The Lion's Game

CHAPTER 52

Off we went in the taxi to the LAPD airport station where our car hadn't yet been driven back to Ventura. So far, so good.

We got in the car and headed north toward the home of the Great Satan.

I mean, I don't think he's the Great Satan, and to the extent I have any political leanings, I'm an anarchist and I think all government and all politicians suck.

Also, of course, Ronald Reagan was a very old and very sick man, so who would want to kill him? Well, Asad Khalil for one, who lost a family as a result of Reagan's order to bomb Libya. Also, Mr. and Mrs Gadhafi, who lost a daughter, not to mention losing a few months of sleep before the ringing in their ears stopped.

Kate was behind the wheel, driving fast on the San Something Freeway. She said, "Would Khalil really…? I mean, Reagan is…"

"Ronald Reagan may not remember the incident, but I assure you, Asad Khalil does."

"Right… I understand… but what if we're wrong?"

"What if we're not?"

She didn't reply.

I said, "Look, it fits, but even if we're wrong, we came to a really clever conclusion."

"How is it clever if it's wrong?"

"Just drive." I said, "Even if we're wrong, there's nothing lost."

"We just lost our fucking jobs."

"We can open a bed-and-breakfast."

"How the hell did I get involved with you?"

"Drive." /

We were clipping along at a good pace, but of course Douglas Doo-doo had already raised the alarm, and there were people in place at the Reagan house by now, so we weren't exactly the Seventh Cavalry riding to the rescue. I said to her, "How many Secret Service do you think he has there?"

"Not many."

"Why is that?"

"Well, as best I can recall from my limited dealings with the L.A. Secret Service office, the risk to the Reagans is assumed to go down every year, plus there are budget and manpower considerations." She added, "In fact, only a few years ago, some disturbed individual actually got on the grounds of their estate and into the house while they were home."

"Incredible."

"But they're not underprotected. They have a sort of discretionary fund, and they hire private guards to supplement the Secret Service detail. Plus, the local cops keep a close watch on the house. Also, the L.A. FBI office was always available when needed. Like now."

"Plus, we're on the way."

"Right. How much more protection can anyone want?"

"Depends on who's gunning for you."

She reminded me, "We did not have to miss that flight. Our phone call would have sufficed."

"I'll cover you."

"Don't do me any more favors, please." She added, "This is all your ego at work."

"I'm just trying to do the right thing. This is the right thing."

"No, it is not. The right thing is to follow orders."

"Think about how much more we can talk about at a press conference if we can collar Asad Khalil tonight."

"You're hopeless. Look, John, you do realize that if Khalil, or an accomplice, is staking out the Reagan house, and he sees that there is unusual activity there, then Khalil is gone forever, and we'll never know if your guess was correct. Basically, for us, it's a lose-lose situation."

"I know. But there's a chance that Khalil is waiting for another night and that the Reagan house is not being watched tonight by him or by an accomplice. Then, I assume, the Secret Service will try to do what the FBI did at Wiggins' house, and also at the Callum house."

"The Secret Service is in the protection business, John. Not the bait-and-trap business, especially if the bait is an ex-President."

"Well, obviously they have to move the Reagans to a safe location, and let the FBI set the trap without the bait. Right?"

"How did the Federal government get along all these years without you?"

I detected a bit of her sarcasm that I didn't expect now that we were engaged. Right? I asked her, "Do you know where the house is?"

"No, but I'll get directions when we get off the freeway."

"Why's it called a freeway?"

"It's free. I don't know. Why do they call the freeways parkways in New York?"

"They're parking lots. I don't know. Do you know what kind of setting this house is in? Rural? Suburban?"

"Bel Air is mostly semi-suburban. One- and two-acre estates, heavily treed. Friends of mine have driven past the Reagan house, and also those stupid star tours go past. I understand that the house is set on a few acres behind walls and can't be seen from the road."

"Does he have a good doorman?"

"We're about to find out."

We exited the freeway, and Kate got on the phone with the FBI office. She listened to and repeated a set of complicated directions, which I wrote down on my Marina del Rey hotel bill. Kate gave the duty officer our car description and the plate number.

The terrain in Bel Air was hilly, the roads looped around a lot, and there was enough vegetation to hide an army of snipers. Within fifteen minutes, we were on this heavily treed street called St. Cloud Road that had huge houses, most of which were barely visible behind fences, walls, and hedgerows.

I expected to see vehicles and people in front of the Reagan estate, but everything was quiet and dark. Maybe they really did know what they were doing.

All of a sudden, two guys popped out from some shrubbery and stopped us.

Next thing we knew, we had two passengers in the back seat, and we were being directed to proceed to a set of gates set into a stone wall.

The iron gates swung open automatically, and Kate drove through them and was directed to a parking area on the left, next to a big security gatehouse. This was really exciting if you're into history and all that. It would have been fun, too, if everyone didn't look so serious.

We got out of the car, and I looked around. You could just see the Reagan house, a ranch-type structure off in the distance, and a few lights were lit. There didn't seem to be many people around, but I was fairly confident that the place was now crawling with anti-sniper people and Secret Service people disguised as trees, rocks, or whatever these people do to blend in.

It was a moonlit night, what was called a hunter's moon in the days before infrared and starlight scopes made every night a hunter's night. In any case, the former President probably did not wander around at this hour, so I had to assume that Khalil also had a day scope and intended to wait until the Reagans took a morning stroll.

A balmy breeze blew the smell of flowering bushes across the lawn, and night birds chirped in the trees. Or, perhaps the trees were Secret Service people wearing perfume and chirping to each other.

We were politely asked to stand near our car, which we were doing, when lo and behold, Douglas Pindick came out of the security gatehouse and walked over to us.

Douglas got right to the point and said to me, "Tell me again why we're here."

I didn't like his tone, so I said, "Tell me why you weren't here yesterday. Do I have to do all the thinking for you?"

"You're out of line, mister."

"Ask me if I give a shit."

"That's enough insubordination from you."

"I'm just warming up."

Finally, Kate said, "Okay. Enough. Calm down." She said to Pindick, "Doug, why don't we step over here and talk?"

So, Kate and her friend moved out of earshot, and I stood there, royally pissed off about nothing. It was all male ego and posturing in front of the female of the species. Very primitive. I can rise above that. I should try it sometime.

Anyway, this Secret Service lady wearing regular street clothes came over to me and introduced herself as Lisa, and said she was in some sort of supervisory capacity. She was about forty, attractive, and friendly.

We chatted, and she seemed very curious about how I'd arrived at my conclusion that there was a death threat against the former President.

I told Lisa that I was having a drink in a bar, and it just popped into my head. She didn't like that explanation, so I expanded on it, mentioning that I was drinking Coke, and that I was really on top of the Asad Khalil case, and all that.

Not only was I being questioned, of course, I was being kept company so I wouldn't wander about. I asked her, "How many of these trees are really Secret Service people?"

She thought I was funny and replied, "All of them."

I asked her about the Reagans' neighbors and so forth, and she informed me the neighborhood was loaded with movie stars and other celebrities, the Reagans were nice to work for, and we were actually in the city of Los Angeles, though it looked to me like the movie set for a jungle plantation scene.

So, Lisa and I chit-chatted while Kate spoke to her former lover and smoothed things over, telling him, I'm sure, that I was not as big an asshole as I appeared to be. I was really tired, physically and mentally, and this whole scene had an unreal quality to it.

Somewhere in my chatter to Lisa, she revealed to me, "The number of the Reagan house used to be six-six-six, but right after they bought it, they had it changed to six-six-eight."

I said, "You mean for security reasons?"

"No. Six-six-six is the sign of the devil, according to the Book of Revelation. Did you know that?"

"Uh…"

"So, Nancy, I guess, had it changed."

"I see… I should check my Amex card. I think I have triple sixes in there."

She laughed.

I had the feeling that Lisa might be helpful, so I turned on the charm, and we got on really well. In the middle of my being charming, Kate came back alone, and I introduced her to my new friend Lisa.

Kate wasn't that interested in Lisa, and she took my arm and moved me off a bit. She said to me, "We have to fly out first thing in the morning. We can still make the press conference."

"I know. It's three hours earlier in New York."

"John, shut up and listen. Also, the Director wants to speak to you. You could be in some trouble."

"What happened to hero?"

She ignored my question and said, "We're booked at an airport hotel and booked on an early morning flight to D.C. Let's go."

"Do I have time to kick Doug in the balls before I leave?"

"That's really not a good career move, John. Let's go."

"Okay." I walked back to Lisa and told her we had to leave, and she said she'd get the gates open for us. We went over to our car, and Lisa came with us. I really didn't want to leave, so I said to Lisa, "Hey, I'm feeling a little guilty about rousting everyone out of their beds. I really feel I should stay here with you guys until dawn. No problem. I'm happy to do it."

She replied, "Forget it."

Kate said to me, "Get in the car."

Lisa, who was my pal, thought she owed me an explanation for her perfunctory reply and said to me, "Mr. Corey, we have a carefully drawn up plan that's been in place since nineteen eighty-eight. I don't think you're part of that plan."

"This isn't nineteen eighty-eight. Also, this is not solely a protective mission. We're also trying to capture a trained killer."

"We know all of that. That's why we're here. Don't worry about it."

Kate said to me, "John, let's go."

I ignored Kate and said to Lisa, "Maybe we can go in the house where we'll be out of the way." "Forget it."

"Just a quick drink with Ron and Nancy." Lisa laughed.

Kate said again, "Let's go, John."

The Secret Service lady said, "They're not home anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"They're not home," Lisa repeated. "Where are they?" "I can't tell you."

"Okay. You mean you got them out of here already, and they're under close protective security in a secret location, like Fort Knox or something?"

Lisa looked around, then said, "This is actually not a secret. In fact, it was in the newspapers, but your friend back there, who you yelled at, doesn't want you to know." "Know what?"

"Well, the Reagans left here yesterday and are spending a few days at Rancho del Cielo." "Say what?"

"Rancho del Cielo. Ranch in the sky." "You mean they're dead?"

She laughed. "No. That's his old ranch, north of here in the Santa Inez Mountains. The former Western White House."

"You're saying they're at this ranch. Right?" "Right. This trip to the old ranch is sort of a… they're calling it the last round-up. He's very sick, you know." "I know."

"She thought it might be good for him. He loved that ranch."

"Right. I remember that now. And this was in the papers?"

"There was a press release. Not all the news media picked it up. But the press is invited on Friday, which is the Reagans' last day there. Some photo ops and stuff. You know, the old man riding into the sunset. Kind of sad." She added, "I don't know about that press conference now."

"Gotcha. And you have people there now?"

"Of course." She said, as if to herself, "The man's got Alzheimer's. Who would want to kill him?"

"Well, he may have Alzheimer's, but the people who want to kill him have long memories."

"I hear you. It's under control."

"How big is this ranch?"

"Pretty big. About seven hundred acres."

"How many Secret Service guarded it when he was there as President?"

"About a hundred."

"And now?"

"I don't know. There were six today. We're trying to get another dozen up there. The Secret Service office here in L.A. isn't big. None of our offices are big. We get the manpower from the local police and from Washington when we need it."

Kate didn't seem so hot to trot now and asked Lisa, "Why don't you use the FBI?"

Lisa replied, "There are FBI on their way from Ventura. But they'll be posted near Santa Barbara. That's the closest town. We can't have non-Secret Service actually on the ranch who don't understand our modus operandi. People can get hurt."

Kate pointed out, "But if you don't have enough people, then the person you're protecting can get hurt."

She didn't reply.

I asked, "Why don't you get him out of there and into a safe location?"

Lisa looked around again and said, "Look, this is not considered a highly credible threat. But to answer your questions, there's only one narrow winding road into those mountains, and it's ambush heaven. The lighted presidential helipad is no longer there, but even if it were, the mountains are totally socked in with fog tonight, like they are most nights this time of year."

"Jesus. Whose idea was this?"

"You mean to go to Rancho del Cielo? I don't know. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time." She added, "Understand that this man, despite his past job, is a sick old man who hasn't been in the public eye for ten years. He hasn't done or said anything that would make him a target of assassination. In fact, we log more death threats against the White House pets than we do against this former President. I understand that the situation has possibly changed, and we'll react to that. Meanwhile, we've got three heads of state visiting L.A., two of whom are hated by half the world, and we're stretched pretty thin. We don't want to lose a visiting head of state from a friendly country, even if they are not nice people. I don't want to sound cold and heartless, but let's face it, Ronald Reagan is not that important."

"I think he is to Nancy. The kids. Look, Lisa, there's a psychological downside to having a former President whacked. Bad for morale. You know? Not to mention your job. So, try to get your bosses to take this seriously."

"We take it very seriously. We're doing all we can at the moment."

"Also, this presents an opportunity to capture the number one terrorist in America."

"We understand that. But understand that this theory of yours is not getting much play."

"Okay. Don't say I didn't warn everyone."

"We appreciate the warning."

I opened the car door, and Lisa asked us, "Are you going there?"

I replied, "No. Not in the mountains, in the dark. And we have to be in D.C. tomorrow. Hey, thanks."

"For what it's worth, I'm with you on this."

"See you at the Senate inquest."

I got into the car, and Kate was already behind the wheel. She pulled out of the parking area and onto the driveway. The gates opened automatically, and we moved out onto St. Cloud Road. Kate asked me, "Where to?"

"The Ranch in the Sky."

"Why did I even ask?"