Banning sprinted across the tarmac with the President in tow. He kept a secure grip on his superior's arm, looked both ways before crossing the street, and hauled a gasping Ben into the shadows.
"Stay sharp, Mr. President. We only have two more miles until we reach our destination. Do you copy?" Banning watched as the Head of State wiped sweat from his brow and tried to catch his breath from the exertion. He gripped Ben's shoulders tightly. "I said, do you copy?"
"I can't...breathe...hold on..."
"Answer me, sir! Are you okay? What's your status? It's a simple yes or no!" He cussed and spat into his comm. "We've got a situation with Southpaw. I repeat, Southpaw unresponsive."
"I'M FINE," Ben snapped icily. Banning tapped his comm in affirmation.
"Disregard. Code Green. Southpaw alert." He clapped his comrade on the shoulder dramatically. "I'm gonna scout the area. Whatever you do, don't move until I get back and can escort you through the safest path."
"Mike, it's okay-"
" Stay here, Mr. President! That's a direct order!"
"Well, then I veto that order!" Ben huffed, but his words went unheeded as Banning tore through the streets. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation as his security agent disappeared through an alleyway and out of view. Once his breathing returned to normal, the President started to stomp away from his hiding place when Banning suddenly returned, not a hair out of place.
"The next mile is clear, sir. Only friendlies in sight."
"Did you just run a sub four minute mile?" Ben asked incredulously, glancing as his watch. His stoic, possibly Scottish partner waved the words aside.
"No time for that now. Look, we only get one shot at this. We'll make a break for our rendezvous point. Can you make it there, Mr. President? Once we leave this spot-there's no turning back." Without waiting for an answer, Banning dragged his fuming charge onto the pavement and ushered him through a series of twists and turns along the path. By the time they reached their destination, Ben could barely stand and flopped into a cushy armchair in exhaustion. Banning cartwheeled to his side and checked his pulse.
"Stop it!" Ben scowled and slapped his hands away. "I'm fine, I just need some water."
"Southpaw requested water. I repeat, water," the agent commed, much to his comrade's annoyance. Before he had time to blink, a cold water bottle was pushed in his hands and he unscrewed the top with vigor. Banning swiped the bottle and took the first sip.
"HEY!"
"It checks out. Good news, sir. It's not poisoned. You can drink now."
"It was SEALED."
"If it's not the Presidential Seal, it doesn't count." The President threw his hands up in exasperation.
"When are you gonna stop walking on eggshells around me and start treating me like an adult?!" The door next to Banning's armchair opened and a regal figure entered with a grin.
"When people stop trying to kill you, Mr. President," Vice President Trumbull said with an eyebrow raise, hypnotic voice aside. "Which is never. So, how'd your morning run go in the park? I see you made it back to the White House in one piece."
Ben made a face as he chugged the cold water from his now tampered water bottle. He poured some in his hand and ran it over his head and shoulders in an effort to cool down.
"Ugh, barely. I swear if Mike isn't trying to save me, he's trying to kill me." A few nameless secret service agents patrolling the perimeter of the East Garden Room raised their guns steadily on Banning's chest while the Scottish agent brought his hands up in surrender. "IT WAS A JOKE!" Ben roared, dismissing the over-eager agents with a frown. He took another swig of water to calm his nerves, and hacked when the liquid went down the wrong pipe. Banning was at his side in an instant, attempting to perform the Heimlich maneuver.
"You're choking, Mr. President!"
"No, I'm not!" Ben howled as he pushed the Scotsman aside and squeezed himself behind Trumbull so he could use the Vice President as a shield. Trumbull had seen this song and dance a thousand times; he turned calmly, clasping his superior on the shoulder.
"Come now, Mr. President. We're all just looking out for you. Don't forget your personal boxing match with Banning at 1400 hours." Ben looked up in horror as if he had just realized another beat down was on the agenda for the day.
"No! I refuse!" Trumbull regarded him with a look of pity.
"Ben. You've been zip-tied in your own panic room, shot at, survived an Air Force One plane crash, nearly died in a car accident and became a YouTube sensation...most of that all in one day. Forgive us for being a little...overprotective."
"You're right," Ben relented, offering his friend an apologetic smile. "But I'm just saying that my forty-four predecessors didn't include boot camp as part of their daily regimen."
"Spark Plug is making his way to the kitchens, presumably to steal more ice cream. I need agents Rogers and Stark to intercept and detain. Commence Operation Spark Plug," Banning said as he glanced at surveillance footage on his government issued tablet.
"Give me that!" Ben snarled and tugged the device from Banning's hands. "You're tracking my son while he's going to get ICE CREAM?"
"Affirmative, sir. It's his third bowl this week. At this rate, we're going to have to-"
"Don't say it!" Trumbull ordered, but the operative held up his hand.
"He has a right to know."
"The right to know WHAT?" the President spat. Banning ran a hand over his stubble with a sigh.
"Remain calm, sir. I don't want to alarm you, but at this rate, we're gonna have to switch to low fat ice cream. It's for Spark Plug's own good. Our prime directive is making sure you and your son are healthy and safe."
"Okay, that's it! Out, everyone out," Ben commanded, ushering the agents and Vice President out the door. He stopped the lead agent in his tracks before he could stand at attention outside the room.
"Not you, Mike. We need to talk. This is getting out of hand." The President sighed in thinly veiled irritation as Banning checked the floors, walls and ceiling three times for bugging devices before he was satisfied.
"Perimeter's secure, sir. Not that it wasn't before - IT WAS - but you can never be too-"
"Careful, yeah," Ben finished, kicking off his sweaty running shoes and allowing himself to sink into a rather comfy high backed chair. He rarely got the chance to just relax these days, even with Connor, and it felt good to be out from the scrutinizing public eye for a bit. Even if he did have to spend this precious time lecturing his best agent. He closed his eyes for a second, which was as much short lived as it was a mistake.
"MR. PRESIDENT!" Banning hollered, slapping Ben in the face to bring him back to consciousness. His sense of peacefulness shattered in an instant.
"This is EXACTLY what I'm talking about, Mike!" he snapped. "I know this presidency has been tough what with the kidnappings and attempted murders, but I survived! I'm not made of glass! You could say I'm made of...bourbon and bad choices."
"Sorry sir, force of habit. If you think this is bad, you should see the kid's room," Banning replied, referring to his baby daughter. After a brief moment of silence, Ben said with a smirk, "You bought the Kevlar mattress, didn't you?" The Scotsman nodded wryly.
"Don't forget the twenty security cameras, two metal detectors, forty one baby monitors and an eye-scan entry for the baby's room. We're bulletproofing the walls next week."
"Jeez, that kid is safer than the American President," Ben said with a laugh. He could feel his earlier annoyance ebb away as his mind slipped into more familiar territory of families and kids. It felt good to laugh - to genuinely laugh - after the hell they'd been through the past...how long had it been? Three years? He shook his head in disbelief. "Babies are tough. Tougher than you think. And you're gonna regret having forty one baby monitors when your little bundle of joy wakes up screaming in the middle of the night." Banning let out a hearty guffaw.
"Yeah, it hasn't been a picnic. When did Spark Plug start sleeping through the night?" The President shrugged.
"Connor? Don't remember. I never kept track of that stuff. Maggie always-" he stopped, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, which brings us back to the ice cream. Connor and I sorta made it our thing after his mother...since she wouldn't allow him to have any. It's meaningful to him. To us. Like our daily jokes. So just let him eat the damn ice cream." The secret service agent froze, blood rushing to his face.
"Oh, Mr. President, I didn't mean-"
"I know," Ben said, clasping his friend on the shoulder. The door opened with a flourish and a young female aide pushed some hefty papers into the President's hands.
"Your itinerary, sir. For your upcoming overseas conference." Ben started to throw the plans toward Banning as he wanted to take a shower before handling important papers, when he suddenly seized in fear as he glossed over the words.
"I-I'm to be shuttled by car...at night...to catch my flight with Air Force One...?" he deadpanned, ending the statement with a question. His night travel had ceased significantly since Maggie's accident, other than London, and he hadn't been on a plane since they crash landed and poor Lynne...He looked to Banning with pleading eyes. Change the plans! he thought vividly. He'd never told Banning of his fears but knew he'd understand. He breathed a sigh of relief as the agent snatched the papers and skimmed through its contents with a sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but these travel plans won't work. You'll be too exposed on the road and an Air Force One flight is exactly what they'll be expecting, no matter how early you arrive to the conference." Banning gave Ben an encouraging smile before passing the documents back to the startled aide.
"But you'll be with him the whole time, Agent Banning. Surely the bulletproof vehicle and secured flight are the safest options. Vice President Trumbull himself approved the itinerary-"
"Then we'll have to change it. I'll speak with the Vice President myself," Banning said and made a show of disappointment. "My apologies for this delay, sir. I'll get it squared away by lunchtime." Ben silently thanked his comrade for his understanding. He feigned agitation and waved the head agent away.
"I'm counting on it, Mike. We can't afford for any mistakes. This conference marks the birth of a new country, Libertalia, and with their natural resources, we need them as an ally." After Banning and the aide left his side, he retreated to his quarters for a shower and changed into a dark suit with an American flag pin adorning the lapel. The moment he descended the stairs, Trumbull intercepted him and steered him toward the briefing room.
"Come with me, Mr. President. We've changed your travel plans for the upcoming public appearance." Ben visibly relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"That's fortunate. I'm glad everything's in order." Trumbull sighed deeply, slowing his steps.
"For now. But your aversion towards certain modes of transportation can't be completed ignored, either." The President stopped in his tracks. Trumbull knew. Probably the entire White House staff knew of his fears, his weakness –
"Allan," Ben began, but his Vice President cut him off. "
"We had to come up with a compromise. Will you be okay with that, Mr. President? Because Banning's going to go into hysterics if you have a REAL panic attack." Panic attack. Ben thought the words made him sound frail. Not made out of glass indeed, he thought dismally even as his chest constricted at the thought of speeding along a dark snowy road or cowering in fear on an aircraft.
"And, the plan now?" Trumbull smiled encouragingly.
"A morning armored escort drive to Air Force One, where you will be flown to a portside city in Libertalia. It's only a two hour flight. You will then take a train the rest of the way. I know you're more comfortable by boat, but getting you there via sea was out of the question. In the end, we decided it would be more inconspicuous for you to take the train directly to the conference. There will, of course, be a show of Air Force One landing at the embassy, to create the illusion of your arrival." Ben thought this course of action through and nodded slowly.
"This could work. Thank you, Trumbull." The Vice President huffed in amusement.
"Well, I'll take all the thanks I can get, lest you forget how busy I am every time you go off the radar - but it's Banning you should thank. He put the scenario together and is planning to work double overtime to accomplish it."
"HE'S WHAT?!" Ben screeched, eliciting concerned glances from the secret service agents scattered every few feet. "It's just travel arrangements! It's-"
"It's a potential life or death situation. Everything is. From your morning runs to the Prime Minister's death. But, as you don't fully grasp the concept, I'll repeat it - you've created more work for your security team and especially Banning, who didn't even take his full leave after his baby was born. I'm not saying the work is unnecessary, given your past experiences. No one is. But I want you to at least consider this for future excursions." Trumbull's melodic, non-judgmental voice rang through Ben's ears. He felt terrible. He was a selfish, horrible person. Why did anyone even vote him back into office? He stormed the briefing room and glared intimidatingly at Banning.
"I appreciate your assistance, Agent Banning. As of now, I'm reinstating your leave as it has come to my attention you cut it short. You're dismissed." There. Now the idiot could spend time with his family. Ben felt slightly better.
"Okay, for one thing, my leave was extended against my will and I chose to assert my 6th amendment right so that I could continue my services," Banning said defensively from his position bent over a series of maps.
"The right to a fair and speedy public trial by jury?" Ben inquired, exchanging glances with Trumbull who just shrugged. The agent slammed his palm against the table.
"No! I mean the amendment that allows me to work where and when I want, especially if that means protecting the most important man in America." He tore his eyes from the maps, filled with detailed sketches of the President's newest travel arrangements, and ran a hand through his hair. "The truth is, I can't trust anyone else for this undertaking, sir. I know that I can keep you safe and do a damn good job of it, too. Honestly, who else would be skilled enough to foil your assassination-TWICE."
Ben couldn't argue with that logic - and, frankly, neither could Trumbull - so the new travel itinerary was approved and implemented per Banning's watchful eye, and within a week the President was on a train headed to the heart of Libertalia. Despite his initial dread, the plane ride had been happily uneventful and Ben had managed to...well, relax wasn't quite the best description. But he had remained quite calm during the ascent, which he was significantly proud of, given the turbulence. When he realized they were speeding over bodies of water and tropical landscapes rather than austere architecture, his nerves settled a bit more, although he was more than ready to touch solid ground again after the landing. Now that he was safely aboard the train, the President's appetite and sense of humor had returned. He checked his watch. Banning had left their cabin to scrounge up some dinner from the kitchen staff so he could make sure the food was safe for consumption. That was fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't returned.
"Mike?" Ben asked softly, his voice sounding ghostly in the empty room. He fidgeted with the American flag pin on his shirt, half concealed by his jacket. Banning was opposed to him wearing anything that would identify him as an American, but Ben had refused to part ways with the patriotic symbol and now gripped it like a lifeline. "Mike?" He said a bit louder, opening the cabin door and peeking his head out for a quick look. Nothing. He ventured a trembling step out in the hallway, his heart pounding fiercely. "Miiiikkkeee-" a dark figure barreled into his chest and forced him to the ground. He wheezed for breath, his ribs aching considerably. "Mike!" he yelped as loud as he could. The figure then lifted him roughly to his feet and...and..."MIKE? Why-WHAT were you thinking?"
"What was I thinking?! What were YOU thinking, exposing yourself like that-"
"I was looking for you-"
"Yeah, well I HAVE a comm, Mr. President," Banning countered gruffly as Ben stood coughing in shame.
"Uh, right," he said lamely as the Scotsman continued.
"Not that I would've answered. I wanted to see how you'd react if we got separated and you had to think for yourself. This is without the whole kidnapping/damsel in distress thing in mind."
"I wasn't kidnapped! I'm. Not. A. Child!" Ben growled between breaths. He hated that word. Kidnap. He wasn't five years old! "I was forcibly TAKEN by terrorists, which just happened to occur more than once." Banning was undeterred.
"I can't protect you against your own foolishness. You should've stayed in the cabin if I didn't return, kept your cover."
"Last time you told me to stay put, I defied that order and saved your life!" Ben said smartly. Banning pushed the Head of State into the cabin and snapped the door closed. He crossed his arms and regarded Ben with a scowl.
"When we boarded the train, what was the color of the woman's scarf sitting in Seat 5 Row E?"
"I...well...blue?"
"What's the first name of the conductor? Theodore, Erik or Pierre?"
"It's, uh...Erik?"
"At the train station, there was a mural painted on the wall. What was it?"
"Um, I dunno...a tiger?"
"What are the three desserts they're serving tonight?"
"Well, I-" Banning cut off his feeble answer with a wave of his hand.
"Incorrect, Mr. President. The woman in Seat 5 Row E didn't have a scarf. She was wearing a red hat. The conductor is female and her name is Ashley. The train station had no murals of any kind. And the desserts are triple chocolate mousse drizzled in caramel, strawberry filled éclairs and rich peanut butter glazed brownies with a dash of cinnamon."
"HOW WOULD I EVEN KNOW ALL OF THAT?" Ben snapped. Much to his surprise, the agent laughed as he flopped into a cushy side chair.
"You wouldn't, Mr. President," he said and continued to chuckle. "It's part of my job. Makes me reeeaaalllyyy good at trivia. You should see me at parties." Ben smirked and rolled his eyes.
"I get it. Follow instructions."
"Listen, sir, the point I'm trying to make is that I have my strengths and so do you. I don't see how you do it, running a country while raising a kid! And then there's that whole presidency thing, shaking hands with politicians, making motivational speeches, expanding the trillion dollar debt-"
"I get it, Mike."
"I could never do what you do. I'd rather have my fists or gun do the talking. But you have the ability to be more like me-more aware, more proactive. You don't want to be at someone else's mercy again, right? Just like I don't want to have to keep saving your sorry ass. So do something about it. Pay attention, be alert, and most importantly, obey any orders I give you. Deal?" Banning held out his hand with a lopsided grin. Ben smiled and shook the Scotsman's hand firmly.
"Deal. Just don't throw a fit when I surpass you, Mike."
Ben had three triple chocolate mousse desserts after dinner before Banning cut him off, after which he gave Connor a quick call, ensuring he was okay. They still had a solid hour of travel until they reached the conference, and Ben planned to catch as much shut eye on the train as he could, for there would be no rest once they arrived. He groaned thinking of the upcoming political affair and buried his head in a pillow. He HAD to make a good impression with this country, HAD to, God knows America had enough enemies already! Banning exploded to his feet, hand to his comm and face tight with...? Ben couldn't identify the expression. Horror? Disgust? He also stood, glad he was wearing street clothes with a super rad leather jacket instead of his usual ensemble. And comfy shoes. He had learned at least that much from London. Ben assumed Banning was speaking with another agent, but something didn't feel right.
"Mike, what's going-" Banning motioned him to stay silent.
"Who the hell are you? And how did you get through to this line?" Ben's eyes widened in fear. Was his position compromised? He tried to pantomime in order to get more information, but the agent just slapped his hands away. "You lay one finger on him, and I'll kill you, you son of a-" The back of the train exploded loudly, and almost pulled the train off the tracks. Their compartment shuddered and pitched the duo forward. The President caught himself against a chair and cringed until the cabin steadied. Banning tore off the comm and smashed it under his boot. "This is just bloody brilliant. Someone compromised the comms!" He turned to face Ben as he withdrew a concealed gun from his jacket. "Prepare yourself, Mr. President. It sounds like there are some really pissed off bad guys on this train and what they have planned-well, let's just say it's not good." He gripped Ben by the shoulders and gave him a light shake. "I'm gonna give you a gun, Ben. You shoot anyone that isn't me, got it?" Ben nodded while Banning tugged a spare handgun from his bag.
Banning edged himself closer to the cabin door, gun drawn. "That explosion was minor, intended to frighten us and deter us from wandering around the train. If we stay here, they'll eventually find us, kill me, and more than likely make you a YouTube celebrity...again."
"Then let's go find them and take back this train," Ben said icily. The Scotsman grinned.
"Now you're talking! Stay close, sir. We had two agents guarding the compartment. With any luck, they're still alive. If not...just like old times, right?" Ben wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
"Yeah, old times."
Ben followed the agent shakily out of their cabin, gun trembling in his hands. He skittered anxiously a few steps behind Banning, casting nervous glances backwards down the hallway every few seconds.
"Mr. President, you'll give yourself whiplash. Just focus on me, I've got it covered." This did little to the calm the jolt of fear running down his spine; Ben rubbed his neck as if physical touch could dispel the sensation. The train was eerily quiet, the flickering lights seeming to cast him in an unwelcome spotlight. Mike stopped abruptly and swore. "Stark's missing from his post. I'd bet Rogers is, too. No blood, no signs of a struggle. These aren't amateurs. It's too quiet. Either the baddies locked all the passengers in their cabins or we're the only ones left on this train." Ben tried not to state the obvious but failed miserably.
"What now?" Banning squared his shoulders and continued forward, keeping the Head of State in his line of sight.
"We stick to the plan. Make it to the front of the train. If we can't stop it, at least we can get the upper hand by gaining control."
"We?" Ben asked uncertainly. He was sure he'd be stuffed in a closet again.
"I'm not leaving you unsupervised. Not here."
"How thoughtful," Ben grumbled as he followed Banning into the next compartment.
The next four train cars held no immediate danger, and Banning felt compelled to enroll Ben in Secret Service Crash Course 101 between checking for hidden surveillance cameras and sweeping the hallways for terrorists. He had Ben memorize Morse code, the law enforcement phonetic alphabet, the secret to keeping his uniform and tie perfectly flat-ironed during a shootout, and, most importantly, how to make friends with agents from MI6 and Section 20.
"You know, for emergencies," Banning said with a shrug.
"And you don't think THIS is an emergency? Wait! I have Trumbull on speed dial! He'd be able to get us outta this mess!" Ben said as he fished his own phone out of his pocket. As if in response, his cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. Number unknown. He took a deep breath and answered before Banning could stop him.
"Hello, Mr. President," a sultry voice purred as Ben put her on speakerphone. Banning swore and held his gun aloft as the disembodied voice continued. "I hope your time here has been...explosive to say the least. You'll find that we are very gracious hosts."
"I'd say. You rented out an entire train just for me? I'm flattered. But maybe you should buy me dinner first," Ben replied. He sifted through the random pieces of discarded luggage littering the floor and found all of them empty. "What did you do with the passengers?" The woman chuckled. "Oh, the actors? Safely evacuated. I admire you, President Asher. Perhaps we can work together. Turn yourself over to me, and we'll negotiate the release of your Scottish companion."
"I'm, uh, American!" Banning interjected. Ben ignored him and gripped the phone tighter.
"The United States of America refuses to negotiate with terrorists. And I've had better chocolate mousse before. Asher out." He ended the call and exchanged glances with the agent. "Do you think she'll...?"
"Change her chocolate mousse recipe? Probably."
"No, I mean, do you think she'll just decide to kill us both and save herself the trouble?" The explosion two compartments ahead of them was answer enough. Banning hurled Ben to the ground and kept a firm grip on the back of his charge's neck.
"Brace for impact, Mr. Pres-" The explosion ripped through their compartment, busting out windows and scorching upholstery in its wake. Slivers of glass showered down like sugar rain, the larger shards tearing through skin like tissue paper. The sound was deafening; Ben couldn't tell if he was huddled in silence or screaming his lungs out. Even with the hungry flames and smoke, a small part of the Head of State thought there was a chance they could survive this because Banning was with him and he could survive anything...that is, until the compartment shifted to one side. The train groaned in protest, the floor becoming more and more angled; time seemed to slow down as Ben slid out from Banning's grasp. They were tipping. They were falling! They were about to derail.
"Brace for an untimely death, Mr. Pres-"
"NOT HELPING!" Ben snapped moments before the train lurched entirely off the tracks and sent them both flying into the opposite wall. A particularly large briefcase, albeit empty, smashed into the side of the President's head and a pink handbag punched his gut with so much force it drove the air from his lungs. Once the train skidded to a crunching stop, he raised his head numbly from between the piles of travel bags and unearthed the groaning agent. He tried to speak but he was still trying to fill his lungs with air.
"Yeah you sound like I feel," Banning grunted.
"Who...how...what..." Ben wheezed as he crouched to help lift debris off the agent. This proved unnecessary as Banning knocked the luggage and debris away from him with a single punch. "Who was that woman?"
"A bitch."
"How did this happen?"
"They rigged the train with explosives."
"What are we gonna do now?"
"Payback!" Ben rolled his eyes, still hacking. His head was throbbing, but Banning assured him it wasn't a concussion and to stop acting like a weenie. The President staggered away from the wreck, still disoriented when he heard it. Dirt bikers. Just like London. Coming closer.
"AW HELL NO!" Ben bawled as his companion grabbed him by the cuff of his super studly leather jacket.
"Language, Mr. President," the agent chided. He took stock of their surroundings. "Shit! They dumped us in the middle of nowhere! And by nowhere I mean facing northeast approximately five miles from the consulate!" Ben's pounding headache made it hard to concentrate, but even he knew they were sitting ducks out in the open. "Hey, what about over there?" Banning indicated a bleak black ominous forest complete with dark rain clouds that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. "We could find cover."
"AW HELL NO!" Ben repeated, but Banning ignored him.
"Glad you agree, Mr. President. Let's go. Hope those shoes are-"
"COMFY, yes, I pay attention to things, I actually did something right."
"I was gonna say waterproof," the Scotsman smirked as they both hauled ass across the plain.