him. “During periods of heightened security, I have agents patrolling the perimeter around the clock.”

“What about the river bluff?” Manning said. “No wall there.”

“Tom Jorgenson won’t let anything ruin the view of the river. We’ve had to settle for mobile tripods that we set up each time we come out.”

“How about duty shifts?”

“Eight hours for everyone but me. Until the First Lady’s visit is over, I’m here twenty-four, seven. The only thing we haven’t done yet is run an electronic sweep. We had such short notice.”

Manning shook his head. “Forget the sweep. We’re not holding a summit meeting. It would be too disruptive for the First Lady at this point.”

“A sweep is standard protocol at Wildwood,” Bo said.

“When heads of state meet here, of course. But no state secrets are going to be discussed this visit. Let’s keep it simple and focus on the First Lady’s safety.” Manning took a last look around. “Everything seems in order, Thorsen.”

“I have a print of the hospital layout if you want to go over it.”

Manning dismissed Bo’s offer with a wave. “I had it faxed to me on the plane. Everything’s already under control.”

“Anything you need for covering the First Lady, just let me know.”

“All I need is for you to do your job.”

Later in the day, the Jorgenson family made another visit to the hospital. It was nearly dark when Annie and the First Lady returned to Wildwood. A while later, Tom Jorgenson’s other children, Ruth and Earl, arrived. Half an hour after that, as Bo stood near the sculpture outside the guesthouse, he saw the front door open, and all the Jorgensons stepped out. When the door closed behind them, they were lost in the dark on the front porch. A moment later, Bo heard the creak of the swing that hung there. When Wildwood had distinguished visitors, Tom and Annie often would sit with the guests in the evening, rocking in the porch swing and talking. Bo always waited until the guests had retired for the night, before turning on the porch light and activating the sensors that protected the house.

He gave them a few minutes, then he headed their way. Although he was reluctant to disturb them, he had a question that was begging for an answer.

“Evening, Annie. Ruth. Earl. Mrs. Dixon,” he said from the walk.

“It’s Bo,” Earl shouted. He leaped from the swing and bounded down the porch stairs, where he pumped Bo’s hand with great pleasure.

Earl was thirty-three, but his mind was still somewhere in childhood. Usually he lived in a group home in St. Paul, but his father’s accident had brought him back to Wildwood.

“How you doing, Earl?”

“I’m real good, Bo. Real good. I got a girlfriend.”

“Good for you. What’s her name?”

“It’s Joanie, Bo. Joanie Bones.”

“Bonds,” Annie said gently from the railing against which she and Ruth leaned. “Joanie Bonds, Earl.”

“I like Joanie Bones better. She thinks it’s funny.”

“Hello, Bo,” Annie said.

“Hi, Bo.” Ruth gave him a familiar little wave.

Annie said, “Kate, I don’t think you met Special Agent Thorsen this afternoon. He’s local Secret Service.”

“How do you do, Agent Thorsen?”

He couldn’t see her well. She was a light shade moving toward him and back with the slow rock of the swing.

“Fine, thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Earl returned to the porch swing and sat beside his sister.

“Bo’s been our guardian angel out here many times in the last few years,” Annie said. “But Bo and I have known each other a lot longer than that. Twenty-five years, I believe.”

“Come September,” Bo said.

“Oh?” the First Lady said. “How’s that?”

Annie laughed quietly. “I made Bo’s acquaintance when he came before me in juvenile court.”

“You were in trouble?”

Bo smiled. “I didn’t see it that way.”

“He was living on the streets,” Annie said.

“Your parents?” the First Lady asked.

“By then I had none,” Bo replied.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded as if she were. Sincerely.

“I was lucky. I found my way into Annie’s courtroom.”

“He was arrested for theft,” Annie explained. “The police found him living with four other children in an abandoned school bus in a grove of trees on the Mississippi River. They were surviving mostly off Bo’s ability to steal.”

“What can I say?” Bo shrugged. “It was a gift.”

“Why have we never met before?” the First Lady asked.

“Actually, we have,” Bo said, “a long time ago. Just before I headed off to college, I stopped by Wildwood to thank Annie for all she’d done. I watched the moon rise with you and your father that night.”

“I’m sorry. I ought to remember.”

Bo laughed easily. “You were memorable. I was not. I didn’t come back to Wildwood again until after I was posted to the field office in Minneapolis. That was three years ago.”

“And you haven’t visited Wildwood since you moved into the White House,” Annie said to her niece with a note of mild criticism. “If we want to see you, we have to go to Washington. Bo, on the other hand, visits regularly. He and Tom have become good friends.”

Ruth held out her hand, indicating a tray on the table next to the swing. “Would you care for some iced tea, Bo?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s no intrusion,” Annie assured him.

“I’ll skip the tea, but I’d like to ask you something, Annie. About Tom’s accident.”

“What do you want to know?”

Bo mounted the steps but kept a discreet distance. “Was the tractor still running when you found Tom?”

“I don’t really remember. The lights were on, I do recall. I could see them when I stood out there in the yard. I think…” She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead as she concentrated. “It seems to me that it was very quiet when I got to him. So I guess the tractor was turned off. But I couldn’t really say for sure. Everything was so rushed and confused.”

“I understand, Annie.”

“Agent Thorsen.” Chris Manning’s voice brought Bo around. Manning materialized from a shadow and stood at the bottom of the porch steps. “I’m sure the First Lady and her family appreciate their privacy.”

Annie said, “That’s quite all right…Chris, isn’t it?”

“Special Agent Christopher Manning, ma’am.”

“Yes. Chris. Bo and I are old friends. He’s no intrusion.”

“Actually, Ms. Jorgenson, I need to take him from you. There are a few security issues we need to discuss.”

“Very well. ’Night, Bo.”

“Good night, ladies,” Bo said. “’Night, Earl. Say hi to Joanie Bones for me.”

“Joanie Bones,” Earl said, laughing.

Manning walked briskly toward the guesthouse. When he believed, apparently, that they were out of hearing range of the porch, he turned angrily to Bo. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“As much as possible, Agent Thorsen, we become the woodwork. We remain unobtrusive. In carrying on conversations with our protectees, we not only intrude in their affairs, but we lose our vigilance and risk their lives.”

“Look, Chris, I was just-”

“I don’t care, Thorsen. The First Lady’s safety is my responsibility. I won’t have that responsibility compromised by your incompetence. I’m noting this in my report.”

“Do what you feel you have to, Chris. You always have.”

Manning left him and went into the guesthouse.

From the dark of the porch, Annie’s voice carried to him. “Sorry, Bo.”

“No problem, Annie.”

The guesthouse door opened again, and Coyote came out. “Whoa, is he steamed. What did you do? Hit him again?”

“Let’s go to the barn, Stu,” Bo suggested. “I want to run something by you.”

They stepped into the opened doorway. The yard light cast their shadows inside where they merged with the dark of the barn.

“That Manning is some piece of work,” Coyote said.

“Forget about him. He’s just doing his job. Listen, Stu, something about Tom Jorgenson’s accident has been bugging me all day.”

“Yeah? What?”

“When the limb knocked Jorgenson from his seat, the tractor should have kept on going, but it didn’t. When Annie found him, she thinks the tractor was turned off, although she’s not absolutely certain. But suppose she’s right.”

Coyote said, “Then the question would be, if Jorgenson didn’t turn the tractor off, who did?”

“Right.”

“Does this have anything to do with the First Lady’s safety?” Coyote asked.

“Not directly. Not in any way that I can see.”

“Then forget it. Look, it’s been a long day. I’m heading home.” Coyote put a friendly hand on Bo’s shoulder. “Do me a favor, will you? Manning’s gunning for you. Don’t give him any ammunition.”

After Coyote left, Bo stood in the yard and looked toward the west. The setting moon, only a couple of days past full, cast a brilliant glow over the apple trees. He knew that Tom Jorgenson would see beauty in that bright light. Bo saw mostly advantage. It always meant that anyone moving among the orchard rows could be more easily seen.