The Rivalry Read Online Free PDF Page B

cadet uniform is hardly a problem, is it?” Kelleher said.
    “Not a problem at all,” Dowling said. “Unless he’s not just some kid.”
    “Ah,” Kelleher said. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
    Dowling shrugged. “In one sense, it’s routine—we’re trained on how to prepare for both big and small events. In another sense, it’s never routine when the president leaves the White House.”
    “Do you get a lot of threats?” Stevie asked.
    Dowling nodded. “All the time,” he said. “Especially with this president because there are still some idiots who can’t deal with the idea of an African American being president. But we don’t really worry about those much.”
    “Why not?” Stevie asked.
    “Because,” Dowling said, “if you really want to attack the president, you don’t tell the people protecting him that you’re planning to do it.”

GAME DAY: 2 HOURS, 26 MINUTES TO KICKOFF
    S tevie’s first thought when Pete Dowling said they had to go get a gun was that, for some reason, he didn’t have his own gun. He could see the shoulder holster inside his jacket but not the actual gun.
    “No, I’ve got it,” Dowling said as they walked off the field, opening his jacket so Stevie could see the gun inside the holster. “I’d actually be breaking the law if I was on duty and not wearing it. But only Secret Service agents are armed today.
No one
else carries any kind of weapon into the stadium.”
    “Not even the local police?” Stevie asked.
    “Nope,” Dowling said. “Anyone who is armed is working outside. We’re after a different kind of gun—one that the officials will use to signal the end of each quarter.”
    “Really? I thought there was a horn or that the refs blew their whistles,” said Stevie.
    “Yes, you’re right, most teams have switched to that. But
not
Army-Navy. Because of the military tradition, they still shoot a gun, and at the end of the game they fire a cannon.”
    “So where do we go?” Stevie asked.
    “Come on, I’ll show you.”
    They walked outside the stadium, causing Stevie to wonder if he would have to endure another prolonged security check when they went back inside. There were several unmarked trailers in this corner of the parking lot, each with someone who was wearing the Secret Service “uniform”—dark suit, sunglasses, wire coming out of one ear—posted at the entrances.
    Dowling walked up to one of the trailers, and the agent posted at the bottom of the steps wordlessly moved aside for him and for Stevie. Dowling was more effective than an all-access pass.
    The trailer was full of agents sitting at computers, sipping coffee, talking on cell phones. Stevie followed Dowling into a back room, where an attractive woman was seated at a computer.
    “Grace, meet Steve Thomas,” Dowling said. “He’s the young reporter I told you about. Steve, this is Grace Andrade.”
    Grace Andrade stood up to say hello. She looked the way Stevie imagined Susan Carol might look in twentyyears: tall and athletic with long, dark hair and a great smile. “I live here in Washington, so I’ve been reading what you and Ms. Anderson have been writing all week,” she said. “Very impressive.”
    “Thank you,” Stevie said. “We’ve had a lot of help. We appreciate getting to shadow the Secret Service.”
    “You got the gun?” Dowling asked.
    “Right here,” Grace said, picking up a small handgun that had been sitting next to the computer and handing it to Dowling.
    He flipped the cylinder open so Stevie could see inside. “There are four blanks loaded in there.”
    “Hypothetically,” Stevie asked. “Let’s say one of the refs was crazy. Couldn’t he have bullets in his pocket?”
    “He’d never get them inside the stadium today with the metal detectors,” Dowling said. “Plus, you’ve seen how we sweep the stadium for anything suspicious before the game, so he couldn’t hide them in advance either. And third, notice how the