Wildfire Run (3 page)

MARYLAND, FIFTEEN MILES WEST OF CAMP DAVID

“Dad, you don't even
have to start work until tomorrow. Why do we have to get there so early today?” Only minutes after the earthquake, Callie's dad had rushed her down to the motel parking lot to wait for their ride to Camp David.

“I want us to have the whole day to get settled, and ease my way in with the Navy chef. I don't know how he will feel about my taking over his kitchen for the next week.”

Callie knew her dad was excited. Back at the President's ranch in Colorado, his chef talents went mostly unused. The President and his
family didn't get there much anymore, just once or twice a year. The new job as the President's assistant chef was such a big promotion, her dad said he would be crazy not to take it.

When he told her about it, Callie was mad enough to scream. She didn't want to leave her horse, Hania, or her dog, Kele, and the ranch where she had lived all her life, for a city and a school full of kids she didn't know. After days of arguing, they settled on a compromise: Callie would go to Camp David for the week, and then start school in Washington, D.C. If she hated it, and she knew she would, her dad had promised she could go back to the ranch and stay with her aunt Kate, the President's housekeeper.

“When you see the First Lady, remember to thank her for arranging for you to come with me.”

“I will,” Callie said, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder and grabbing her jacket. She knew the First Lady felt sorry for her because her mom had died, even though Callie couldn't even remember her mom. Mrs. Brockett always smiled and looked so perfect, it was scary. She wore dresses all the time, and high heels and makeup. Callie thought she should feel sorry for the First Lady, not the other way around.

Callie twisted her braid, wishing she had pinned it up off her neck. It was already too hot. Her hair was straight and shiny black, and she hoped the single braid made her look more Hopi than she really was, only one-quarter Native American. At least she was something interesting, more than Luke Brockett, whatever he was besides blond and rich.

It was hard to remember now how they had been best friends when they were little kids, back when Luke lived at the ranch. Last time he visited, he had hardly talked to her. All he wanted to do was play some online space game. She finally convinced him to go riding, and even let him ride Hania, but then he had fallen off the horse and yelled at her when she laughed. She hadn't really been laughing at him; she was laughing at the look on Hania's face. The horse looked like she had planned to make Luke fall off.

The Secret Service agents got mad at Callie too. She didn't know Luke wasn't supposed to ride unless one of the agents went along. After he got up off the ground, he had just stomped off like he was some sort of royalty while an agent lectured her. They hadn't spoken since. Callie checked her pocket for the rock she had brought
from home. It was a silvery galena, the shiniest she had ever found. If Luke was back to acting normal, she might just give it to him. Even he would be impressed by it.

“I thought you said it was green in the mountains,” Callie said as an ovenlike breeze hit her face. Her dad always made it sound as if anything east of the Mississippi was some sort of paradise, but the grass and trees were almost as brown as the plants around the ranch in the summer.

“Must be the heat spell. Camp David is higher up. It will be greener there,” her dad said. “Didn't Aunt Kate buy you some sneakers to wear instead of your cowboy boots?” Her dad pointed at her red ostrich-print boots. “I don't know anything about fashion, but I don't think kids out east wear cowboy boots, especially not with shorts.”

Callie looked down at her boots. They were just a little scruffy, but they were broken in and comfortable. “She did, but I like these better.”

“I just want you to make some friends at your new school.”

“What do cowboy boots have to do with that?”

“Nothing, I guess.” Her dad gave her braid a little tug.

Callie heard a faint squeak from under one of
the bushes. She looked down and saw a small kitten crouched on the ground. It was black all over, fluffy, soft kitten fuzz. Even its whiskers were black. The only color came from its blue-green eyes.

“Hey, you, what's wrong?” Callie reached down through the leaves and picked up the kitten. It was so small, it couldn't have been more than five or six weeks old. It hissed and bit her finger with little teeth hardly sharper than a pencil point.

“Calm down, tough guy. Dad, look, I found a kitten.” She held it up.

“The mother is probably close by,” he said, busy scanning the parking lot for the car. “Put it back where you found it.”

“But, Dad, the poor thing is so skinny. I think it's lost. Can I keep him?”

“No! You can't take a kitten to Camp David. Go give him to the lady at the reception desk. She'll do something with him.”

“Okay,” Callie said, knowing it was useless to argue with him.

“I'll wait out here,” he said. “Take the kitten inside, but hurry.”

When Callie opened the door to the lobby, she saw a woman with blond pouffy hair talking on
the phone. The woman wore too much pink lipstick and she had squinty eyes. She looked like a cat hater.

The woman didn't notice her. The kitten mewed again and started to lick Callie's hand. It was so little the scratchy tongue felt like a tickle. Callie looked back to the entrance. Her dad was turned toward the parking lot. She pulled her jacket on and put the kitten in the pocket, closing her hand around its little body.

“Be quiet now and everything will be all right,” Callie whispered as she went back outside.

The gusting wind confused
the deer. The smell of the smoke came from too many different directions, and they didn't know which way to run. They turned to the north. A bear, rooting for grubs in a fallen log, saw them. Sniffing the air, he shifted his head from side to side, and the scent of the fire came to him. He started after the deer, then stopped, knowing that way would take him too close to humans. He headed toward his den, craving its safety.

PRESIDENTIAL LODGE, CAMP DAVID

In the dining room,
Luke poured the maple syrup over his pancake until the syrup ran over the edges and covered the plate.

“That's a lot of syrup,” Theo said. “My mom would have a harpy fit if she saw that. She's on a major no-sugar kick.”

“It's maple syrup, not sugar. Besides, your mom's not here. Take as much as you want.” They were by themselves, surrounded by enough pancakes and sausages and eggs and pastries for ten people. Luke's dad and everybody else were too busy to eat.

Theo held the syrup bottle up high and poured a stream down, not quite covering his entire pancake. “It looks like a giant blob engulfing a planet.” He picked up his fork and stabbed at the syrup at different spots on the plate.

“Planet destruction commencing.” Luke stuffed a big bite into his mouth. “Wait until Chef Lansa gets here. His pancakes are even better than these.”

“Oh, you mean that girl's dad. Is she going to follow us around all the time, or will we be able to do stuff without her?” Theo asked.

Luke groaned. “I don't think she's going to want to hang around us much.” He wished his mom hadn't arranged for Callie to come. His mom didn't know they had stopped being friends. Last time he saw Callie at the ranch, she purposely teased him to get up on that crazy horse and then laughed when the horse tried to brush him off against the fence. He wouldn't have fallen off if he hadn't been trying to keep his leg from being squashed. Callie probably taught the horse to do that herself. Now he felt stupid that he had yelled at her and then stomped off, but he wished she wouldn't always rub in the fact she could always do everything better than he could.

Just as Luke was reaching for his milk, the emergency siren went off again, the wail so loud it felt like it was inside his head. His hand jerked in midreach, knocking the glass over. He stood up, the chair falling over behind him.

“What's going on?” Theo asked.

Adam was in the room in seconds. “Luke, relax. Stay put until we know what's going on.”

Luke took hold of the table, trying to breathe. Theo gave him a funny look and picked up the glass, even though the milk had already soaked through the tablecloth.

Isabelle came in. “System glitches, according to security ops. When the earthquake happened, some of the…uh…automatic sensors were thrown off, and the high winds are an issue.” She looked at Theo like she had given away some big secret.

“How do they know for sure? They haven't had time to check everything out. They can't just assume it's all because of the earthquake,” Luke said.

“They're not just assuming that,” Adam said. “Everybody is doing their jobs step by step, running through checklists, but I'm sure everything is earthquake related.”

“Sounds logical.” Theo cut up more pancake. “Come on, Luke, Let's finish.”

Luke tried to figure out which sensors were goofed up. The newest ones were part of a high-tech defense system, the IPDS, somewhere in the woods. He had overheard his dad talking to one of the agents about it. Once the system was triggered it sent out a special kind of ray that would cause extreme pain to anyone trying to get through the woods to the inner circle of buildings. His dad thought it was too much, and they were safe enough with the Marines, but Luke liked the idea of something besides fences and soldiers keeping the bad guys out.

“Is it the inner perimeter defense system in the woods? The IPDS? Is something wrong with that?” Luke asked.

From the expression on Isabelle's face, Luke could tell she was surprised he knew about it.

Adam sighed. “We'll talk later about where you get your information, which, remember, may not be accurate. We're not going to talk about anything specific right now.”

“It's probably not that, though,” Luke said, trying to see if he would get a reaction. “I bet the earthquake would affect the buildings more. It's
the lacing in some of the walls, isn't it? Some of the wires broke and the sensors detected it like someone is trying to break through.”

Isabelle opened her mouth, but Adam spoke first. “Who knows? It could be anything. Did you tell Theo about the old secret door that used to be in one of the cabins?”

Luke knew Adam was trying to get him away from spilling any more security secrets. He wasn't supposed to know about the electric lacing either, but when he had seen some of the soldiers working inside Aspen, the presidential lodge, he figured it out. They had taken off part of the paneling and were checking a spiderweb of wiring underneath it, way more than the wiring needed for electrical outlets.

“A secret door?” Theo asked. “What was it used for?” He was looking around as if he expected to find it.

“Don't get too excited. It's not here anymore. The President who had it built was in a wheel-chair. I can't remember his name.” Luke looked at Adam.

“Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” Adam said.

“Right. Anyway, he was really scared of fire, so they built a secret door in the wall of his bed
room he could open with a rope. I would have used it just to freak out the Secret Service. You know, sneak out and come around through the front door,” Luke said, knowing this would get a rise out of Adam.

“Hilarious,” Adam said, shaking his head. “Just a word of advice—don't ever climb out the window and try pulling a stunt like that.”

“I know it wouldn't work. Some motion sensor would trigger as soon as I opened the window.”

“Smart kid,” Adam said. “I have good news. We're cleared to stay, and we're also cleared to go outside, as long as we stay in the inner zone.”

“I think we should work on the robot in the tree house. Okay, Theo? It's really big and we can spread out.”

“Nice,” Theo said. “Can we take some doughnuts with us?”

“Sure, what kind?”

“How about the ones with chocolate frosting?”

Luke grabbed a huge napkin and piled doughnuts on it. “Come on. Let's go make the most amazing robot Camp David has ever seen.”

HAGERSTOWN, MARYLAND

The SUV that pulled
into the motel parking lot was just like the ones at the President's ranch, black, shiny, and spotless, as if specks of dust didn't dare land on it. The Secret Service agent driving it wore the typical dark suit and sunglasses, and Callie thought he must be roasting in the heat. She was roasting in her own jacket, but she was afraid to take it off in front of anyone, in case the kitten tried to get out. The man got out of the car and shook her father's hand.

“You must be Charlie Lansa. I'm Warren Erickson,” he said. “We met last year in Colorado. I
remember you make a mean enchilada.”

That made Callie's dad smile.

“And you must be Callie.” The man held out his hand to her.

Callie's right hand was still in her pocket around the kitten, trying to hold the pocket far enough open so the kitten could get some air but not be seen. She eased her hand out, hoping the cat wouldn't squeak. Little cat hairs stuck to her palm, which was all sweaty from the heat. She gave the agent's hand one shake, drawing her own hand back as quickly as she could.

“Let's get your luggage in,” Agent Erickson said, opening up the back gate of the car. “It's about a twenty-minute ride.”

Callie kept the backpack with her and climbed into the backseat, adjusting her jacket and the seat belt so it wouldn't press against the kitten, who was purring softly now.

As they were driving out of town, Callie's dad said, “Did you feel the earthquake? We were surprised.”

“I just heard it was tremors spreading all the way from a big earthquake in Missouri,” the agent said. “It's a major disaster there. As soon
as we get back to Camp David, we'll be able to get more details.”

Callie hoped their cabin didn't have a television. After anything horrible happened, it was scary to see it replayed over and over for days afterward.

Her dad spoke up, and Callie knew he was trying to change the subject away from the earthquake, so she wouldn't dwell on it. “Looks like this area hasn't seen rain in months.”

“We've hardly seen a drop of rain all summer.” The agent turned up the air conditioner. Callie wasn't surprised the talk had turned to weather, though she never understood why adults spent so much time jabbering about it. “I'm afraid we're going to lose some trees. It's way too dry. Have you ever been to Camp David, Chef Lansa?”

“No, I've never been there, so this will be a real treat, right, Callie?”

“Right,” Callie said, knowing the expected answer.

“There's a lot of history there. President Roosevelt used the camp first, and he called it Shangri La. President Eisenhower changed the name to Camp David in the 1950s. He named it for his grandson. Supposedly, any president can
change the name if they want, but no one has since then.”

Great. Any day now, Callie thought, the newspapers would announce Camp David had been renamed Camp Luke.

Agent Erickson gave a huge sneeze. “Excuse me,” he said. He sneezed again. “Callie, I know you have been on the ranch when the President is there, but I'd like to go over the rules again.”

“I know the rules,” Callie said. “If a Secret Service agent tells me not to do something, I'm supposed to listen and obey, just like at the ranch.”

“Callie,” her dad said, “you need to listen now.”

“We'll arrange a tour later,” the agent continued, “but there's a staff pool, and even a bowling alley. It's easy to find everything. Most of the buildings are clustered together, either on the main road, or right off it on the smaller access drives. Any building with a guard in front of it is obviously off-limits.”

Callie wanted to say, “Duh,” but she knew her dad would get mad. Agent Erickson must think she had the brains of a five-year-old.

“Guests at Camp David can use the woodland trails inside the fence at certain times. If you are
on the trails, you don't want to wander off into the woods.” Agent Erickson looked back over his shoulder, probably to see if she was paying attention. “Believe me, you don't want to startle a Marine guard in the woods. I understand you're friends with Luke Brockett.”

“Um, sort of.” The kitten was licking her finger again and Callie tried not to laugh.

“Of course, Luke knows all the rules. He'll know where you can and can't go.” Warren sneezed three times in a row.

“Excuse me again,” he said.

“Sounds like allergies,” Callie's dad said.

“Shouldn't be allergies. I'm not allergic to anything but cats.”

“I picked up a cat outside the motel,” Callie said quickly. “Maybe some of its fur got on my clothes.”

Warren sniffed. “That's probably it. I just can't stand cats.”

The kitten gave a tiny meow, so Callie pretended to cough. She pulled her camera out of her backpack. There wasn't much to see, but at least the clicking of the shutter might cover any sounds from the kitten.

The agent frowned in the rearview mirror.
“That camera will have to stay in your cabin,” he said. “You can't take photos at Camp David.”

“What if I show you all the pictures I take before I leave?” Callie asked. Now that the camera was in her hands, she knew she couldn't put it away for a week. It went with her everywhere, because she never knew when a good shot would appear. “You can delete all the ones you want. I won't take any pictures of buildings.”

“Well, maybe,” he said. “Even if we get permission, though, you can't take even one picture of Luke Brockett. That is absolutely against the rules.”

“No problem.” She didn't want to take pictures of Luke! “Could I take a few pictures before we get there? Out of the window, I mean. My aunt Kate wanted me to e-mail her lots of pictures.”

“That's fine, but we will be in the restricted area in just a minute.”

The SUV turned onto a road marked with a sign:
CATOCTIN MOUNTAIN PARK
. Callie snapped pictures of everything, even if nothing seemed very interesting. They passed two people dressed for hiking.

Agent Erickson motioned at the hikers and slowed the car as the road narrowed. “Camp
David is located in a national park, so even outside the fence we are surrounded by woods.”

A black shape appeared in the camera's viewfinder. Callie tried to make out what it was. It was moving, but not as fast as the car. She held down the zoom button.

“It's a bear! I see a bear!” she yelled.

“Where?” Agent Erickson braked as if afraid the bear was in front of the car.

“There, over there, in the forest.” The bear was moving fast, his big body swaying from side to side. “He's gone,” Callie said, lowering the camera and turning off the shutter. “Wow! I can't see it anymore. That was great.”

“You were lucky,” Agent Erickson said. “There aren't that many in this part of Maryland.” The car moved forward again.

Callie shifted around, trying to put the camera away and take off her jacket without hurting the kitten. She positioned the pocket and the kitten in her lap. When she leaned over to peek in, her braid dangled down and the kitten stuck a paw out to bat at it.

Agent Erickson sneezed again. Startled, Callie hid the kitten's paw.

The road became steeper until they came to a
wooden fence covered with vines. Two security cameras were mounted on either side of a big wooden gate.

“It's just like the ranch,” Callie said. “I bet the electric fence is inside this one.”

“You're right. This fence is meant to blend in with the surroundings and warn off anybody who might get this close. I'm glad you're old enough to know to stay away from the electric fence. When the President is in residence we don't turn off the fence, and that's why we usually don't let staff children up here.”

The wooden gate opened and Agent Erickson drove the car through, stopping before a much more imposing metal gate. On either side of it were thick chain-link sections held in place by concrete pillars. A guard with a dog came forward. Callie saw another guard watching them from a gatehouse inside the fence. The gatehouse looked more like the visitor center in the state park than a top-security checkpoint.

“Morning, Agent Erickson.” The guard peered at them through the window. “You must be Charlie and Callie Lansa.”

The dog kept sniffing around the car, looking for bombs. The same thing happened at the
ranch every time a car came to the gatehouse when the President was there. The kitten gave a faint squeak and the dog looked up, alert, his ears pointed forward.

“Is that a German shepherd? What's its name?” Callie asked loudly, trying to drown out the kitten. She already knew it wasn't a shepherd, because the agents at the ranch used the same breed as this one. Her dad looked at her strangely.

“He's a Belgian Malinois named Vulcan,” the guard said. Luckily the dog was well trained. He knew she had the kitten, but since finding cats wasn't his job, he moved on.

Callie prayed he, if the kitten was a he, would stay quiet long enough to get to the cabin. Once they were inside Camp David, it was hard to imagine anyone would kick a kitten out. She knew Luke had a dog, even though Comet had never been brought to the ranch. He was always on the First Family's holiday cards trying to look cute, and he even had his own page on the White House website. What kind of dog needed his own web page?

“Callie, are you listening to me?” her dad said.

“What?”

“Once we put our stuff down, I want to go
shopping with the agent on duty to see what's available. You'll be okay for a bit?”

Callie knew her dad was talking about the same routine they followed at the ranch. The Secret Service agents accompanied a staff person who did the grocery shopping, never going to the same store twice in a row, to keep the President's food safe from tampering.

“Sure, Dad, I'll be fine.” Callie was relieved. With her dad gone, it would be easier to find a spot to hide the kitten, until she could find a good time to ask to keep him.

The sniffer dog barked. Startled, Callie huddled down in the seat.

“Is there a problem?” Agent Erickson asked.

“No, I don't know what's gotten into the dog,” the guard said. “He's been acting jumpy all morning. Guess it was the earthquake, but I'm surprised he's still worked up. You're all clear.”