34
Tuesday, February 2, 2021, 1PM, Eastern Standard Time
“Sir, what is your name?”
The bearded patient, sitting up in a chair now, simply smiled.
The Secret Service man tried again.
“Sir, your name?”
“Zed,” the man suddenly said.
“Zed?”
“Zed.”
“That could be some kind of alias,” the other Secret Service agent said. “I’ll run it through our systems just to be sure.”
The first agent looked at the second one as if perhaps he belonged in St. Elizabeth’s. Then he turned to the staff physician.
“You don’t know anything more about him?”
“Not a thing. I think he got hit pretty hard in the head. How’d you track him here?”
“Photo database. We still don’t have an identification, though.”
“What is your interest in him? He’s not dangerous, is he?”
The first Secret Service man stared at the patient. The patient beamed at him.
“He doesn’t look dangerous to me,” the first Secret Service man said. “We do have pictures of him outside the White House, though.”
“You think he might be a threat to the President?”
The Secret Service man did not answer. He pulled the other agent over to the corner.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said.
“What?” the other agent said.
“This guy isn’t exactly what the boss said he was looking for,” the first agent said.
“No,” the other agent said. “Well, he’s got the beard. And he was outside the White House.”
“Exactly,” the first agent said.
“Exactly what?”
“This thing is top priority, right?”
“Right.”
“And we’re going to be stuck looking for this guy until we find him.”
“Right…”
“And the Director wants us to find him ASAP.”
“Right.”
“So, what if we made this guy look a little more like the bogey we are looking for?”
“What?”
The first agent turned back toward the chair in which the patient was sitting.
“Well… he’s too young. Maybe we can whiten the beard a little bit.”
“How?”
The first agent wasn’t listening.
“Maybe in the limo on the way to the White House…. Do you still have that contact at the DC cops, the makeup woman who fixes up the undercover cops?”
“Yeah…”
“Okay. We can take Zed here on a little ride and have your gal whiten his beard.”
“I don’t know.”
“We have to do something. The Director sounds pretty desperate.”
“Okay…”
The first agent turned to the doctor.
“What’s involved in getting him sprung, for a visit somewhere?”
“What do you mean, like to the Oval Office?” the doctor said jokingly.
The Secret Service man stared at him.
“Uh, there’s some paperwork,” the doctor said. “You have to sign him out, and you have responsibility for him while he is out and about. And you have to bring him back the same day.”
“Okay,” the Secret Service man said.
“You want to take him now?”
“No, no,” the first Secret Service man said. “But don’t move him from here for the time being. Here’s my card. Inform me if there’s any more information about him, and give me a heads-up if he is supposed to be moved anywhere. Or if you find out who he is, where he’s from, anything like that.”
“Okay,” the doctor said.
“We might want to take him out at some point soon.”
“All right, I guess,” the doctor said. “We have no next of kin for him, so until we do, I guess you can do that.”
“Call me if there is any change at all in his status,” the Secret Service man said.
“Is Zed here a matter of national security?” the doctor said.
The Secret Service man stared at him unblinkingly.
“Okay,” the doctor said meekly.
The Secret Service agents turned, left the room, and stalked off toward the elevator. The doctor followed them out.
A moment later, an elderly African-American woman rolled a trolley into the room.
“How we doing today?” she asked.
“Zed,” the man answered, beaming.
“I know what you need,” she said. “Look at that hair and that beard. You’ll feel better if you get them cut, won’t you?”
“Zed,” the man said, still smiling.
“Yeah, what you need is a little cleanup!”
“Zed.”
The woman pulled a barber’s gown out and approached the man. He radiated joy at her.
“You’re a happy boy, aren’t you?” she said, as she fastened the gown around him. “But that beard is in the way, ain’t it? You want me to shave it off, while I’m cuttin’ your hair?”
“Zed,” the man said, happily.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian