Kara O'Connor felt like a spy making her way across the enemy lines. Her goal was to get the secret papers to her boss at the Poole Surfing Company in San Diego. Many men dressed in black suits stood in the hallways before regular working hours, but that wasn't Kara's concern. Her report was due and nothing was going to stand in her way.
After sneaking into the locked poolroom in the basement, she'd managed to get past various guards. With a quick pace, she took the stairs up to her floor and eased the door open to survey the area. The place was crawling with the enemy—the men dressed in black—so she formed a plan. She'd run past all the guards and get into her boss' office before he reported to work that morning. Why all the armed guards were there wasn't her concern. Her mission was to stay employed and nothing would stop her.
Just like in the movies, this was her impossible mission. But then again, she had an overactive imagination at times. That didn't excuse all the people roaming through her building and on her floor, dressed alike in their evil enemy suits while holstering their guns.
As soon as most of the path was clear, she hunched over and made a mad dash for the goal—her boss' office door. She ran around cubicles, crawled under desks, and finally managed to make it to the door. When she opened it wide and stood in the doorway, she felt like she'd just won a race. She'd accomplished her mission and had done it in a skirt.
Before she could pat herself on the back and reach into her leather case to get the report, she heard the enemy approaching from behind. She'd been seen and her mission had failed. The clinking of metal near her head confirmed her belief they were the enemy, because she was sure it was the sound of guns—many guns.
"Don't move," a man said.
"Or you'll shoot?" While still clutching her leather case, she closed her eyes and raised her hands into the air.
"Why are you here?" she heard from a familiar voice. "This is a closed meeting."
Kara opened her eyes and stared at her boss, Mr. Smith. He was seated behind his desk, which was slightly to the left of the view of the door. Darn. She'd missed her opportunity because he was already at work. "I had to get my report in here before you got to work and I didn't make it. I was up until three working on it and I'm sorry. Please don't fire me or have me shot because it wasn't on your desk on time."
She heard men laughing off to the far left, but Kara couldn't see them behind the open door. She turned her head slightly toward the men holding the guns behind her. "I'm really not a threat to anyone, especially my boss. I just hope you're not here to arrest me or shoot me because my report's not on time. I'm sure that's why you're here."
Laughter again. What was going on? She desperately wanted to move the door, but was afraid if she even twitched, the men with the guns would shoot.
One of the guards approached her and patted her down. He checked the leather case in her hand and turned to the other men. "She's clean."
"I did have a shower this morning," she said. "Of course I'm clean."
"You can lower your hands," the man said, while she heard the laughter again. "Don't try anything funny. We'll escort you out as soon as you give your boss your report."
"Thank you." She took another step into the office, glancing toward where she'd heard the laughter from before. As soon as she turned to look, her cheeks heated up and her eyes rounded in surprise.
There, sitting in front of Mr. Smith's desk, were the president of the United States and his youngest son, Blake, who was in his early thirties. President Maxwell stared at her while Blake just smiled, lowering his eyes down over her.
She was in real trouble now. Mr. Smith had called in the president to ream her out.