Her Secret Service (Jane Roe 1), Jason Letts [story reading .txt] 📗

They slipped out of the Live Monitoring Station and started back through the hall toward the elevator.

“You said there was another threat that was concerning you. What was that one about?” she asked. Every new promise of violence against the president put Jane’s heart in her throat. Would this be the one that actually came through and delivered? Fighting against that was what drove their mission, but Nathan’s furrowed brow suggested that this was more worrisome than usual.

“Yeah, it’s something that was sent straight to us, a threat to kill the president, as usual, but it wasn’t anonymous. Well, in a way it was, but the threat was signed by a group called the American Underground Movement. None of us have ever heard of them and there’s no record of them existing anywhere. I can only imagine how underground they have to be for it to be like that. Anyway, whether it’s just one person posturing in some way or if there’s actually some collection of people involved, we’re going to figure it out,” he said.

Jane had her head bowed, staring at the tiles in front of her feet as she listened. An anonymous Facebook threat had been unsettling and led to an incredibly perilous situation, but an organization trying to brand itself and directly putting the Secret Service on notice that they were going to kill President Morrin was scary in an entirely different way. Maybe it was one person trying to puff himself up, like Oliver Ip did, but they couldn’t bank on that.

“Good luck with that,” Jane said as they stepped onto the elevator, and Nathan gave her a strange look.

“You say it like it’s not your problem,” he said, eyebrow raised. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. No one is going to have any doubt that nothing would’ve worked out the way it did today without your involvement two or three different ways. Keep your mind open,” he said.

Putting her hand to her cheek, she wondered if he was right. There was no way the Office of the Inspector General wouldn’t instantly become aware of what happened, but whether it mattered to them was something else. Perhaps it all hinged on whether or not someone had already clicked send on the report.

By the time Chief Harold Vale called her into his office, the day was down to its last threads and Jane had been contemplating the prospect of showing up the next day, sitting around and continuing to wait. She’d decided she couldn’t do it and would’ve quit rather than be a useless warm body in an office chair. It very well could’ve been the Inspector General’s prerogative to force people to quit out of the sheer agony of waiting, but the report had been at the tail end of the day nonetheless.

Vale held it in front of his face as he flipped through it, making it look like the papers had her boss’s frizzy blond hair from her perspective. She sat in her seat with her fingers under her thighs, girding herself for whatever happened to be on the raft of papers the other governmental agency had sent over about her.

“I’m sorry about not having had a chance to absorb this before getting you in here,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Jane muttered, casting glances about his office and Vale’s pictures with previous presidents and notable foreign leaders who’d been under the protection of the Uniformed Division.

He eventually set the papers down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, hand on his chin and glaring at the report like it was liable to start skittering around the office.

“It says you’re overworked and at risk of burnout,” he said. Jane snorted.

“Sounds like everyone.”

Chief Vale leaned forward and looked directly at her.

“They say you often make decisions based on emotion, get complacent when it comes to following outdated methods, and have trouble seeing the forest for the trees.”

Jane laughed. She’d spent so much time and mental energy in fear of this report that when it finally came the results were so much of what she expected that she couldn’t particularly take it seriously.

“Did it really say that? Last time I checked the only tree we cared about was the president’s life.”

Vale grunted and set his hand on the report. She straightened up, thinking back to her promise not to make this too difficult for him.

“There are pages about how you pre-empt and micromanage the other members of the logistics, planning, and advance teams. I have to say I wasn’t aware exactly how many people’s jobs you were trying to juggle,” he said.

Jane crossed her arms over her waist and cocked her head at him. This was starting to cut a little deep, and he could fast-forward to the conclusion at any time.

“It says the Secret Service has been too reliant on TSA screening when it comes to what makes it onto Air Force One. We’ve given security clearances too much credit for actually being secure, when they are actually a systemic security risk,” he went on.

“Right,” Jane muttered. Her ability to take some mirth in the findings that dragged her through the mud had run out. Vale took on a closed-lip smile.

“I think it’s an even-handed assessment, and too accurate as well. There’s plenty of detail about your skills, your observations, and the impact that you had on shortening the trail to Oliver Ip. You might not have anticipated that the bicycle crash was not mentioned once in the entire document. Some accidents are too innocent and of so little consequence that even the Inspector General can glance past them.”

Jane took some comfort in the praise, even if it was wedged between mountains of condemnation. Of course, the Secret Service had already hired a professional cyclist to join the president on his weekend trips to Camp David, putting her firmly back in the position of never needing to see Alex Morrin again.

“So I get