(originally posted October 21, 2009 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANNETTE!)

August 13, 1999

It was Friday morning in New York City.  Millions of people were starting their workday or attending classes at school.  Others were just getting home from overnight shifts or sleeping in on their day off or getting ready for a long summer weekend away from the hustle and bustle of urban life.

Half a world away it was Friday night and Agent Beatrix Belden (Mangan only to her secret husband) was lying facedown on the bed in her room at the St. Regis Hotel in the Chaoyang District of Beijing, China.  She groaned a little as an icepack was placed on her lower back.

“Are you okay?” Agent Ken Jarrett asked.  His tawny face was taut with guilt and his inky dark eyes were tinged with worry.

“I’m fine,” Trixie mumbled with her face in the pillow.  “Didn’t hurt that bad.”

Agent Darrell Edwards snickered from the next bed, fingering his sleek mustache like a villain from a silent movie.  “I can’t believe you actually went through with it.”

“Should’ve got her drunk first,” said Agent Russ Howard, earning a punch in the arm from Agent Randi Brooks.  “What?  It wouldn’t have hurt as much.”

Trixie raised herself up on her elbows, inadvertently dumping the icepack off her back.  She reached to grab it, eliciting another groan, and said with false cheer, “Really, it didn’t hurt that much.  And I wanted to do it.”

“You didn’t have to get a tattoo just to feel like you were part of the group, Belden,” Randi said consolingly.

“Seriously, I wanted to.  Dan will be so surprised!”

“The point is,” Randi said with a scathing look at her teammates, “it’s not some kind of Secret Service rite of passage, and Beavis and Butthead shouldn’t have told you it was.”

Ken looked suitably remorseful, while Darrell just snickered again as he continued to channel surf for something in English on the television.

Trixie was on her first assignment with the U.S. Secret Service, a pre-advance assignment for Vice President John Hoynes’ trip to the Orient in a little over a week.  Hoynes and his staff, as well as the three rotating Secret Service teams assigned to the trip—pre-advance, advance, and protective—would take up the entire eleventh floor of the hotel for the duration.

The pre-advance team had arrived Monday evening and in the past three and a half days, Trixie and her colleagues had been going non-stop—from interviews with the hotel staff, to plotting out travel routes and making certain the Vice President and his family would have some secure free time, to planning meetings at the hotel with local dignitaries.

The team was broken up into several smaller task forces and although there was a multitude of responsibilities to attend to, each task force was also promised two half-days of personal time for sightseeing.

Trixie and a few of her teammates had gone to see the Great Wall of China on Wednesday morning.  Trixie had bought several souvenirs for her family and friends but neither a giant pencil nor a cheap keychain seemed enough of a heartfelt gift for her secret husband.  Dan had been so supportive of her decision to go down this career path even though it meant being away from home frequently and, in this case, traveling to an exotic locale that he likely might never get the chance to see himself.  His gifts were always so unique and thoughtful, and she just wanted something that might come close to matching the gifts he often bestowed upon her.

So, on their Friday afternoon off, after lunch and a trip to see the Forbidden City, when Trixie’s teammates mentioned the “time-honored ritual” of a new agent getting a tattoo to commemorate his or her first diplomatic assignment, she jumped at the opportunity.  Not only would she finally get a gift that would surprise and delight her husband, but she’d also get the chance to feel like she fit in with the more experienced agents.

Now she sat up, wincing only a little, and leaned up against the headboard with the icepack behind her.  She gave only a cursory glance to Darrell.  He didn’t seem to be the least bit sorry for his part in the trickery.  Turning to Ken, she smiled and said, “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal.  Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just ran over my hamster with your skateboard.”

He hesitated, then offered her a toothy grin.  “Well, it is sexy, anyway.  Your fiancé’s gonna love it.”

Trixie returned his smile and leapt off the bed, momentarily forgetting her pain.  She let out a small yelp—memory returned—but continued on to the dresser where she turned her back to the mirror and peered over her shoulder, lifting her shirt up a little.

“Do you think I can take the bandage off now and look at it?  They said four to six hours and it’s been almost that.”

“I’d leave it on a while longer if I were you,” said Randi.

“But I want to see how it turned out.”

“Distract yourself for another hour or so,” she replied, adding with a leering grin, “I’m going to.”

And at that, she and Russ left the room together.

Trixie gaped at the closed door for a moment before turning to the two agents still in the room.  “Russ and Randi?”

“You think I’m hanging out here with you two for the fun of it?” Darrell grumbled.  “I was looking forward to hitting the sack early before my horny roommate asked me to get lost for a few hours.”

Agent Randi Brooks was Trixie’s roommate and they were the only two women on the pre-advance team.  Although Randi had been polite, she had also been somewhat cool to Trixie their first couple of days in Beijing.  She hadn’t been the only one.  Although Trixie had tried not to let it show how much it hurt her, it was difficult to tamper down her childhood insecurities.  She was an affable woman who liked making new friends and she hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of being left out among the more experienced agents on this assignment.

It had been Russ who had assured Trixie that she was being hazed simply for being the newest member of the team and that being young and female—and Director Washburn’s star pupil to boot—had nothing to do with it.

“You could be a 40-year-old man and they’d give you crap,” he had said.  “They might give you a hard time because you’re female or because you’re young, but for the most part it’s because you’re the new wunderkind on the block and all veteran agents love to torment the new guy.”

Dan had said basically the same thing when she’d called him Monday night after their arrival.

“Buck up, Mangan.  They’re just hazing you.  Who wouldn’t fall in love with you once they got to know you?  You’ll get through okay.  I’ll call you tomorrow to check up on you, if you want.”

“But I’ll be working all day tomorrow.”

“Not your tomorrow, my tomorrow.”

“What?”

Dan laughed.  “Tomorrow before I go to work—Tuesday night, New York time; Wednesday morning, Beijing time.”

“Oh, okay,” Trixie said.  Sharing laughter with her secret husband helped to alleviate her anxieties.

“Charge your phone.”

“Shut up,” she retorted, even though her low battery alert had beeped at her twice already.

“I love you.”

“Will you still love me tomorrow, when I’m speaking fluent Mandarin and have been asked to be the new ambassador to China?”

“Trix, I love you today, New York tomorrow, Beijing tomorrow, forever.”

Trixie sighed happily.  “I love you, too.”

“We could go down to the bar,” Ken suggested tentatively, breaking Trixie from her reverie.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.  “Too smoky.  And I don’t think I’m up for sitting in a chair for several hours.  Anything good on TV, Darrell?”

“Not unless you’re fluent in Mandarin.”

"Not yet," Trixie replied with a grin.

The St. Regis Hotel had nearly 300 rooms including 25 executive suites, a convention center with formal ballroom on the tenth floor, five restaurants including one on the top floor that provided an amazing view of the city, four bars, three lounges, two indoor pools, health club, hair salon, sauna, spa, and steam room, in addition to a whole host of recreational options such as tennis, billiards, badminton, squash, and racquetball.  For these reasons, the luxury hotel was favored by visiting dignitaries.  It also made life easier on the Secret Service since the majority of their protectee’s needs could be taken care of without ever leaving the hotel.

But on this Friday night, Trixie and her teammates could think of nothing entertaining to do.

Trixie sighed noisily and flopped onto her bed, cradling her chin in her hands.  Ken let out an equally disgruntled sound and sat down on the floor with his back against Trixie’s bed. 

“You two look like a couple of teenagers just out of school for the summer and already bored,” Darrell quipped.  “Why don’t you go hunt down some spies or something?”

Trixie and Ken both let out a sarcastic chuckle but said nothing.

“You can start here,” Darrell said casually, still flipping channels.  “Have you and Randi figured out where the bugs are yet?”

Trixie’s head snapped up.  “The what?”

“The bugs, Belden.  Listening devices, microphone, surveillance...”

“I know what a bug is,” Trixie interrupted impatiently.  “But why would they put one in our room?”

“You’re an American in a Communist country.  You don’t think they’re listening in?”

“To the Secret Service?” Ken asked skeptically.  “I know they sweep the meeting rooms and the Vice President’s room, but why would they be spying on the agents?”

Darrell gave them a somewhat condescending look.  “We see everything, we hear everything, and we generally don’t talk much on the job.  Thus, we’re prone to babble off duty.”

“I don’t babble!” Trixie and Ken both blurted indignantly.

“Anyway,” Darrell continued, “you can bet there’s a bug or two in one or more of these rooms.”

Trixie’s blue eyes took on an intensely curious gleam as she scanned the room.  She wasn’t entirely sure she believed Darrell but she was keenly interested in the possibility.  Casually, she reached out and skimmed her thumb under the edge of the bedside table.

Darrell didn’t appear to notice.  He had found a sports channel on the television and although he couldn’t understand the commentators, he could follow along with the soccer game.

Ken shot a glance her way as she surreptitiously ran her fingers along the base of the lamp on the table.

“It’s gonna be less obvious than that, Belden,” Darrell mumbled.  “They aren’t the Keystone Kops.”

Trixie’s face reddened but she was more interested in the possibility of finding a listening device than worrying about the more senior agent teasing her to embarrassment.  Sitting up, she stuck her hand between the headboard and the bedframe.

Ken found her enthusiasm contagious and moved to the other bed, nudging Darrell out of the way so he could check the same spot on Randi’s bed.  Smiling impishly at Trixie, he said, “Twenty bucks says I find it first.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Trixie replied, “You’re on!”

The two young agents proceeded to search the room, their eyes and fingers prying everywhere, while Darrell ignored them in favor of Chinese soccer.  Within half an hour, they had searched the dresser, the table and chairs, the television cabinet, the beds, the bedside table, the window, the drapes, the closet, the doors and doorframes, and the entire bathroom without success.

Momentarily discouraged, Ken grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge and sat down at the small round table near the window.

Trixie continued her thorough search of the fridge, inside and out.  Finding nothing, she stood up and with an exasperated exhalation said, “Darrell, I need you to get off the bed.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to pull up the mattress and check the frame and the box spring.”

“I think Edwards is yanking your chain,” Ken said with scorn.  “They wouldn’t really put a bug in your room.”

“I didn’t say there definitely was a bug,” Darrell responded.  “I just said it was a possibility.”

“Well, I think it’s a strong possibility,” Trixie said emphatically.  “And I’m not quitting until I find it ... or until I exhaust all options.  So, get up.”

“You just want to win the bet,” Ken joked.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks to let it go so I can watch this game in peace,” Darrell retorted.

Undeterred, Trixie moved to her bed and called out, “One of you help me flip this mattress off.”

Ken raised his black eyebrows at her.  Darrell exhaled in noisy exasperation and stood, muttering, “You two are amateurs.”

He didn’t come to help Trixie but instead moved to the phone and twisted off the speaker side of the handset.  He had a smug expression on his face as he began his task but it dissolved into a sheepish grin as he held up the innocuous-looking insides of the receiver.

Trixie sniffed.  “Amateur, indeed.  First place any agent would look is the phone.  I knew it wouldn’t be there.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have checked,” Darrell replied, trying to save face and impart wisdom at the same time.  “A good agent is always thorough.”

Trixie put her hands on her hips.  “Are you going to help me with this mattress or what?”

Resigned, Darrell replaced the phone receiver and leaned down to lift the front edge of the mattress on Trixie’s bed.  As they pulled it back, Trixie’s sharp eyes spotted an anomaly on the floor.

“Look at that!”  She hastily pushed the mattress back and let go, eliciting a grunt from Darrell as he shouldered the weight of the mattress before dropping his end as well.

Ken hurried over and looked where Trixie was pointing.  “What?”

“It’s not wall-to-wall carpeting.”  She dropped to her knees and began prying at the edge of the carpet, where a thin sliver of wooden flooring was exposed, running the length of the room behind the beds.

“You’re not pulling the carpet up, are you?” Darrell asked.

“If it’s not nailed down, you bet I am!”  She was able to easily pull back half a foot of the lush blue carpeting from the corner of the room, revealing an unfinished wooden surface.

“It’s not like remodeling a house and discovering hardwood floors,” Ken said.  “It looks like they always intended to have carpeting in these rooms.”

“He’s right, Belden.  They just didn’t measure it properly,” Darrell agreed.

“Leaving a perfect way to pull the carpet back and plant bugs,” Trixie insisted.  “Lift up the bed.”

Ken and Darrell gave each other a look.  They didn’t know Trixie very well but her doggedness was blatantly evident.  With matching sighs, they lifted the front edge of the bed off the floor just enough for Trixie to roll the carpeting underneath the raised legs.

With some awkward maneuvering of beds and bedside table, the three of them managed to get the carpet rolled out as far as the center of the room.  Trixie was about to order them to start moving the dresser when she saw it.

“Look!” she exclaimed, her curls fairly bouncing with excitement.

There in the center of the floor was a metal plate about four inches square with what looked like a large bolt in the middle of it.

“It’s the bug!”  Trixie immediately began prying at the plate but found it was fastened firmly to the floor.  “I need a screwdriver or something.”

Darrell dropped to his knees beside her, starting to get caught up in her excitement.  “There aren’t any screws on it.  A screwdriver wouldn’t do you any good.  What you need is a wrench.”

“Or a crowbar,” suggested Ken.

“We don’t want to damage it,” Trixie said.  “It’s like ... evidence or something.”

She was still clawing tenaciously at the edges of the plate when she suddenly had an idea.  “Go into the bathroom and get my make-up bag,” she directed.

Ken hurried off as Darrell teased, “What’re you planning, MacGyver?  Building an electromagnetic surveillance jamming device with your eyebrow tweezers, a Band-Aid and some Q-tips?”

Ken handed Trixie her make-up bag and she pawed through it, pulling out a small bottle of baby oil and a couple of Q-tips.  She winked at Darrell, dipped the swabs into the baby oil and began dabbing the rim of the bolt.

“If that’s the bug, you might short it out,” Ken observed.

Trixie shrugged.  “Then they wouldn’t be able to hear us anymore.  We’d still have the device to show to our supervisors.  Anyway, I think this plate covers up the device itself.  I don’t see anything that looks electronic on top here.”

Darrell made a noise she couldn’t quite interpret.  Tilting her head toward him, she asked, “What?”

“Nothing.”  He paused, then added, “Showoff.”

Trixie turned back to her work, hoping her unruly curls hid her pinking cheeks.  A couple of days ago she might have taken such a comment personally.  Tonight she felt like one of the guys and it made her smile.

“What do you think that says?” Ken asked, jabbing a finger at the Chinese symbols on top of the metal plate.

“No eggroll for you, stupid American,” Darrell said in an exaggerated Chinese accent.  “Hands off, big nose foreign devil!”

“All I know is, it doesn’t say ‘forever’,” Trixie joked as she struggled with the tightly screwed bolt.  It was the only Chinese symbol she was familiar with as it had recently been tattooed on the small of her back.

Ken reached out to offer assistance.  “Do you need some manly brawn there, Miss Belden?”

Trixie smacked his hand away.  “I’ve got it!  The only thing I want you reaching for is your wallet, Jarrett.”  Her excitement mounted as she finally felt the bolt start to twist in her small fingers.  “In about ten seconds, I want to see a twenty dollar bill coming my—”

The banter was interrupted by a most unexpected noise—a cataclysmic crystalline shattering below them that echoed up through the floor and reverberated in the stunned silence of the hotel room for several agonizing seconds.

Three pairs of eyes became round and wide.  Three agents sat in shocked stillness until Darrell Edwards spoke for all three of them.

“Holy crap.”

*****

August 14, 1999

Trixie stood in the hotel hallway, staring at the closed door across from her.  Ken Jarrett stood with his back to the opposite wall, not meeting her eyes.  He had already been inside with Lead Agent Bryant, and Darrell Edwards was in there now, taking his turn to face the music.  Trixie’s turn would come next.

She shot a quick glance Ken’s way but he continued to stare at the floor.  If the situation hadn’t been so dire, she might have laughed.  She’d never seen a black man blushing before, but Ken’s normally ochre complexion had a decidedly rosy cast to it.

The door opened and Darrell came out, his weathered face somber.  He didn’t look at Trixie but motioned to Ken.  The two of them strode slowly down the hall toward the conference room.

Trixie was watching them go when she heard her name being called from inside the hotel room.  Swallowing hard, she drew her shoulders back, took a deep breath and moved cautiously into the lion’s den.

“Shut the door.”

She did so and stayed where she was, awaiting the direct command of her superior officer or simply unwilling to venture any farther.

“Come in.  Sit down.”

She responded immediately, crossing the room to the table where Agent Bryant sat, perusing a file.  She took a seat across from him and waited silently.

Agent Adam Bryant was born and raised in Virginia, not far from Langley, not far from the Rowley Center where Trixie had received her U.S. Treasury training.  He had been a part of the Secret Service team that had successfully prevented President Ronald Regan’s assassination and was now a high-ranking agent overseeing numerous overseas trips for U.S. government employees each year.

He was a typical, soft-spoken southern gentleman … and he looked ready to explode at the moment.

Trixie folded her hands on the table in front of her then quickly put them back into her lap, not wanting Bryant to see how she was shaking.

Three months on the job.  Had any agent been fired in a shorter amount of time?

Without looking at Trixie, Bryant murmured in a quiet but steely tone, “Care to tell me what happened last night, Belden?”

Trixie didn’t hesitate.  “It was entirely my fault, sir.”

Bryant raised his head slightly, peering curiously at her from under his stony brow.  “How so?”

“I was the one who wanted to roll up the rug.  I was the one who found the plate.  I was the one who loosened it and pulled the bolt off.  It didn’t even occur to me that it could be something other than a surveillance device.  I didn’t explore all the possibilities.”  She hesitated and frowned before concluding with an all too familiar excuse.  “I didn’t think.”

“While I normally don’t have a problem with agents assuming the worst case scenario, the fact that you didn’t even consider the possibility that this heavy-duty plate securely held to the ceiling a two-ton chandelier worth several hundred thousand dollars has created a most embarrassing situation for the Secret Service.”

“Yes, sir,” Trixie mumbled.

“Unfortunately, I’m having trouble getting to the bottom of the situation.”

Trixie crinkled her brow in confusion, daring to bring her eyes up to meet Bryant’s.

She thought she saw a brief flicker of amusement in his blue-gray eyes before he dropped them to the legal pad in front of him.  “Agent Edwards claims the incident was his fault.”  As Trixie opened her mouth to object, Bryant continued, “He says he was the senior agent in the room and he was the one who planted the idea in your head that there could be bugs in the room.

“I also have a statement from Agent Jarrett that the incident was entirely his fault.  He claims he egged you on by making a bet and that he’s the one who provided you with the materials necessary to loosen the bolt.”

Materials?  It was my baby oil and my fingers, Trixie thought but wisely kept her mouth shut.

“And both Edwards and Jarrett have taken the blame for the three of you having idle time you didn’t know what to do with in the first place.  Am I to understand that you were in some minor discomfort from a recent session at a tattoo parlor?”

Trixie winced.  Her back didn’t hurt anymore but she didn’t want to be reminded of how she had been duped by her colleagues.  Her astounding lack of insight had failed her twice in the same night and it certainly couldn’t look good to the agent who had hired her to appear so completely gullible.

“Belden, are you under the impression that agents—particularly new agents—never make mistakes?”

“No, sir,” Trixie muttered.

“Are you under the impression that strange things don’t happen on Friday the 13th, even in China?”

Trixie felt her face flushing.  She hadn’t even realized what day it was yesterday.  “No, sir.” 

“Are you under the impression that the Secret Service doesn’t carry a hefty liability policy to cover incidents such as this?”

Trixie closed her eyes and shook her head, her throat so dry that her “No, sir” came out in a choked whisper.  Her face felt so warm she was certain she would burst into flames any second now.

In the silence that followed, broken only by the occasional rustling of papers in what she now considered her “exit interview file”, Trixie tried to think of alternative career choices and wondered how badly this would reflect on her resume.

It hadn’t really been her fault.  She was only doing her duty.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.  Of course it was your fault, you idiot.  Steeling herself, she added, And I’m not letting Ken and Darrell take the fall for me.

“Sir?”

When she raised her head to courageously stare Bryant in the eye, she was surprised by the unmistakable glimmer of amusement she saw this time.  As she momentarily lost her train of thought, he spoke.

“Agent Belden, you’ll be placed on a three-week suspension upon your return to the States.”

“Three weeks?  But I was already going to—”

“You’ll return to regular duties following your honeymoon, er, that is, suspension…”

Trixie found it hard not to audibly gasp as she saw what she was certain was a furtive wink her way.

“…and the incident will remain on your file.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you won’t be permitted to unscrew, unbolt, or unhinge any suspicious-looking devices without explicit direction from your superiors to do so.”

Trixie gnawed on her lip, her brow furrowed in humiliation.

“Belden, you’re not the first agent to get carried away with enthusiasm for the job, and I dare say you won’t be the last.  I’ve never known an agent who made such a mistake more than once.  Your dedication to the job is to be commended and luckily for you, the Chinese place a great deal of importance on courtesy and saving face, for both themselves and their guests.  Nobody was in that ballroom, so nobody was injured.  A check from the insurance company to replace the chandelier will end the matter.”

He held her gaze for a long moment.  Trixie wanted to say something but wasn’t sure exactly what to say.  Agent Bryant’s expression clearly indicated that he considered the matter closed and the meeting to be over.

Trixie rose and turned to go but as she neared the doorway, Bryant’s voice drew her back.

“Agent Belden?  You might be interested to know that no fewer than four listening devices were found on the underside of that rug.”

She turned, her eyes widening.  Agent Bryant wasn’t looking at her, his focus on the papers in front of him as he continued.

“We overlooked the matter, the Chinese overlooked the chandelier, and you and your cohorts are off the hook.”

Her mouth gaped open slightly, though nothing intelligible came out.

Bryant raised his head.  His eyes were void of expression this time and Trixie wasn’t sure what to think.

“John Washburn normally has very good instincts when it comes to singling out promising young agents.  The times he’s made an error in judgment are few and far between.”

Trixie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as she waited for his final word on the subject.

Bryant’s smile was small, more professional than congenial, but nonetheless genuine.

“And this isn’t one of those times.”

 

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AUTHOR'S NOTES

Chapterette 22B (4,504 words)

Thanks to Ruth and Heather for their usual fine editing jobs and for keeping the secret from Annette!

Thanks to Susansuth (and her friend) who helped me out a bit with Chinese insults.  Apparently, the Chinese Communists don't see us as liberal or hate us all that much.  Good to know, when America has so many enemies as it is. *g* 

This story was inspired by a true story I read about in Joseph Petro's very good book, Standing Next to History, which details his career as a Secret Service agent.  A group of agents really did accidentally destroy a crystal chandelier while looking for listening devices in their hotel room.  The incident actually happened in Moscow during the Cold War.  This story was truly "inspired" rather than "based" on the story, as there was little detail given on the incident, and none on the repercussions.  But it was too funny not to use and the moment I read it I thought, "That sounds just like the kind of mess Trixie would get herself into!"

Most of the information on the luxurious St. Regis Hotel in Beijing was obtained from Frommer's Beijing Guide that I borrowed from the library (though I admit I imagined a few details on my own *g*).  I don't remember what year the book was published, but since 1999, the hotel became (I would imagine) even more luxurious in preparation for the 2008 Olympic Games.

I did some mixing and matching of the names of some of Annette's family and her favorite Nascar drivers (Dale Jarrett, Matt Kenseth, and Carl Edwards) to create the names of the four male agents noted in this story.

Director Washburn appeared in Chapter 20-The Secret Sits, Part 9.  Although it's building up to my West Wing crossover story, Washburn is entirely my creation, as are all the agents portrayed in this particular story.  Vice President Hoynes is a West Wing character and is being used without permission but with much respect.

Trixie finally revealed her tattoo (the Chinese symbol "Forever" seen here) to Dan in Chapter 23-Blue Butterfly Day, Part 3.

Gradient background was obtained from Absolute Background Textures and the photo of the Chinese flag was obtained from Stock.Xchang.