The Lion's Game (85 page)

We got out of the car, and I looked around. You could just see the Reagan house, a ranch-type structure off in the distance, and a few lights were lit. There didn’t seem to be many people around, but I was fairly confident that the place was now crawling with anti-sniper people and Secret Service people disguised as trees, rocks, or whatever these people do to blend in.

It was a moonlit night, what was called a hunter’s moon in the days before infrared and starlight scopes made every night a hunter’s night. In any case, the former President probably did not wander around at this hour, so I had to assume that Khalil also had a day scope and intended to wait until the Reagans took a morning stroll.

A balmy breeze blew the smell of flowering bushes across the lawn, and night birds chirped in the trees. Or, perhaps the trees were Secret Service people wearing perfume and chirping to each other.

We were politely asked to stand near our car, which we were doing, when lo and behold, Douglas Pindick came out of the security gatehouse and walked over to us.

Douglas got right to the point and said to me, “Tell me again why we’re here.”

I didn’t like his tone, so I said, “Tell me why you
weren’t
here yesterday. Do I have to do all the thinking for you?”

“You’re out of line, mister.”

“Ask me if I give a shit.”

“That’s enough insubordination from you.”

“I’m just warming up.”

Finally, Kate said, “Okay. Enough. Calm down.” She said to Pindick, “Doug, why don’t we step over here and talk?”

So, Kate and her friend moved out of earshot, and I stood there, royally pissed off about nothing. It was all male ego and posturing in front of the female of the species. Very primitive. I can rise above that. I should try it sometime.

Anyway, this Secret Service lady wearing regular street clothes came over to me and introduced herself as Lisa, and said she was in some sort of supervisory capacity. She was about forty, attractive, and friendly.

We chatted, and she seemed very curious about how I’d arrived at my conclusion that there was a death threat against the former President.

I told Lisa that I was having a drink in a bar, and it just popped into my head. She didn’t like that explanation, so I expanded on it, mentioning that I was drinking Coke, and that I was really on top of the Asad Khalil case, and all that.

Not only was I being questioned, of course, I was being kept company so I wouldn’t wander about. I asked her, “How many of these trees are really Secret Service people?”

She thought I was funny and replied, “All of them.”

I asked her about the Reagans’ neighbors and so forth, and she informed me the neighborhood was loaded with movie stars and other celebrities, the Reagans were nice to work for, and we were actually in the city of Los Angeles, though it looked to me like the movie set for a jungle plantation scene.

So, Lisa and I chitchatted while Kate spoke to her former lover and smoothed things over, telling him, I’m sure, that I was not as big an asshole as I appeared to be. I was really tired, physically and mentally, and this whole scene had an unreal quality to it.

Somewhere in my chatter to Lisa, she revealed to me, “The number of the Reagan house used to be six-six-six, but right after they bought it, they had it changed to six-six-eight.”

I said, “You mean for security reasons?”

“No. Six-six-six is the sign of the devil, according to the Book of Revelation. Did you know that?”

“Uh ...”

“So, Nancy, I guess, had it changed.”

“I see ... I should check my Amex card. I think I have triple sixes in there.”

She laughed.

I had the feeling that Lisa might be helpful, so I turned on the charm, and we got on really well. In the middle of my being charming, Kate came back alone, and I introduced her to my new friend Lisa.

Kate wasn’t that interested in Lisa, and she took my arm and moved me off a bit. She said to me, “We have to fly out first thing in the morning. We can still make the press conference.”

“I know. It’s three hours earlier in New York.”

“John, shut up and listen. Also, the Director wants to speak to you. You could be in some trouble.”

“What happened to hero?”

She ignored my question and said, “We’re booked at an airport hotel and booked on an early morning flight to D.C. Let’s go.”

“Do I have time to kick Doug in the balls before I leave?”

“That’s really not a good career move, John. Let’s go.”

“Okay.” I walked back to Lisa and told her we had to leave, and she said she’d get the gates open for us. We went over to our car, and Lisa came with us. I really didn’t want to leave, so I said to Lisa, “Hey, I’m feeling a little guilty about rousting everyone out of their beds. I really feel I should stay here with you guys until dawn. No problem. I’m happy to do it.”

She replied, “Forget it.”

Kate said to me, “Get in the car.”

Lisa, who was my pal, thought she owed me an explanation for her perfunctory reply and said to me, “Mr. Corey, we have a carefully drawn up plan that’s been in place since nineteen eighty-eight. I don’t think you’re part of that plan.”

“This isn’t nineteen eighty-eight. Also, this is not solely a protective mission. We’re also trying to capture a trained killer.”

“We know all of that. That’s why we’re here. Don’t worry about it.”

Kate said to me, “John, let’s go.”

I ignored Kate and said to Lisa, “Maybe we can go in the house where we’ll be out of the way.”

“Forget it.”

“Just a quick drink with Ron and Nancy.”

Lisa laughed.

Kate said again, “Let’s go, John.”

The Secret Service lady said, “They’re not home anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re not home,” Lisa repeated.

“Where are they?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Okay. You mean you got them out of here already, and they’re under close protective security in a secret location, like Fort Knox or something?”

Lisa looked around, then said, “This is actually not a secret. In fact, it was in the newspapers, but your friend back there, who you yelled at, doesn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?”

“Well, the Reagans left here yesterday and are spending a few days at Rancho del Cielo.”

“Say what?”

“Rancho del Cielo. Ranch in the sky.”

“You mean they’re dead?”

She laughed. “No. That’s his old ranch, north of here in the Santa Inez Mountains. The former Western White House.”

“You’re saying they’re at this ranch. Right?”

“Right. This trip to the old ranch is sort of a ... they’re calling it the last round-up. He’s very sick, you know.”

“I know.”

“She thought it might be good for him. He loved that ranch.”

“Right. I remember that now. And this was in the papers?”

“There was a press release. Not all the news media picked it up. But the press is invited on Friday, which is the Reagans’ last day there. Some photo ops and stuff. You know, the old man riding into the sunset. Kind of sad.” She added, “I don’t know about that press conference now.”

“Gotcha. And you have people there now?”

“Of course.” She said, as if to herself, “The man’s got Alzheimer’s. Who would want to kill him?”

“Well,
he
may have Alzheimer’s, but the people who want to kill him have long memories.”

“I hear you. It’s under control.”

“How big is this ranch?”

“Pretty big. About seven hundred acres.”

“How many Secret Service guarded it when he was there as President?”

“About a hundred.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. There were six today. We’re trying to get another dozen up there. The Secret Service office here in L.A. isn’t big. None of our offices are big. We get the manpower from the local police and from Washington when we need it.”

Kate didn’t seem so hot to trot now and asked Lisa, “Why don’t you use the FBI?”

Lisa replied, “There are FBI on their way from Ventura. But they’ll be posted near Santa Barbara. That’s the closest town. We can’t have non–Secret Service actually
on
the ranch who don’t understand our modus operandi. People can get hurt.”

Kate pointed out, “But if you don’t have enough people, then the person you’re protecting can get hurt.”

She didn’t reply.

I asked, “Why don’t you get him out of there and into a safe location?”

Lisa looked around again and said, “Look, this is not considered a highly credible threat. But to answer your questions, there’s only one narrow winding road into those mountains, and it’s ambush heaven. The lighted presidential helipad is no longer there, but even if it were, the mountains are totally socked in with fog tonight, like they are most nights this time of year.”

“Jesus. Whose idea was this?”

“You mean to go to Rancho del Cielo? I don’t know. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time.” She added, “Understand that this man, despite his past job, is a sick old man who hasn’t been in the public eye for ten years. He hasn’t done or said anything that would make him a target of assassination. In fact, we log more death threats against the White House pets than we do against this former President. I understand that the situation has possibly changed, and we’ll react to that. Meanwhile, we’ve got three heads of state visiting L.A., two of whom are hated by half the world, and we’re stretched pretty thin. We don’t want to lose a visiting head of state from a friendly country, even if they are not nice people. I don’t want to sound cold and heartless, but let’s face it, Ronald Reagan is not that important.”

“I think he is to Nancy. The kids. Look, Lisa, there’s a psychological downside to having a former President whacked. Bad for morale. You know? Not to mention your job. So, try to get your bosses to take this seriously.”

“We take it very seriously. We’re doing all we can at the moment.”

“Also, this presents an opportunity to capture the number one terrorist in America.”

“We understand that. But understand that this theory of yours is not getting much play.”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn everyone.”

“We appreciate the warning.”

I opened the car door, and Lisa asked us, “Are you going there?”

I replied, “No. Not in the mountains, in the dark. And we have to be in D.C. tomorrow. Hey, thanks.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m with you on this.”

“See you at the Senate inquest.”

I got into the car, and Kate was already behind the wheel. She pulled out of the parking area and onto the driveway. The gates opened automatically, and we moved out onto St. Cloud Road. Kate asked me, “Where to?”

“The Ranch in the Sky.”

“Why did I even ask?”

Off we went to Rancho del Cielo. But first, we had to get out of Santa Bel Air, and it took a while to get to a freeway entrance.

Kate asked me, “I already know the answer, but tell me why we’re going to the Reagan ranch.”

“Because ninety percent of life is just showing up.”

“Try again.”

“We have six hours to kill before our dawn flight. Might as well try to kill Asad Khalil while we’re killing time.”

She took a deep breath, smelling the flowers, I guess. She asked me, “And you think Khalil knows that Reagan is there, and that Khalil intends to kill him there. Right?”

“I think Khalil intended to kill Reagan in Bel Air, got some new information from someone when he got to California, had Aziz Rahman drive him north from Santa Monica to check out the terrain around the Reagan ranch, and to ditch his overnight bag that probably contained the Glocks and his false identity papers in a canyon. It fits, it makes sense, and if I’m wrong, I’m really in the wrong business.”

She thought a moment, then said, “Okay, I’m with you on this, for better or for worse. That’s what commitment is all about.”

“Absolutely.”

“And commitment is reciprocal.”

“Hey, I’d take a bullet for you.”

She looked at me, and we made eye contact in the dark car. She saw I was serious, and neither of us said the obvious, which was we might be about to find out. She did say, “Me, too.”

Finally, she found the freeway entrance, and we got on, heading north on the San Diego Freeway. I asked her, “Do you know where the ranch is?”

“Somewhere in the Santa Inez Mountains near Santa Barbara.”

“Where’s Santa Barbara?”

“North of Ventura, south of Goleta.”

“Got it. How long will it take?”

“Maybe two hours to Santa Barbara, depending on the fog. I don’t know how to get to the ranch from there, but we’ll find out.”

“You want me to drive?”

“No.”

“I can drive.”

“I know how to drive, and I know the roads. Go to sleep.”

“I’m having too much fun. Hey, if you want, we can stop at the Ventura office for body armor.”

“I’m not anticipating a shoot-out. In fact, when we get to the ranch, we’ll be politely asked to leave, just as we were in Bel Air. The Secret Service are very protective of their own turf.” She added, “Especially with FBI involvement.”

“I can relate to that.”

She said, “We are not going to be given a piece of this, but if you want to be close to any possible action, then we’re headed the right way.”

“That’s all I want. Call the Ventura office later and find out where the FBI folks are posted in Santa Barbara.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, this is a nice road. Really beautiful country here. Reminds me of those old cowboy movies. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Tom Mix.”

“Never heard of them.”

We drove on awhile, and I noticed it was 1:15 A.M. Long day.

We came to an interchange. To the east was Burbank and to the west Route 101, the Ventura Freeway, which Kate took. She said, “We’re not taking the coast road this time because it may be fogged in. This is faster.”