Free Night and Day (Book 2): Bleeding Sky by Ken White

That should keep everybody on their toes. Where’s the
ambassador staying? Midtown? Uptown?”
    “The
Downtown District,” she said.
    “You
have got be to shitting me. Why?”
    “That
was his choice,” she replied. “Our agreement with the German government is
that Ambassador Heymann be allowed to travel where he wishes, stay where he
wishes, and interact with who he wishes. He chose to come here, he chooses
to stay in the Downtown District.”
    I
shook my head. “I’m not knocking downtown, you understand. I live there, I
work there. If that’s where he is, it means a short commute for me. But I
can only think of a couple of hotels downtown that would be suitable for an
ambassador, and that’s only if Heymann has pretty low standards. He’d be
better off in midtown. Plenty of nice hotels there.”
    “Ambassador
Heymann doesn’t require lodging,” she said. “He is bringing his own
accommodations.”
    I
stared at her. “What does that mean? Motor home? Pop-up camper? Pup
tent?”
    “Details
are in your packet,” she said. “It’s a mobile home of some sort. Specially
built and shipped from Germany. Very large. Carried on a special
transporter.”
    “And
where’s he going to drop his double-wide trailer?”
    “Jackson
Square.”
    Jackson
Square was about a mile and a half south of my office. The square itself had
a playground, some picnic tables, a few barbecue grills, and a large open
area where kids played. I guess the summer barbecues and kids on the swings
were out while Ambassador Heymann was in town.
    But
I couldn’t fault the location from a security perspective. The Downtown
District police station was only a couple of blocks away to provide extra
assistance if something happened and the only way into the area was on First
and Second Streets, from the north or the south. Limit access at Antietam on
the north side of the square and Fredericksburg on the south, and you’d keep
vehicle traffic out of the square and away from the ambassador.
    “Okay,
I guess that will work,” I said. “Is the ambassador going to be visiting
other parts of the city or will he stay in his trailer and let the city come
to him?”
    “Unknown.
Presumably he will make that decision when he arrives.”
    “Right,
we’ll worry about that when he shows up. Tomorrow night, right?”
    Takeda
nodded. “His estimated time of arrival is twenty-two hundred hours tomorrow
evening.” She paused. “That may change, depending on how quickly the transporter makes the trip from D.C. to here.”
    “When
did it leave Washington?”
    “Monday
night.”
    “Three
days? What are they doing, stopping at every Waffle House they
see?”
    “As
I said, his accommodations are very large, as is the transporter,” she
replied. “Travel is slow. Highways have to be closed as it comes through
because of the size.”
     “So
how does he get here? Is he going to fly in with his party when the mobile
home or whatever it is arrives?”
    Takeda
shook her head. “He and his staff are traveling inside the mobile
home.”
    I
laughed. “So you’re telling me that Heymann’s crazy. And his staff is crazy
too. Come on, guys, let’s take a little five mile-an-hour trip. It’ll only
take 72 hours and I can whip up some bratwurst in the kitchen on the
way.”
    She
wasn’t laughing.
    “Is
there a reason why he’s riding inside his special house trailer?”
    “Details
are in your packet.”
    “And
I’ll be sure to read it from cover to cover. Do you know why he’s riding
inside the mobile home rather than meeting it here?”
    “Everything
you need to know is in your packet.”
    I
leaned back in the seat. “I think we have at least two and a half hours till
we get to my office,” I said. “No matter how fast you drive. And I can keep
asking the same question every minute. That’s, what, another hundred and
fifty times?”
    I
paused. “So, Miss Takeda, why is he riding in