Her Secret Service (Jane Roe 1) by Jason Letts (sites to read books for free TXT) 📗

printed. When Oliver saw it, a nearly orgasmic flush swept through his body. The header read “Human Enhancement Program (HEP),” and the date was mid-February, less than a month after President Alex Morrin took office. The paper appeared to be some kind of operational report, but most of it was covered up.

In an instant, all of the fury and rage that had fueled him for months returned. The rumors were true, and he’d seen the first evidence of it with his own eyes. Morrin had directed the government to begin carrying out experiments on people likely as soon as he reached office and of course without any Congressional approval or public disclosure.

This seemed to be under the pretense of “enhancement,” but what that really meant was unclear. And regardless, what methods they were using to achieve that? What people were they using to further this research, and how many of them had died? If the dark web rumors about the program were authentic, any of the other speculation swirling about it could be as well. Some of the more outlandish theories involved secret government labs and unknowing participants. Anything was suddenly possible.

What the revelation really did was reaffirm Oliver Ip’s belief that the president needed to be held personally responsible for this devastating breach of public trust. A desperate run across the country was the last thing the situation called for in the face of egregious conduct beyond what anyone had ever known. Even if he had nothing but his last gasp of life, fighting against this was what he knew he was meant to do. Give up? Now? He saw his rightful place in the White House more easily now than ever, and for the first time he’d been gifted powerful and irrefutable armaments for the fight.

All he needed to do was find a new way to get to the president to finish the job and take the credit. And it needed to be done quickly before the FBI found him.

Ripping the laptop off the desk so hard that it tore the cord from the socket, Oliver strode out the door without looking back.

11

Office of the Inspector General

330 Independence Avenue, SW

Washington, D.C.

Four undecorated white walls. Two rigid, austere chairs. One black table without anything on it.

Sitting across from Jane was a woman, seemingly in her mid-forties, wearing a gray skirt suit and with short but curly platinum blonde hair, Agent Trice. Seeing another woman in these positions always pleased Jane and gave her a sense of optimism, but after walking through the dreary halls of the Office of the Inspector General’s building and being in a room that seemed designed as a sensory deprivation tank, the face she was looking at appeared just as lifeless and intimidating.

This was the cheerless, implacable face of the person who, when bad people did things, was responsible for investigating the good people.

“Can you tell me about some of the standard protocols for protecting the president on excursions?” Trice asked.

The first time she’d been here, Jane had gone backward and forward with Trice through everything that had been in place for the trip to Dayton, and that meant she didn’t even know what she was supposed to be talking about when she was called back for a second interrogation. For the moment at least, she was pleased that it was a question she could easily answer.

“Of course. As we all know, leaving the White House poses the greatest risks to the president. That time in transit while getting to and from wherever he’s going requires meticulous preparation and employing a number of measures in the event that an adversary, which we often refer to as a jackal, makes an attempt on the president’s life.

“In addition to the standard Secret Service detail that guard’s the president’s person, we make use of counter-sniper units at rooftop locations near key entrances and exits. An entire counterassault team travels nearby with the president to immediately engage enemy combatants with return fire in order to provide cover for the detail and drivers to withdraw the president to safety.

“If you’re referring to an excursion such as a hotel stay, the Secret Service will ensure that the entire floor the president stays on is vacant, as well as the rooms above and below his. All hotel employees have their backgrounds checked, and finding anyone with a criminal history will lead to us requesting that the employee be placed on leave. In addition to that, we set up a command post within the hotel for the duration of the stay. I could go on and on. Is there a specific circumstance you’d like to hear about?”

Jane smiled as she articulated her question, though as much as she enjoyed talking about her work she found herself irked by what this conversation seemed to be focused on.

“That will do,” Trice said. “Please tell me more about how you see your role in enacting those procedures for the Presidential Protective Division.”

Clearing her throat to cover her discomfort, Jane smiled again.

“As a staffing and logistics agent for the PPD, it’s my job to help make the advance preparations and arrangements necessary for the Secret Service to carry out its mission of protecting the president. How I see my role is a little bit like a chess player, matching the pieces I have to an ever-changing board state full of variables known and unknown. I do this based on the guidelines we have in place and my best judgment about what will ensure the greatest degree of safety for the president.”

“And how are you able to do that effectively when you’re spending several hours a day training for bike rides with the president?”

Jane’s lips parted as she was taken aback by the question. She’d been fully prepared to be offended by being in what appeared to be an attempt to make her interview for the job she already had, because they were not able to find a reason to pin the Air Force One bombing