The Feds


I needed a cigarette. I was at the end of the second day of renewing my certification as a high speed cabling designer and had just finished my final exam. There was some time before we started hands-on learning.

I walked down the hall to the hotel lobby and turned the corner to go out to the portico for my well-earned smoke. Parked in front of the large glass double doors was a black car. Not any black car. One of those black cars that exudes importance even though it's just a car. Not just clean and black - shiny black, with a driver sitting patiently behind the wheel.

I went through the doors and fumbled in my shirt pocket for the pack. To my left, parked behind the first, was another car exuding importance. Shiny black, with a driver standing between the car and the open door, resting his arms on the roof. The driver looked at me but didn't make eye contact.

I lit my cigarette. He watched. It was chilly and windy and, without a jacket, I was a bit uncomfortable. I moved to a small inset in the front of the building right behind a large concrete column. He watched.

As I stood there puffing, he stood there looking, so I finally made eye contact and nodded a friendly hello. He nodded back over the top of the car and looked away again. "This is going to be fun," I thought. I knew what was coming. Here in Alexandria, Virginia just south of our nation's capitol, it couldn't be unusual.

The driver walked up to the other car and chatted briefly with the seated driver through the window, alternately looking at me over the roof and back down at the driver. He walked back to his car and continued around behind it, trying painfully to look casual. Now I knew I was right - and it was going to be fun.

He headed my way, his arms down and his hands crossed in front of him. He didn't want me to see the radio he was holding. "Hi," I said as he got within speaking distance.

He finally made eye contact. "How are you, sir?" he asked.

"Chilly," I smiled, "Who are you protecting?" I couldn't resist hammering the question on him.

He looked at me like he was wondering "How the hell did he know that?" I didn't have the heart to tell him how obvious it really was.

"I used to be a police officer," I told him, "And I did some time as a hired gun for an executive protection service. I saw the signs." I could almost feel him breathing a bit easier.

He asked me if I was still in the business and I told him I'd gotten out of it a long time ago. "Didn't like the politics," I said. "I'm down here for some training - just got finished and needed a smoke."

"We're on a training thing too."

"Secret Service?"

"No, Marshall Service, 17 years"

"Must have joined right out of womb," I thought. This guy was young! And he wasn't even standing between me and the door that his mark would come out of. He needed his training!

"Well I have to get back in. You can stand down and relax again," I announced as I put out my cigarette.

"Oh, I'm fine." the Marshall choked as I headed for the door.

Inside the lobby again, I glanced over toward the archway to the restaurant. Two more suits at the arch watching me. "Training? I doubt it." I thought as I headed back to the class.

I'm still wondering....could it have been Monica? The time was right.