Читать книгу Chasing Faith - Stephanie Perry Moore - Страница 11

Five days later I was in south Georgia with about fifty agents I’d never met. We were all at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, better known as FLETC and pronounced Flut Z. It serves as an interagency law-enforcement training organization for more than eighty federal agencies.

We were all from different agencies. There were U.S. Customs Agents, IRS Agents, and agents from ATF. Me and five other FBI agents were the only ones from the Department of Justice.

As soon as we arrived on site, we were escorted to an auditorium. No time for small talk or making friends.

A man who appeared to be in his fifties or sixties spoke into the mic. “Agent Jess Phillips, folks, and my job is to take you through two weeks of intense training. I plan to find the agents capable of helping us with this crucial assignment.”

The black guy standing next to me joked, “Like life will end if we don’t make it.”

Everyone else was facing forward as if they were in grade school. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be, but I did sign up for this because I wanted a breath of fresh air in my life, not a pillow-over-my-face experience. Thankful someone else here had some personality, I chuckled.

He looked over at me and stuck out his hand. “I’m Agent Frankie Johnson from the IRS.”

“Hey, I’m Agent Christian Ware, FBI, and I paid my taxes.” I continued the laugh.

“I see you got jokes. You think we’re gonna like this?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Hope so,” I said as we listened on.

Agent Phillips held up some clothes. “Your personal appearance reflects not only upon the center and the organizations you represent, but also upon the law-enforcement profession and the United States Government. Therefore, each of you will wear the agency-issued fatigue uniforms, in accordance with Center regulations. You must comply.”

He was talking to us as if we’d just signed up for the army or something. We were all agents, trained in some specialty. Granted, guarding the president was a big deal, but no bigger than getting drugs off the streets, or convicting terrorists. He really needed to loosen up.

Agent Phillips continued, “Also, we aren’t the only training program on the campus, so you’ll be provided with lockers for textbooks and materials. It is the student’s responsibility to provide the lock.”

Before we could participate in training-related physical activity, we were going to receive a medical screening to make certain we could endure the course of rigorous training. We were also told that the use of tobacco products, and eating or drinking in the classroom, was strictly prohibited.

Agent Phillips explained that in order for us to temp with the Secret Service we had to pass the Practice Exercise Performance Requirements. There were six parts: physical efficiency, firearms accuracy, driving training, marine swimming techniques, computer knowledge, and counterterrorism training. Most of it was a repeat of the training I received to join the FBI, but they didn’t care. They wanted us trained their way, by their agents.

Finally, we were done with the introduction and everyone scattered in different directions. Some to eat, some to get their training materials, and some to rest. I was in the last category. Flying from D.C. to Atlanta and then into Savannah, only to have to wait for the FLETC shuttle to bring me to the base, didn’t make for a relaxing day. And even though my pregnancy test turned out negative, my cycle still hadn’t arrived. I felt extra tired and that had me worried.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Agent Johnson said to me as I turned to leave.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, tomorrow. I’ll look for you bright and early at physicals.”

“Cool—let me go get my grub on,” Agent Johnson joked.

I smiled; I was glad I’d found an ally.

After getting my key, I entered the barracks. There was nothing special about my dormitory room. It held just the basics: two beds, an alarm clock, towels, washcloths, bar soap, toilet paper, sheets, pillow with case, blanket, and bedspread. It was spare, and I missed my cozy, upscale brown-stone back home already.

As soon as I claimed a bed, the doorknob turned and a woman I remembered seeing in the opening session entered. I always had a habit of scoping out other black and female agents. Seeing another minority gave me a boost.

She appeared to be upset, as she struggled to get her bags into the room. I went to the door to assist.

“Oh, thanks,” she said. “Suzie Winters, from ATF.”

Putting her bag at the foot of her bed, I said, “Christian Ware, FBI.”

“Boy, am I glad to see another female agent,” she said with attitude.

“Something wrong, Agent Winters?” I probed. I didn’t want to be around a sourpuss.

“Yeah, you know,” she said. I raised my eyebrows, letting her know I didn’t, in fact, know. “They don’t want us here. Why do they let women in, only to give us an extra-hard time? And we really have it hard, being a double minority.”

Okay, Suzie was overly open. The chick didn’t even know me and she was assuming I had racial and gender insecurities. What was that about?

I was apprehensive at first. But then as we talked I realized there was nothing wrong with letting someone new in. At first I was put off by her “honesty,” but I realized she was feeling the pressure and was reaching out. I did know what that was like. It was tough being black and female in a male-dominated business. But no one made me sign up and no one made me stay in it.

As we both sat on our prospective beds, I said, “I just don’t let anyone else’s bigotry get to me.”

“So you ignore it?” Suzie asked.

“Oh, no. It actually fuels me to work harder.” I unzipped my suitcase. “Girl, we’ll have to form an alliance and help each other through this,” I said, digging my roommate as I put my stuff away.

She smiled. “I’d like that. Thanks for calming me down. I feel better now.”

The next day I passed the physical. After checking my stats, I was directed to the field for the Physical Efficiency Battery portion of the exam. Agent Phillips was walking alongside me. “So, you’re Agent Ware, huh?” he said, almost leering at me.

“Yes, sir,” I said warily.

“I know you think this is automatic for you, but like I said to everyone yesterday, if you don’t pass my training, you go home.” He walked away before I had a chance to respond. Suzie was right.

The next few days were spent with firearm equipment. This was one area in which I excelled during FBI training. I hit the bull’s-eye every time. Whether it was a revolver, pistol, rifle, shotgun, automatic weapon, air rifle, BB pellet, or cap gun, I was best in show.

“Show off then, girl.” Agent Johnson swaggered over to me. “You’re making the rest of us look like amateurs. But I can’t give you props in public—you know the boys would sweat me.”

“And you can’t mess up your rep, right?” I joked.

“Ha, ha. For real, eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. A bunch of us are going to head off-base to a joint the locals say has slamming soul food. I won’t be hanging with the wife and rugrats, but I’ve got to eat and so do you.”

Since I needed to study for the Secret Service scenario test, I declined. I appreciated the offer, but I wasn’t there to socialize. Agent Johnson extended his hand and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. He seemed a little sad as he walked away. I assumed he wished he was spending this holiday with his loved ones. But from what I knew of his upbeat personality, I knew he’d bounce back just fine.

When I got back to my room, Suzie had the same idea I did. “I am so thrilled I have a roommate that encourages me along the way,” she said to me as she grabbed my hand. “Thank you for helping me with my aim and giving me pointers on the obstacle course. You helped me pass both portions. I’m grateful.”

I swatted my hand at her, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m thankful for you as well. I signed up for this assignment because I needed something new. Even though they’re tough on us, you’re out there telling me we’re just as good as the next guy. That kept me going today.” I took a deep breath. “I’m running after something and I can’t explain it…”

“But maybe you feel this job might lead you to it?” Suzie said, finishing my thought.

“Sort of. Yeah,” I said, squinting my eyes. “Is that ridiculous?”

“No, I understand completely. You’re believing in what you hope for, but can’t see. That’s faith.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was following God on some journey that would make me whole in the end. I wasn’t a strong enough Christian to make out what was going on with me spiritually. I didn’t know any scripture, and couldn’t recall the last sermon I’d heard. That needed to change.

During the last week we focused on driving at asinine speeds, rescue attempts from deep waters, computer hacking, and counterterrorism issues. I didn’t handle those areas as well as I did the weapons training, but I held my own and passed the two-week course.

Finally, when the fifty agents had dwindled down to forty strong, we went through briefings on what was expected, skills we’d need to implement the assignment, and how to transition our training to on-the-job work. After, they gave out protectee assignments, and I was glad that mine stayed the same. Agent Johnson was also assigned to Steven Stokes’s detail team. Though we’d be on different rotations, it would be good to keep that connection.

I wished Suzie well when we packed up to head out to different camps. She was assigned to protect the Republican governor of Illinois. She and I had really connected during training. I’d miss her.

“You take care of yourself,” she said to me.

I handed her my cell number and replied, “If you need me, call.”

“You call when you don’t need me,” she said, handing me her digits as well. “Now it’s time to go to work.” We were both ready.

Agent Johnson, two other agents, and I were each assigned to one of four groups that would be rotating to protect Reverend Stokes. Each detail had a team leader and four other Secret Service members. To make each team have six people, us temps filled in the last slot.

When I walked into a downtown Atlanta Marriott conference room on Monday morning for my first meeting with my group, the four people looking back at me were a little intimidating. They stared me up and down and gave me the feeling that they weren’t too pleased to have me on their team. I knew it was the fact that I wasn’t really one of them, but I didn’t care, though. Three were men, one of whom was African-American, and one was another female.

Our detail leader, Agent Ben Moss, whose name was on my piece of paper, yelled for me to take a seat and then said, “You’re late, Ware. In the Secret Service we don’t tolerate tardiness. We were just about to introduce ourselves.”

I wanted to tell him that I’d just gotten in from Brunswick. But why bother, I thought, as I watched him pace the floor and get in the other agents’ faces like a drill sergeant. It was clear that leaders in law enforcement loved enforcing power. After going back and forth for a few seconds, Agent Moss approached the other African-American on the team and barked an order for him to get up and identify himself.

The man stood at rigid attention. “Agent Randy Pitts,” he stated. “From the Baltimore office.” Agent Pitts was completely bald, and looked to be only in his forties. “And I’m very happy to be assigned to this detail,” he added.

When Moss nodded for him to sit back down, Randy Pitts gave me a reassuring smile. Okay, so at first glance I was wrong. Maybe I would fit in just fine.

Agent Jack Sawyer from the Biloxi, Mississippi, office was the next to introduce himself. He was thirtysomething, had a bald spot in the middle of the brown hair on his head. It wasn’t hard to imagine him standing in front of a trailer, holding a beer.

“Unlike Agent Pitts here,” Sawyer said in a grave voice, “I am not particularly thrilled with this assignment. Personally, I think protecting this candidate is a waste of the agency’s money. However, I am here and I will do my job.”

“Pitts, you may sit. And from this point forward we’re keeping all personal thoughts out of this assignment,” Agent Moss said commandingly.

The other female agent identified herself as Kelly Regunfuss from the Boston office. She also looked to be in her thirties. She had a smile that reminded me of a teddy bear. I could not see us hanging out, but I thought it’d be cool to work with her.

The last guy, Agent Ryan Hold, could have passed for a high-school student with his boyish, freckled face and naïve expression. He was from the Los Angeles office. “I’m thirty-two, so don’t let the youthful face fool you.” He nodded curtly at Moss. “I’ve been an agent for ten years.”

When it was my turn to introduce myself, all the faces seemed quite uninterested. Their blank expressions made me inwardly hope I made the right decision about accepting this assignment. Before I could speak, Agent Moss told them who I was. The cold way he presented me made me not that interested in myself. However, I knew I wasn’t there to make friends. I had a job to do. So when he was done telling them about my career in law enforcement, I waved and sat down.

For the rest of the afternoon, Moss told us everything about Reverend Stokes’s schedule and habits. We each received a detailed diagram of the man’s house and were told to memorize every inch of it. Then Agent Moss paired us off. He and Agent Pitts were teamed together and would mostly handle surveillance and guard steps in front of the protectee. Agents Sawyer and Regunfuss would handle coverage from the sides and the rear. That meant that their job was to respond to fire if we were under attack. Agent Hold and I were given the assignment of being closest to the protectee at all times.

“Agent Ware, this means that you do not go with your instinctive FBI training. You flee from danger—you don’t run to it and try and capture the bad guy. Get the protectee out of there,” Agent Moss said to me before we went through a role-playing drill.

I thought I had the protectee mentality first down pat. All was going well. Agent Hold and I were posted beside the dummy protectee and we were carrying him around. But when blank bullets came from my left, I immediately drew my gun and started shooting back. Agent Moss blew his whistle and everyone surrounded me.

Agent Sawyer smirked and said, “That’s why I detest having to work with agents from the treasury department. They don’t understand how we do things.”

“Quiet, Sawyer,” Agent Moss said before he got in my face and attacked me. “Ware, do you realize our protectee would be dead right now because of your little act of heroics?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Agent Moss continued angrily, “You try apologizing to a dead man’s family. Agent Sawyer and Agent Regunfuss were to handle defense. If you can’t train your mind to remember this one task, then you need to leave now. You’ve got to be willing to trust other agents to cover your back, your partner’s, and the protectee’s.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He turned and walked out of the room, followed by Agents Pitts and Regunfuss.

“She needs to leave,” Agent Sawyer said to my partner before he exited as well.

Agent Hold touched my shoulder. “Don’t mind them. You’ll do fine.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Agent Hold.”

“You can call me Ryan,” he said kindly. “If we’re gonna be working together, I say let’s throw out the formality.”

Shaking his hand, I said, “Then call me Chris. Or Ware. I like either one. I might make other mistakes, so feel free to check me on the side.”

“Would have done it anyway, but glad to hear you won’t take it personally.” He leaned to my ear. “Agent Moss and the others were really impressed with your background. So really, we’re all honored to work with you.”

The following day we all meet at seven P.M. in front of the hotel to head out on assignment to cover the night-shift rotation. I hadn’t spoken to any of them that day. I wasn’t feeling the best, so I slept in for much-needed rest.

Agent Moss walked over to me and said, “So I see you’ve decided to stay with us.”

“Ready to protect and serve, sir,” I said without wavering.

“Glad to hear it,” he said as he motioned for us all to leave.

Moss and three of the team members climbed into a black van. I got in a black Lincoln Town Car with Ryan. We drove in silence to Reverend Stokes’s Mediterranean-style stucco mansion. The lawn was perfectly manicured—so rich, edged, and green. There were tall magnolia trees, precisely trimmed bushes, and bright flowers lining the sidewalk.

I hopped out of the car, eager to see what lay behind all those curtained windows. As we approached the house, I saw Agent Johnson from Brunswick training and his detail team getting into their vehicles. Moss rapped on the door, and a short, skinny maid answered. Without a word, she stepped aside to let us enter.

A sparkling marble floor brilliantly reflected the massive chandelier in the foyer. Every piece of furniture I could see was exquisite. I felt like I’d just entered a royal castle.

Reverend Stokes appeared, tall and handsome, from his office, dressed in an expensive gray suit. Agent Moss introduced the team members, and the black man amiably shook hands with each of us.

Moss introduced me last. Stokes welcomed me formally, as he had the others. But as the team headed down the hall to set up headquarters in a back room, Stokes grasped my elbow and pulled me aside.

“I was hoping for more than one African-American on my detail,” he said quietly, “but I figured they’d all be males. Pitts is what I expected, but you look too cute to defend somebody,” he implied with a bit of a flirtatious attitude.

I looked him directly in the eye with an air of confidence and said, “I assure you, sir, no harm will come to you while I’m on duty.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he said, wearing the perfect presidential smile and then patting my butt.

My hand flew up, and I almost slapped his face, but thankfully stopped myself. If I didn’t want to get tossed from this assignment, I had better control myself, and quick. But I couldn’t just let this guy think he could get familiar.

Before I could respond and think of a solution to my dilemma, I noticed Mrs. Stokes standing by the kitchen entrance with her arms folded. She was a beautiful older woman. Her freshly done updo, flawless jewelry, and stylish suit made me know she was certainly an upscale lady. And that all eyes, with the exception of maybe her husband’s, were going to be on her at the event. She turned her nose up at me as if I were a lowly servant, looking upset with her husband as well.

“Well, I’m not interrupting anything, dear, am I?” she asked condescendingly.

“No, sweetheart,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “Come and meet…,”

She cut him off and said, “Not right now.” Then she ushered her husband away with a not-so-nice expression on her face as I overheard her grilling him about what she’d just witnessed.

“How could you touch her inappropriately like that, Steven? I’m so tired of your disrespect for me,” she said in a hurt and angry tone.

“Quit overreacting,” he said as he tugged his arm away from her. “Besides, the girl can hear you.”

She turned, huffed, and said to me, “Go about your work.”

As quickly as I could, I joined my team at the back of the house. I didn’t say a word to anyone about Reverend Stokes’s comment or overly friendly gesture, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My opinion of him and his perfect marriage had certainly taken a nosedive.

After reading logs from the previous detail’s comments in Secret Service headquarters in the back room, we went through the house, checking exits, making sure all doors and windows were locked, and made sure the security cameras that could be viewed from the van were working properly. The only rooms without a camera were the bedrooms and bathrooms. The family had to have some degree of privacy.

Moss and Sawyer set themselves up in the command post, while Agents Pitts and Regunfuss were stationed in the van to monitor the cameras. Hold and I got to rewalk the house for a final check to make sure everything was in order. He took the upstairs and I had the downstairs.

As I walked past the dining area on my way to make sure the living room was secure, I heard Mrs. Stokes’s voice. “Your makeover is fabulous, darling.” I paused in the hallway, curious. “That Harvard look simply had to go. You’ve got to be trendier if you’re going to run for lieutenant governor. I’m sure you’d look great in leather.”

I peeked into the room. What I saw made me stop. I’d seen the Stokes’s middle child on television, but seeing him in the flesh made me tremble. Sebastian was tall, over six feet, with an amazing physique. Even through his tailored suit, I could tell his arms and chest were chiseled.

His head was shaved bald and his cheekbones popped. I didn’t know if the shaved look was new or if I overlooked it when I saw him on TV. Although I usually wasn’t crazy about that style, he wore it well and I was digging it. His mustache was neatly trimmed and his Rolex watch glistened in the light as he hugged his mother. I’d never seen a man show love to his mama. I nodded my approval. The brotha was fine.

The call through my earpiece startled me, and I ducked back out into the hallway.

“You need to take post next to the front door,” Moss commanded sharply. “The family is getting ready to exit the house.”

“Yes, sir,” I said into the microphone hidden under my suit jacket.

I turned around to head toward the foyer and ran smack into Sebastian Stokes. He reached out to stop me from falling, and I could smell his musky cologne. I quickly regained my composure and backed up a few feet.

Sebastian smiled at me, a deep, sexy dimple appearing in his left cheek. Then he looked into the full-length mirror hanging on the wall between a set of gold sconces. He didn’t see that I noticed his look of concern.

“Are you okay, miss?” he asked as I noticed him checking me out.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied, tucking my mic back under the edge of my jacket.

He couldn’t stop looking at me—I wasn’t taken aback by his stare. And though it appeared the Stokes men had similar taste in women, this member of the elite family wasn’t rude.

He held out his hand and I gave him mine. “I’m staring. How rude. I’m Sebastian Stokes. I must say it intrigues me to see a beautiful Nubian queen in this role.”

“Well, I’m really an FBI agent. I’m only helping the Secret Service out,” I said, without realizing I’d revealed more than anyone should know.

“To be trained by both agencies sounds like you’re well equipped for this task. My dad’s a lucky man. Seeing someone go against what society thinks is the norm and succeed is impressive. Your name?”

“Agent Ware,” I glanced away from his gaze to keep from showing how flattered I was by his remarks. I had worked hard to get where I was, and most folks resented it or acted as if I couldn’t handle it. To meet someone who appreciated it was refreshing.

He kissed my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Taking my hand away to retain professionalism, I asked, “So did I hear you’re running for lieutenant governor of Georgia?”

“Yeah,” he said, not sounding terribly excited about it. “I’m a long shot, but being a member of the state house of representatives has made me want to give more. I have a plan to improve our education system, improve our health-care system, bring well-paying jobs to Georgia, preserve our natural resources, protect our seniors, and improve our transportation system.”

“Impressive,” I said, really feeling his passion.

“Will you vote for me?” he beamed in a coy way.

“I kept hearing you say our. I’m not a Georgian. I live in D.C.”

“Well, you would if you lived here, right?”

With a small chuckle, I said, “For sure. You don’t seem like a dirty politician.”

“Agent Ware, I assure you I’m not. I’d go up against my dad if he was wrong.”

We both shared a laugh. Then a slight chill entered the hallway. I looked up and saw Mrs. Stokes standing at the end. “Sebastian, darling.” She’d appeared without warning, which was highly unusual since I considered myself well trained in detecting the slightest sound or movement. “What are you doing?” she asked her son pointedly.

“Just talking to the lady.”

“Lady?” Mrs. Stokes looked at me, her head tilted slightly and her lips curled as if she had just discovered an ugly black spider on her highly polished hardwood floor. “Come along, dear,” she said, turning her back to Sebastian as she proceeded down the hall. “Your father’s ready to leave.”

At that moment I saw my detail leader, Agent Moss, striding down the hall.

“Agent Ware, why aren’t you at your station?”

I was surprised when Sebastian stepped in front of me and extended his hand for Agent Moss. “Oh sir, that’s my fault. I’m…”

“Sebastian Stokes,” Agent Moss said in a nicer tone. “Good to meet you.”

“I was introducing myself to Agent Ware and bombarding her with questions. My apologies if I detained her too long,” Sebastian said, totally coming to my rescue.

“Oh, no problem. We’re here to make things safe for your father. If I can answer any questions, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

“Will do,” Sebastian said to him before nodding a polite good-bye to me.

As I followed Agent Moss out the front door, he said, “Good job, Ware, getting the protectee’s son to feel comfortable. It’s always tough when one fears for a parent’s life,” Agent Moss had completely bought Sebastian’s explanation. “Next time, defer him to me or at least let me know you’re being held up.”

I nodded as I opened the Town Car door and stepped aside, assuming my practiced rigid stance. Reverend and Mrs. Stokes and their middle son climbed into the car without a word of thanks or even a nod of acknowledgement. Agent Hold eased into the driver’s side and I took the passenger seat. Because I’d never been a Secret Service agent before, I had to admit I was experiencing new sensations and nervousness. Looking inwardly, I realized I just might really like this. After all, taking care of other people came second nature to me.

When we arrived at our destination, the Georgia World Congress Center, I hopped out first and opened the back door. Reverend and Mrs. Stokes got out of the car the same way they got in it. They acted as if I was the chauffeur, saying nothing. Sebastian, however, winked at me and said, “Thank you.”

I couldn’t help but smile back at him as I watched Sebastian and his parents walk into the crowded ballroom with Agents Regunfuss and Sawyer trailing close behind.

“Ware and Hold, you guys take posts beside Cool Falcon when you get inside and the other agents will mix in with the crowd. Pitts and I are in the van covering the outside perimeter.”

“Cool Falcon?” I asked Agent Hold.

“All the Detail leaders handling the assignment get together and come up with a name for the protectee. Guess they named our guy,” Agent Hold explained before pausing as I stopped moving. “You’ve got this.”

Moving into position, I realized anything could happen over the next six months to a year. Who knew how far Reverend Stokes’s candidacy would go. He could drop out any day, win the Democratic primary, or make it to the White House. One thing was certain: with his fine son around, I was definitely going to be enjoying the journey.