“Which is why I have something completely different in mind. You’ll like it. A new challenge. You’ll meet interesting people and have loads of responsibility.”
Then why was Wilkie suddenly so eager to sell the position to him? Nathaniel had never balked at an assignment before. He’d sweltered in copper mines in New Mexico, ridden payroll trains through the desolate flatlands of the West, and once he’d lived for six months above a fish cannery to spy on international exports.
“What’s the job?” he asked softly.
“It’s the most important one in the agency. Pays well. Good housing.”
“What’s the job?”
“Guarding the president.”
Nathaniel bolted out of his chair. “Absolutely not. I’ll never work as a bodyguard. You know that.”
Wilkie held his hands out in a placating manner. “Calm down. President McKinley doesn’t want a bodyguard either. He thinks it smacks of European royalty and wants nothing to do with it.”
“Then why are we having this discussion?”
“Because I need a detective in the White House. One who never misses details, even if he’s been on duty around the clock. You don’t need to be plastered to the president’s side. He doesn’t want that any more than you do. But I need someone to monitor who has access to him. King Umberto of Italy was assassinated last night, and the man who shot him was a known anarchist. A system should have been in place to keep an eye on troublemakers like him. I need you to design such a plan for the White House.”
“Get someone else to do it.”
Wilkie shook his head. “You’re the best we have, and the problems are getting worse. In the past ten years, more heads of state have been assassinated than at any other time in history.”
Nathaniel stalked to the window, clenching his fists as he stared at the White House directly across the street. He didn’t want to be a bodyguard. Hecouldn’tbe a bodyguard. The last time he’d been entrusted to protect someone, she ended up dead, and it still haunted him. The nightmares had finally eased, but the thought of being responsible for another life made his stomach clench.
“I track down counterfeit. I am trained as an engraver and got a degree in art history, all so that I could spot forgeries. I’m not going to be a bodyguard. Why don’t you assign Sullivan to the job?”
“Sullivan doesn’t have your eye, and you’re not going to be a bodyguard.”
As Wilkie outlined what the position would entail, Nathaniel had to admit that it didn’t sound like a bodyguard so much as a detective on the lookout for security flaws inside the White House, just as Wilkie claimed.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you were the best man for the job,” Wilkie said. “McKinley will be an easy man to work for. Everyone likes him. Spend the next four months observing activities in the White House and designing an improved security plan. After the election in November, I’ll find you an assignment more to your liking.”
“Only four months?”
“Four months,” Wilkie confirmed. “Design a new security plan, then you’re free.”
Nathaniel paced, thinking. Four months wouldn’t be too horrible, and it was true that presidential security was appalling. It was also true that he was the best man for the job, and it was impossible for him to turn his back on duty.
He would do it. The job meant living in a shared dormitory on the top floor of the White House. It meant almost constant vigilance during his waking hours, seven days a week, until the November elections. It would be a challenge, but perhaps it could also be a way to prove himself worthy and absolve himself of the failures in his past.
That night the old dream came back. Nathaniel picked up Molly’s body, sopping wet and broken by the rushing current, her eyes staring blankly at nothing.
“Please, Molly,” he sobbed, but she was already gone and her flesh was cold. He carried her home, riding the streetcar through downtown Chicago with a dead child draped across his lap. People stared, but he didn’t care. His soul was vacant.
Nathaniel snapped awake, the sheets soaked in sweat. It had been years since this nightmare tormented him, but it had come roaring back as vivid as ever. To this day he remembered the feel of Molly’s sodden gown dampening his shirt.
He shouldn’t have agreed to the White House assignment.With all his heart, he wished he could turn away from it, but he’d given his word.
He began the next morning on his knees at the chapel near his boardinghouse. It had been twenty years since Molly died, but her ghost haunted him still. The mistake he’d made at eighteen was a scar that would never fully heal, but he couldn’t let it cripple him for the rest of his life. It was time to let it go. He leaned his forehead against the pew in front of him.
“Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have protected you better. I will honor your memory by carrying out this assignment with complete diligence, with no stone left unturned.”
For the thousandth time, he wondered why God had taken an innocent child. To punish him for putting his love of art above his duty to family? After two decades of wondering, he still had no satisfactory answer.
Jesus, I know there is a reason for this, but I don’t understand it. Can it be so that Iwon’t let my guard falter this time? Every day I will do my best to serve my country and honor Molly’s memory. I am praying for guidance. Ifyou send me a sign, I will follow.
He listened, hoping for a sign that would let him escape the assignment, but he heard nothing.
