Allies: Home Front

Chapter 9

"Who was that?" Mannon asked as P clicked the end button on her phone.

"The queen," P said with a smile. "She is presenting all of her dresses tonight!"

"Ooh! I want to go, Mommy!" Mannon squealed.

"I promise I will take you after the baby is born," P said, holding out her pinky. "I sent her a few dresses from the white house."

"Maybe they will want one of your dresses," Mannon wondered.

"Maybe some day," P smiled wistfully, imagining a dress she wore being on display in the Smithsonian or Buckingham Palace. Then P remembered that one of her garmets was to be on display, someday. The well known pink coat she had worn the day Michael was killed was being professionally treated everyday to keep the blood stains and fabric from fading, so that one day it could be on display for future Americans to learn of the assassination of Secretary of Defense Michael Patrick Conoroy.

"Mom?" Mannon's little voice broke through P's dazed thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Can we go out now?"

P realized that in her saddened reminiscence she had remained standing in front of the door leading to the south lawn, blocking Mannon from going out ahead of her.

"Oh- sorry. Lets go!"

P and Mannon, followed by their dog, Abraham, Mr. George and one of Mannon's agents flooded onto the leaf-covered grass. P had promised Mannon while Ben was still at his school in the White House solarium that the two would have some alone time in the yard. At least, as alone as one could be in the White House. Because they were going outside their agents would be following, and the snipers on the roof were constant companions.

P and Mannon wandered down the sloping hills, chatting about school and their plans for Halloween, which was coming up soon. P glanced over her shoulder, seeing Mr. George and Mannon's agent conferring quietly, trailing just a few yards behind.

P huffed out a frustrated breath. She could hardly enjoy a walk with her daughter around their yard anymore, not without constant surveillance. Maybe it was the resurfacing of her thoughts on Michael's assassination- but P felt that the secret service had failed them in a way.

"Mr. George, would you mind leaving Mannon and I alone for a while?" She didn't want to be rude to her favorite agent, he was always so kind and had no responsibility for what happened to Michael. "You men could stay back a ways and I'll call you if we need anything. We're no where near the fence, anyway," P said.

Mr. George nodded reluctantly. "Alright, Mrs. Conoroy. We'll be right up here if you need us," he said before hiking up a small but steep slope.

P dropped a blanket she had been carrying onto the grass and carefully settled down onto it. Her stomach was almost unbearably large and her black sweater revealed the slightest bit of tanned skin at the bottom, just above the waist of her wine colored pants.

"Okay, Mommy. Ready?" Mannon asked.

P nodded and smiled brightly at her daughter. "Ready!"

Mannon began to do the tumbling routine she was learning on the grass, laughing when she forgot a part and starting over.

P felt her stomach tightening a bit when Mannon completed a perfect somersault. When suddenly, a loud pop filled her ears. P felt her whole body tremor, and her eyes went black before an horrifying image filled her mind. She saw Michael's eyes looking into hers, the moment of slight confusion before the fatal shot hit his head. Then, the sickly feeling of warm blood spraying across her face overwhelmed her until she screamed. P was clawing at her face and trying to rub the image out of her eyes when a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders.