putting it out of reach. She grabbed up the boy and tried to say in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Where is Nana’s phone, Timmy, you naughty boy. You take Nana’s phone again?”
The boy nodded and smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
“Okay, you naughty boy, you take Nana to her phone. Nana needs her phone. You show me, okay?”
Only he clearly didn’t remember where he’d put it. They searched for ten minutes as the boy led her to one spot and then another. With each failure Djamila’s spirits dropped lower and lower. And then she heard it: The shower stopped. She looked at her watch. She had to leave very soon, or she would be off schedule. Her mind raced. Then she had the solution: She could use the Franklins’ phone to call her cell phone and the ringing sound would tell her where it was. She punched in the number as she walked around the house. However, she heard nothing. Timmy must have hit the silent button on her phone when he’d taken it. She had another thought. She would simply make the calls using the Franklins’ telephone. She started to dial and then realized that would not work. The man on the other end of the phone would not answer. This person, she had been told, would only take the call if Djamila’s name and number came up on the caller ID screen. She ran to the front window and looked out. Could she see him? Could she signal to him? But she saw no one. No one. She was all alone.
She heard feet moving around upstairs. She ran back into the kitchen and opened one of the drawers. Djamila slid out a steak knife and quietly made her way upstairs, where she knocked softly on Franklin’s door.
“Yes?”
“Miss?”
“You can come in.”
She opened the door, closed and locked it behind her. Then she saw that Franklin was wrapped in a towel and was putting an assortment of clothes on her bed.
She glanced up at Djamila. “I should’ve given myself more time to pick out something. Are the boys ready?”
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
“Miss, I really think it better that you go alone. The boys, they stay with me.”
“Nonsense, Djamila,” Franklin replied. “We’ll all go. Now, do you think the green or the blue?” She held up each outfit.
“The blue,” Djamila said distractedly.
“I thought so too. Now for the shoes.”
Franklin stepped into her closet and looked through her shoes.
“Miss, I really think it better you go alone.”
Franklin stepped out of the closet, a look of mild annoyance on her face. “Djamila, I can’t force you to go, but the boys and I are going.” She crossed her arms and eyed her nanny harshly. “Tell me, do you have a problem seeing our president, is that it?”
“No, that is not—”
“I know there’s a lot of tension between America and your part of the world, but that doesn’t mean you can’t show respect for our leader. After all, you came here. You have a lot of opportunity here. And what really gets me upset are people coming to this country, making money and then complaining and whining about how bad we are. If people hate us so much, they can go back where they came from!”
“Miss, I no hate this country, even with all it has done to my people, I do not hate.” Djamila instantly knew she had made a mistake.
“What the hell have we done to Saudi Arabia? My country has spent a lot of time and money on the Middle East, trying to make it free, and what do we have to show for it? Just more pain, misery and tax increases.” Franklin took a deep, calming breath. “Listen, I don’t like to argue like this, Djamila. I really don’t. I just thought it would be fun to have a nice lunch and go to this event. When we get there, if the crowd’s too big and it feels too uncomfortable, then we’ll just leave, okay? Now, would you please make sure the boys are ready? I’ll be down in about twenty minutes.” Franklin turned and went back into her closet.
Djamila withdrew the steak knife from her pocket, summoning the courage to do what she had to. She took a step forward and then froze. Franklin had abruptly come back out of the closet and was staring at Djamila openmouthed.
“Djamila?” she said fearfully as she glanced from the knife to her nanny.
The expression on the other woman’s face revealed to Franklin all she needed to know.
“Oh, my God.” Franklin tried to close the closet doors so Djamila could not reach her, but Djamila was too quick. She grabbed Franklin’s hair and pressed the knife against her neck.
Lori Franklin started sobbing hysterically. “Why are you doing this?” she shrieked. “You’re going to hurt my babies. I’ll kill you if you touch them!”
“I no hurt your sons, I swear this!”
“Then why are you doing this?”
About twenty yards away Alex stood near the Beast and scanned the crowd, which was certainly the largest this area had ever seen.
Before the president hit the first members of the rope line, the senior agent posted there said, “All right, folks, just like we talked about earlier, all hands out where we can see them.”
Brennan headed to the soldiers first: some disabled regular army men, a couple of marines, a young woman in dress blues and some National Guardsmen. He shook hands, said thank you to the soldiers, smiled and kept walking while photos were taken. He bent down to shake the hand of the soldier in a wheelchair even as his Secret Service agents held on to his jacket, their gazes moving at whipsaw speed to each person within touching or shooting distance of the man. And then the president stepped in front of the disabled National Guardsman.
Brennan put o
ut his hand, and the man shook it firmly with his prosthetic. The feel of the artificial hand caused Brennan, who’d obviously not noted it wasn’t a real hand, to look slightly puzzled, but only for a second. He felt the moisture on his hand and subtly rubbed it against his other to wipe it off. He thanked the man for his service to his country, and the guardsman saluted his commander in chief with his other hand, or hook, rather. The president looked mildly surprised at this too, but then moved on, saying his sound bites to the fans on the rope line and shaking hands with another National Guardsman, two older men, a young woman and then an elderly lady who gave him a kiss.