Like her, they had not ventured beyond the walls of the Residence in weeks, and lacking the proper lead time, her right “wingman,” as she had always mischievously called him, could not electrically start his motor. She could see him glance back at her with irritation as he rose and fell in his seat, futilely trying to stomp down on his starter pedal. Clearly, both he and his partner were agitated by the abruptness of her departure, her apparent flaunting of observed procedure. She knew that in these days following the attempt on her husband’s life, security measures would be at their strongest. she could remember, from her briefings upon entering the Prime Minister’s Residence, that even scheduled outings could provoke a flurry of covert communications among a small army of sentries, reconnaissance assets, and even undercover operatives. Yet today the whole apparatus would have to wait. If she had to, she would walk to Jacob’s office.
