Chapter Five
Paige was waiting in front of her building when Walter pulled up in his
battered Datsun. He parked in the space next to her car then got out of his.
She handed him her keys before opening the door and sliding into the passenger
seat. He tossed his backpack onto the back seat before getting behind the
wheel.
"Hello" she said as they drove out into traffic.
"Hello."
Silence filled the car until they stopped at a traffic light. "What kind
of case is this?" she inquired. "I guess I should have asked earlier but.
. ."
"Internet problems." She noticed that his hands were griping the steering
wheel tightly. So he wasn't thrilled about having to work together either.
"And did Cabe say why I was needed?"
The light turned green and Walter didn't answer until they had crossed the
intersection. "So I don't piss anyone off."
She smiled at his bluntness. "So where are we going?"
Walter reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the paper the Homeland
agent had given him. "Oh, my. . .Wildecliff Manor? That's where we're going?"
"Yes. Why? Is it important?"
"Not really. It's a mansion that was built by a silent movie actor, Duncan
Wilde, back in the ‘20's. I've seen some of his films. He played mostly swashbucklers."
"Swashbucklers?"
"Yeah, you know, swords, pirates, damsels in distress. . . Oh, right, you
wouldn't." She sighed. "The house is really beautiful, it overlooks the ocean.
I've seen some pictures. I've always wanted to go there, but it's not open
to the public. It's a private retreat and costs a fortune to stay there."
He took his eyes off the road for a second, flashing her a brief grin. "Well,
now you get to go there for free."
She laughed. "And all because you piss people off."
"I don't mean to." His words were a mix of honesty and regret.
"I know you don't," she said solemnly. And he truly didn't. It was just
the way his brain was wired. Realizing they were straying into territory
neither of them wanted to tread, she turned to stare out the window as the
road started to climb up into the hills toward the coast.
They were both quiet for the rest of the trip, reaching their destination
in less than forty minutes. An very large, very ornate gate greeted them at
the end of the driveway to the manor. Walter rolled down his window as he
stopped in front of it.
"Walter O'Brien and Paige Dineen," he called out toward the electronic sentinel
box on the left side of the gate. "We're with Homeland."
The gates swung open. "Proceed," a robotic sounding voice said. Walter stepped
on the gas and they drove through the wrought iron structures. Paige watched
in the rear view mirror as the gates closed behind them. It seemed rather
ominous.
About a quarter mile up the driveway, they had to stop again at a guard
shack, where two men ordered them out of the car.
"I think they're Secret Service," Walter whispered as he set down his backpack
then emptied out his pockets onto a table in the tiny building.
"They don't look like Secret Service," Paige murmured back, removing her
jacket and scarf.
"They're trying too hard to look like they aren't."
Unable to find a flaw in his logic, Paige held out her arms and let one
of the men scan her with a wand as the other man did the same to Walter.
She was about to put her jacket back on when the guy who had been working
with her dumped her purse out on the table.
"Hey!" She rushed over as all her possessions fell out: her wallet, a pack
of gum, a comb, some used tissues, make up, a tampon, her birth control pills.
. . Oh God. She reached out to snatch up the last two items but the second
guard held out his arm, making it impossible to reach them. Her face was hot
with embarrassment as she watched the two men paw through her belongings,
especially when they picked up the prescription packet and scrutinized it
for several minutes. She couldn't even look at Walter.
It took another fifteen minutes for the pair of guards to search her vehicle.
Paige had hurriedly stuffed everything back into her bag then took her time
putting on her jacket and rearranging her scarf. She sneaked a peek at Walter
while they waited; he stood on the opposite side of the car; his hands in
his pockets, his eyes on the ground, a brooding frown on his face.
"All clear," one of the men finally said and they were allowed to get back
in the car and continue up the driveway.
"Oh my God," she said as the mansion came into view. It was gorgeous. Built
of white adobe in the Spanish Mission style, it was three stories high, and
nearly as wide as a football field. The photographs she had seen had not done
the place justice.
She noticed Walter seemed unimpressed as they got out of the car, although
she was not surprised. A valet had approached them as they stopped and he
now took the keys from Walter. Two men, clearly Secret Service, met them at
the front door and patted them down again before escorting them inside.
The pace was too fast for Paige to take in much of the luxurious furnishings
and priceless works of art. They were lead up a flight of stairs and down
a hallway, stopping when they reached a set of double doors. One of the agents
knocked discreetly, and a voice inside said, "Enter."
The doors were opened. A man was standing behind an ornately carved desk.
It was the President of the United States.
Author's note: Wildecliff Manor is a fictional place I made up, and
Duncan Wilde is a fictional person I made up. The president in this story
is your typical generic TV show president. You can put another president (real
or fictional) in his place if you like.