Safe in the Lion’s Den Pt. 02

Fifteen minutes later, we were regrouped and ready to head out.

"Turn off your phone and remove the battery." I instructed Portia. "We're going dark."

"But I need to stay in touch." she protested. "No one will be able to reach me."

"That's the point." I replied, "You need to stay alive, and in order for me to ensure that happens, you're going to have to do what I tell you. Now take the battery out and give it to me, please. The first thing anyone is going to do if they are tracking you, is to monitor your phone. I'll give you five minutes to send a message to whoever you need to, to let them know that you are both okay and will be out of touch for a while. Sophia, do have a phone too?"

She shook her head.

"No." she answered. "Mama says I can't have one until I'm twelve. I just borrow hers if I need to look something up. I mostly use a computer at home."

"Well, that's the first thing your mother and I seem to agree on." I said with a smile. "I don't think kids need to be wandering around, staring at their phones all day either. Children need to learn how to speak with their mouths; not their thumbs."

Portia handed me the battery with a frown.

"Here you go, Guy." she said. "Did you take yours out too?"

"Yes, yesterday while I was still over in Arlington." I replied. "That's where I'll put it back in as well. No one is going to be looking at my records, but in the event that they do, it will show a blank spot. There will be no proof that I was ever here. There is nothing to show that you and I ever met.

"By the way, why do you keep calling me Guy?" I inquired. "My name is Jack."

"Isn't that what you call men, here in the States?" she asked. "Like 'Man' or 'Dude?'"

"Only in the Southwest." I responded. "No one around here knows what it means."

"Oh," she said, "sorry. I thought it was kind of funny, your last name being Fawkes and all. I wasn't trying to be rude. I apologize if I insulted you."

"Guy Fawkes." I said dryly. "Do you have any idea how few people in this country know who he was, even if they recognize the name? It's a cute gesture though. I'm not offended. It makes sense now. I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."

"Before you head out," John interjected, "take this phone with you. It's untraceable and it will work almost anywhere. It also has my private cell in the contacts list, so if you run into any problems, use it and I'll send the cavalry. Think of it as your personal Red Line directly to me. I keep mine on 24/7; just like you."

I took the phone - which was similar to the analog folding contractor model that I used - and opened the contacts. I was amused to see the single name listed; "Archangel."

"Cute." I said with a smile, as I closed the phone and dropped it into my pocket. "I'll be in touch."

With that, we got into my vehicle; Portia in the passenger's seat, and Sophia in the back. Since the windows were tinted so dark that no one could see in, I saw no need for them to duck down as we exited the White House grounds.

"God be with you, Jack." John said softly, as we disappeared into DC morning traffic. "It's out of my hands now."

It took a while, but we finally crossed the Potomac River and headed west on I-66, toward the Shenandoah Valley. I retrieved my phone from the case on my belt, and grabbed the battery from the dashboard cubbyhole, where I had stashed it.

"Could you put the battery back in for me, as I'm driving?" I inquired of Portia.

She nodded and took the phone. A few moments later, she handed it back.

"Here you are." she said.

"Thanks." I responded with a smile, taking it from her and putting back into its case.

We drove in an uncomfortable silence for a while; both Portia and myself trying to come up with something to start a conversation. The scenery had changed to rolling countryside, when Portia finally broke the silence.

"So, where are we going?" she inquired, breaking the ice.

"We're going to take this road for another hour or so," I explained. "Then, we'll pick up 81 south for several hours. Then, it's all back roads into the backwoods of Appalachia."

About that time, Sophia - who been dozing in the back seat - popped her head up.

"Skyline Drive 23 miles. What is Skyline Drive, Jack?" she asked inquisitively, reading the overhead sign.

"The Skyline Drive turns into the Blue Ridge Parkway about a hundred miles or so to our left." I explained. "Together, they form the longest and thinnest national park in the world. It's a two lane road that runs along the ridge tops all the way down to Cherokee, North Carolina. It's incredibly scenic."

"Does it go where we're going?" Portia inquired.

I was surprised at her question, but nodded.

"Yes, sort of. We'll actually come back across it again, after we get off of 81." I replied. "Why?"

"Is it shorter?" she prodded, as if she perceived it as a potential shortcut.

"Well yeah, on paper," I answered, "but it's all windy, and the speed limit is only 45. I suppose if you were walking it might be shorter, but by car, it's much faster to take the interstates as much as possible. The speed limit is 70, and with these rosa-blanca.ru, I can go a lot faster than that."

"Is time an issue?" she asked politely.

I was beginning to understand where she was going with this, so I looked at her and shook my head.

"No it isn't." I admitted. "And driving at least two thirds of the trip inside the confines of a national park is probably safer than driving out on the interstate anyway, and we have all the time in the world. My job is to protect you wherever we happen to be. If you want to take the scenic route instead, that's fine with me. What do you say, Sophia? Would you like to ride along the mountaintops, and see a beautiful cavern and a famous mill along the way?"

"May we, Mama?" Sophie chattered excitedly.

"Ask Captain Jack Sparrow." Portia responded. "He's the commander of this ironclad vessel, not me."

I glanced over at her, and saw the faintest of twitches at the corners of her mouth. This time, I picked up on her dry sense of humor. It WAS Guy Fawkes after all!

"More like Captain Morgan." I said, looking over at her and giving her a shit eating grin. "I probably shouldn't have drunk that bottle of it before breakfast."

I feigned like I was swooning, and swerved a few times. To my surprise, Portia picked up on the joke and started laughing. It was nice to see her laugh. She actually had a really pretty smile, which accented her facial features. The lightheartedness quickly faded though, as the flash of red and blue LED lights in the rear view mirror caught my attention, followed by the staccato-like "BROOOOOOP!" of a quick push on the yelp button of a Whelen siren system.

I immediately applied my right turn signal and pulled to the side of the road, turning on my four ways and rolling down all of the windows to not only expose the interior, but to also mask the fact that the windows were now tinted beyond civilian limits, although the G tag (what y'all refer to as a license plate up North) negated any tinting ordinances. There was no use in drawing his attention to anything else. At least, that's how it was supposed to go. I had no clue that Barney Fife had moved to the next state over and applied with the Virginia State Police.

"What's wrong?!" Portia inquired nervously. "Are we in trouble?"

She was obviously used to other countries' police forces, including her own military police; the no-bullshit Carabinieri that you see patrolling the airports in movies wearing black BDUs and carrying MP5 submachine guns.

"No, we aren't in trouble, Mercedes." I replied. "He probably saw me swerve back there, and thinks I'm drunk. He should let me off for the tag alone, but with my ID, no worries. Keep your hands on the dash, as I have a gun in the car, and don't say anything unless I say it's okay."

I kept my hands on the steering wheel, as the trooper approached the car.

"Hey Brother!" I hollered in greeting, at the reflection in my side mirror. "Please be advised that there is a loaded 9mm on the side of the console (which is EXACTLY what I say and do in real life, BTW)."

He responded by placing his hand on his hip as a precaution, as he came up alongside me.

"Where is it?" he asked somewhat brusquely.

I pointed with my right hand, and he relaxed a bit.

"Okay, just keep your hands where I can see them." he stated authoritatively. "You were swerving a bit back there. You know why I pulled you over, right?"

I nodded.

"Of course." I replied. "But I can assure you that I've had nothing to drink in quite some time, and we were all just laughing at a joke. I swerved like I was drunk, and that made them laugh. I do apologize, Brother. It's all entirely my fault."

At that moment, darling little Sophia decided to help me out, by explaining her view of things to the state trooper.

"He drank a bottle of Captain Morgan before breakfast." she announced. "That's why he was swerving. It wasn't his fault, Sir."

Out of the mouths of babes, right? The trooper eyed me suspiciously, and I smiled.

"That was part of the joke." I explained.

I turned and looked over my shoulder at my young passenger. "Sophia, Sweetheart, remember what I said about not speaking?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then please stop. Thank you."

Sophia crossed her arms and reclined back in the seat.

"Fine!" she huffed indignantly. "I was just trying to help."

"So, why don't you tell me about this little joke of yours, regarding your drinking a bottle of rum for breakfast?" the trooper suggested.

He was doing his best to keep a straight face, and I have to admit that it was actually funny as hell, the way everything was looking. I knew everything would be fine, but there is still always that slight bit of apprehension at first, in the event things go south for some unforeseen reason.

"So, my name is Jack." I explained, reaching out the window.

The trooper shook my hand and nodded.

"Bill." he replied.

"Jack Fawkes, actually." I continued. "So instead of Jack Fawkes, she calls me Guy instead, as a joke."

Bill looked at Portia.

"Are you from the Southwest, Ma'am?" he inquired.

"See, I told you it was a West Coast thing." I said, looking at Portia and rolling my eyes. "No, she is not from the Southwest. She's from Europe. So, the joke was, that she was calling me Guy Fawkes."

"Who's Guy Fawkes?" Bill asked.

"It's not really important." I replied. "Just a guy from history. So then, she called me Jack Sparrow."

Bill stared at me blankly.

"Because my name is Jack." I explained, completely ruining the joke. "So then I said, 'No; more like Captain Morgan. By the way, I drank a bottle of it before breakfast.' That's when I swerved like I was driving drunk, and you immediately lit me up. Sophia here, was kind enough to only tell you that last part."

"That's why you called me Mercedes!" Portia laughed. "I get it now."

"I don't." Bill said with a slight frown.

"Because her name is Portia." I responded.

"Like the car?"

I was beginning to get annoyed, because it should never have lasted this long. The kid must be fairly new, so I decided to give him a quick lesson in how to let a fellow brother or sister get back on the road without any additional fanfare.

"No," I said firmly, my voice getting deeper and more authoritative, "like the prime minister."

"I don't understand." Bill said, his composure faltering. "What prime minister?"

"I'm reaching for my ID." I stated. "I'm a federal agent."

I pulled my credentials from the cigarette pocket on my shirt and opened the ID case, displaying my badge and ID. Bill stared at it for a few seconds, his jaw dropping open.

"Special Agent Jack Fawkes." he read. "P-presidential Detail?! What is that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." I said curtly. "Like I could put a cap in someone and walk Scot-free. So could Miss Ferrari over there. She and her daughter both have diplomatic immunity. How long have you been a trooper, Bill?"

"I got released last month." he admitted.

"We're like, an hour outside of DC." I lectured him in a tone much more authoritative than his. "This vehicle has G62 rosa-blanca.ru on it, Son. Fully blacked out windows. Don't ever pull one over, unless you're DAMNED well certain that the driver is whacked out and in danger of harming someone. You ran the tag. Don't you know that none of these G rosa-blanca.ru come back to the actual vehicle it's on?"

"My plate reader said it belonged on a Ford Bronco. I thought that meant it was a stolen plate. That's why I pulled you over." he said defensively.

"Bill," I said as patiently as I could muster, "you have a lot to learn. You see, Uncle Sam has a bigger sense of humor than even Portia Carrera over there, has. What did the tag come back to?"

"A white Ford Bronco, registered in Denver Colorado." he answered.

"You mean a white Denver Bronco." I explained. "Get it? Bureaucrats have waaaay too much time on ther hands."

Bill looked uncomfortable.

"Don't ever pull over a vehicle with G rosa-blanca.ru unless you witness it in the commission of a crime." I explained flatly. "Quite often, they are transporting federal witnesses or prisoners, and it might be interpreted as an attempted attack. Now, are we free to go?"

Bill remained silent, apparently mulling all of this over in his head.

"Don't fuck this up, Trooper." I continued. "Are we free to go?"

He finally nodded.

"Yes Sir. Have a blessed day. And be safe."

"You as well." I replied, as I rolled up the windows and accelerated back up the highway.

"Portia Carrera!" Portia finally burst out laughing, as we regained speed. "That was the funniest one yet. I actually own one of those. That made it even funnier."

"Must be nice." I replied.

It wasn't meant as an insult, just an observation; but she took it personally for some reason, which initiated another awkward silence for several minutes, until I exited the interstate at what appeared to be a rather busy area. There were multiple gas stations, restaurants and hotels, so I figured it was a good place to fuel up, hit the restrooms and get some snacks for the scenic drive southward.

"Where are we?" she inquired. "Isn't the Sky-high Drive still ahead?"

I chortled at her remark, but quickly regained my composure, as I turned onto the main drag.

"We're going to be taking back roads from here on out." I responded. "I want to top off the tank, use the restroom and maybe find a few things to help disguise who you are."

I turned into a quickie mart/gas station chain which rhymes with beets, and pulled up to one of the pumps. I turned the car off and looked at Portia.

"I need to make you look more American." I stated. "I realize things are a bit different in Europe, but that pants suit and those over-sized sunglasses make you look like Madonna trying to go unnoticed in Hollywood. Seriously, no one here wears a pants suit, except for politicians -- speak of the devil -- or very entitled people that we refer to as 'Karens.' Once I get you home, I'll take you shopping, but for now, I'll have to work with what I have."

Now, I own three pair of sunglasses. Cool, right? There is of course, a reason for stating this. The first is a pair of orangey-brown polarized lenses that I wear while driving, as it reduces the amount of glare - particularly in areas of alternating light and shadow - as well as the reflection of the dashboard in the windshield. They are functional, but not cool. They get the job done, plain and simple. I also have two pair of "cool" shades that I will wear in public, depending on the situation. Of these, the first is a set of mirrored aviators (which I should have put on when I got pulled over, for that over the top cop look), and the other is a sweet set of wraparounds.

Aviator style sunglasses are over-sized for most people, but still add an air of authority; particularly when the lenses are mirrored in either gold or silver coatings. This is why they are favored by many law enforcement officers. I wear them when in uniform or wearing a business suit. In this case, they would appear even larger on Portia's small face (she is literally 5'0"), so I opened my set of wraparounds and placed them on her face instead.

"Big difference!" I exclaimed. "Hang on, I have a ball cap here somewhere..."

I fished around for a few seconds, and produced a baseball cap style hat which had been thrust through my car window, while attempting to avoid a major "street rally" a few years ago. I had put it in the center console and forgotten about it until now.

"Put this on." I instructed, handing her the hat.

Portia donned the baseball cap and looked at me. Her look had changed significantly, but her hair still poofed out behind her.

"Pull your hair through the hole in the back." I suggested. "Like a ponytail."

Portia obliged, and looked back at me inquisitively.

"Perfect!" I exclaimed. "We'll still have to do something with that pants suit though."

"I have other clothes with me." she explained. "I'm just used to wearing these in public. It was what you call, force of habit that I put it on."

I smiled at her.

"Grab a change of clothes and take them in." I suggested. "I'll wait outside the door, to make sure nothing happens to you, okay?"

Portia smiled back.

"Okay, Guy." she replied.

Ten minutes later, we were headed back out. Portia had swapped her tacky pants suit for a nice blouse, slim fit jeans and a pair of flats. She actually looked pretty hot, but I tried not to notice, as it was my job to protect; not ogle her.

"You look nice." I said with a smile. "And much more American."

"Thanks." she replied. "I feel more American too."

I chuckled at her remark, when something caught my attention. Across the way, was one of those eyeglass chains that specialized in quick service. I had an idea, so I turned into the parking lot and headed in that direction.

"What's up?" Portia inquired, trying to sound even more American.

I'll have to admit, she was trying. When I first met her, I took her for a snobby bitch, but I was beginning to see that her public persona was a bit of a facade. Maybe this wasn't going to be so challenging after all.

"Glasses can change a person's look significantly." I explained, as I pulled into a parking space. "I'd like to get you a pair to wear in public. It's a subtle change, but I think will help."

She shrugged in response.

"Okay Guy, if you say so." she agreed.

We went inside, and a young woman approached us.

"Good morning." she greeted us. "My name is Mikki. May I help you?"

"I'd like to get her a pair of glasses." I explained. "Something stylish and current, yet not something stupid looking, like Elton John glasses in bright red or green. And definitely NOT those heavy narrow frames that were so popular about ten years ago. Something that compliments her looks, but still draws your eyes to the fact that she's wearing glasses. Are we in luck?"

Mikki smiled and nodded.

"We have some frameless styles that would look good on her." she suggested.

I shook my head.

"No, she needs something that really looks like she's wearing glasses," I explained, "but not like black frames obvious. I'm trying to convey a picture in my mind, like maybe a stripper or hairdresser would wear."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Portia staring at me intently.

"You know, it's for the moment." I whispered, appearing to shuffle uncomfortably.

"Ah!" Mikki responded. "I know the look you want. Over here."

She led us to a section that were nothing but wire rims. She grabbed a pair that had frames the color of burnished copper and offered them to Portia.

"These are typically used for reading glasses or bifocals." she explained. "They would give that librarian look, if maybe that's what you're looking for."