Special Agent Tony Fracassi pushed his way through the crowd, wondering whether it had been wise to break his father’s golden rule and actually volunteer for something. With just five other agents he was expected to ‘request’ that Thorn accompany him to the cars waiting close to the Botanic Garden: no arrest, no force, and definitely no guns. Two hundred and fifty yards, past thousands of angry protestors and armed police of unclear loyalty – there were even half-a-dozen bodyguards, also probably armed.
Fracassi’s path was abruptly baulked by a tough-looking bodyguard, the man simply standing in front of the FBI agent, the two of them standing eye-to-eye, neither man speaking. A mix of protestors and bodyguards moved to prevent the other agents from reaching Thorn, a barrier of people which Fracassi and his men would have to fight their way through.
“Move aside,” demanded Fracassi, more loudly than he’d wanted.
The bodyguard merely smiled; no intention of going anywhere. Around Fracassi the crowd started to close in, some of the agents being jostled, the atmosphere unpleasant, even threatening.
Fracassi chose to give it one last go, his superiors needing to know if the agents would be forcibly prevented from even getting close to Thorn. He went to go left round the bodyguard and as the man moved to block him, Fracassi quickly sidestepped to the right – simple but usually effective.
Someone barged into him and he almost fell; he was pushed again, left ankle kicked. Fracassi tried to force his way past, but he was shoved from either side, a fist thumping into his back. Fracassi stumbled, instinct telling him to reach for his gun.
From nowhere a uniformed police officer stepped forward and two-handed grabbed Fracassi’s right arm, pulling him upright, their faces almost touching.
“Give it up,” the officer whispered. “You’ll only get yourself killed.”
Fracassi shook his arm free. He glanced around: the other agents were trying to form a protective circle, sour-faced protestors closing in, the faces of his men determined but fearful.
Fracassi waved the agents back: the White House had its answer, no need for anyone to risk a beating or a bullet.