Chapter Thirteen
By the time Jim got his breath back and wiped the dog slobber off his face, the President’s meeting was breaking up.
Again, he barely made it into the Lead Car before the Motorcade rolled out.
Mack and Mark had thought the whole thing was hilarious. Or was it Mark and Mack? They were both classic, six-foot, athletic agents with crew-cut dark hair. And it wasn’t just that they looked and sounded alike—he was sure they were swapping names just to mess with him.
The trip to the US Olympic Training Center was almost an exact replay of the trip to the Academy in reverse. Three exits earlier they plunged off I-25 and down onto the city streets. The police had a rolling blockade set up blocks ahead, stopping all side traffic until the Motorcade whisked down East Platte Avenue
