enemies of the state by Tal Bauer Page A

rear cabin. He smiled, and it went right through Ethan, lancing him in a way he’d come to both agonize and adore. He smiled back, even though his heart was aching and his palms were sweating, and he hated himself just a little bit more every single time this happened.
    Jack went back to arguing with the German chancellor, and Ethan purposely stared out the window for the rest of the flight. His ears picked out Jack’s voice, and though he couldn’t make out the words over the din of the rotors, he still closed his eyes around the sounds of his voice and the warmth of his laugh.
    When they arrived, Inada had already coordinated three full detail teams assigned to the German, French, and British envoys. The first few hours were a mess of moving people and personnel into place—the German chancellor and her team took one of the south guesthouses, the British prime minister and her team took over the guesthouse the Secret Service normally used, and the French president and his detail moved to the northern guesthouse. Golf carts zipped around Camp David, ferrying men in suits with radios and Marines with M-4s across the property.
    Ethan helped Gottschalk rearrange the lodge’s great room and dining room, pushing together the tables to the center of the room and dragging the couches to the far wall. Gottschalk’s staff scurried in next, dropping binders and bound reports and classified folders stamped with “NATO EYES ONLY” next to each seat.
    Gottschalk motioned for Ethan to join him in the kitchen. They pulled bottles of water from the fridge and downed one each in silence, eyeing the spread laid out for the envoys’ dinner later that evening.
    “Agent Reichenbach, right?” Gottschalk said, wiping down his forehead. His hair was cut short, trimmed into a neat high and tight, and his hazel eyes were sharp as they stared at Ethan. He had his battered Army backpack slung over one shoulder, his version of a briefcase.
    Ethan nodded, swiping a cookie from the nearest tray. He broke it in half and offered a piece to Gottschalk.
    Gottschalk raised one eyebrow. He didn’t take the cookie. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with the president. Is there something I need to know about? Any security concerns?”
    Ethan shoved both halves of the cookie in his mouth, taking his time with his chewing. Gottschalk was the president’s right hand, his chief of staff, and someone Ethan had successfully managed to avoid, until now. There hadn’t been an administration yet where the Secret Service and the chief of staff didn’t come to verbal blows. Usually it was around the midterms, or around the reelection. Six months into the administration, though, was early.
    “Nope,” he finally said, swallowing the cookie. “The president is fully secured.”
    Gottschalk frowned. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “So why are you spending so much time with the president?”
    Ethan would take shit shoveled by Collard, and he was starting to take shit from Daniels, too. Those guys were his friends. He’d also take all the shit he could shovel on himself, all of his own self-loathing and castigation.
    But he’d be damned if he was going to take a single ounce of bullshit from Gottschalk.
    “He asked for a workout buddy,” Ethan shrugged. “He needed a spotter.” Straightening, Ethan angled his shoulders just so, showing off his barrel chest and his broad, thick shoulders. He looked like a linebacker. “You may not know this, but physical fitness is an important stress relief for presidents in office.”
    Gottschalk surprised him. He laughed, the first time Ethan had ever seen him crack so much as a smile. He looked away, out the kitchen windows. “Well, you are a good choice for that.”
    Ethan suddenly realized what the emotion on Gottschalk’s face was, an emotion that the chief of staff was trying to hide. Jesus, he’s jealous. He cleared his throat, brushing cookie crumbs from his suit jacket, suddenly