Above All, Honor

Chapter Three

...

"Allow me to summarize," Megan said as she stood, walking to the window and looking down at the postage-sized private park that formed the heart of Gramercy Park. As she watched an elderly woman unlock a gate surrounding the park, she spoke, her back to the room, but her voice clearly audible. "Ms. Hamilton resents our intrusion into her life. She resents our presence in every public and private moment of her day. She undoubtedly resents our observation of her personal liaisons and romantic encounters. I, for one, do not blame her."

Megan turned to the group with a small shrug. "The fact that Ms. Hamilton does not welcome our presence is immaterial. Our job is to see that she is able to carry on her life with the maximum degree of security possible. No matter where she is, or what she's doing. She has decided to make this a game. We have to play, and we have to win. We don't get to throw up our hands and call foul if she changes the rules. There are no rain outs. We can't expect her to help us win; we have to do that for ourselves."

Megan smiled faintly as she took her seat again. Now she understood at least one of the reasons why she'd been given this assignment.

"Remember that she is an uncooperative subject. Don't expect her to smile and say good morning. Don't expect her to make your job easy. She has made it clear she does not want us around. She is not going to invite us along. We will switch from protective surveillance methods to investigative tactics. If she can't see you, it'll be harder for her to lose you. If you need to follow her to protect her, then you've got to fit in where she travels. You have to function essentially undercover."

Megan looked pointedly at each of her operatives, seeing them as Normani Hamilton must see them. Ivy League starched, polished and presentable. About as obvious as the proverbial bulls in the china shop.

"Except at scheduled public functions where Ms. Hamilton is acting in some official capacity, no suits, no ties, no skirts. Stick to street clothes, preferably something appropriate for the type of locales she is known to frequent."

Megan saw the slight stiffening of a few shoulders, and continued unperturbed. It was time to stop circling the primary problem. "For you men, I think a slightly longer hair length would be helpful for starters. It's time for you to stop looking like tourists, or cops." She sipped the last of her coffee, gathering her papers with one hand. "A little research might also be in order. I want a summary of every gay bar and restaurant in New York City. Hours of operation, type of clientele, traffic patterns in the area, etcetera. Start with the ones you know she's been to. Have it on my desk before the day is out. Know your subject, ladies and gentlemen, and you have won the first point."

Everyone in the room relaxed slightly as Megan pulled open the door to the conference room. She paused at the sill, turning back casually.

"By the way Mac, does she know about the video equipment inside her apartment?"

The man looked at her in surprise. How had she noticed that on a quick walk through the monitoring section?

"I doubt it," he said quietly. If she were aware of the micro-cameras mounted in the ceiling of her loft, she would hardly be walking around nude the way she did.

"Turn them off," Megan said flatly. "Video the elevator, the building exits, fire escapes, and garage only. On my responsibility."

With that, she was gone, leaving the rest of her team to wonder just where she'd gotten the balls to countermand a direct order from the White House Chief of Staff.

...

At precisely 11:00 AM, Megan keyed the elevator to the penthouse, exiting into a small foyer opposite a carved oak door set into the rich wood panels. The wallpaper on the other two walls adjoining the lift was a cream fabric, intricately patterned, and luxuriously textured, creating a warm and sensual effect. Megan rang the bell beside the door.