what I could now make out was a grenade.
I wanted to take him out or at least cap him in the leg. My FBI training to go toward the fire was my first instinct, but then I quickly shook my head. I wasn’t there to disarm the threat—I was there to protect the candidate. Rushing onto the stage, I ushered Reverend Stokes to safety.
“Hold, move Cool Falcon now,” I said to my partner as we placed our bodies in front of the suspect.
Screams were coming from every direction as people caught on to what was happening. They cleared the area and the guy stood there alone. All of a sudden he fell to his feet.
“Suspect down,” Agent Moss said, “suspect down.”
About eighteen agents from on-site details for all three candidates that I knew were there, but not visible, surrounded the intruder. The person who shot him still had the gun cocked in position to fire again if necessary. When the weapon was lowered I could make out the face. I was so proud to see it was Suzie Winters.
“I know her,” I said aloud as Agent Hold and Reverend Stokes stood nearby. “We were roommates at FLETC.”
“Wow—thank her for me,” Reverend Stokes said. “And thanks to you two as well. You put your lives on the line for real. I’m so grateful.”
Ryan and I both smiled, as if letting our protectee know that he owed us no thanks. Agents Sawyer and Regunfuss took him out of the room. I was about to follow.
Agent Moss said, “Ware, I’m proud of you. You learned something in our scenario training. You protected first and trusted that others could handle the rest. Our man is safe. Good job. Take a second and speak to your friend.”
People were being cleared from the event and the man was being handcuffed. I rushed over to Suzie. She dropped her gun when she saw me. An agent she knew picked it up quickly for her. We hugged so hard.
“I was looking for you,” I said when we pulled apart.
“I saw you searching for someone,” she said, gripping her hand to calm it.
I placed my hands on hers. “You were amazing, remembering just the right spot to get him off balance so the pin wouldn’t come out of the detonator.”
“I was coached by the best.” She smiled, alluding to my help. “Plus, you were awesome as well, getting your protectee out of the way. Once I saw that, I had to respond.”
“Oh yeah, he told me to tell you thanks for saving his life.” I looked down. “And thanks for doing your job. It’s still hard for me to trust others to take out the danger. You gave me faith in the system.”
Placing her arms on my shoulders, she said, “See? We’re both just answering our call. We must keep running after God’s own heart. He’ll see us through.”
“Winters, we need to debrief with you,” a man appearing to be her detail leader demanded, cutting off our special moment.
“Got to go. We’ll be better at staying in touch,” she said, before heading off to answer questions.
I knew the reality was that we might not meet anymore. However, Suzie Winters was all right in my book. She was put into my life to remind me to keep seeking my purpose. Because if I did that, eventually God would show up.
After the Midwest trip, Reverend and Mrs. Stokes took a tour of the South. The Reverend was a great candidate. He worked the crowds, hugged all the babies, and tried to shake every hand in every room. Behind the scenes, however, I heard him snap at people, talk about folks behind their backs, and promise things he’d do if elected, then later recant those promises to his campaign team.
When we were in Natchez, Mississippi, I stood at the back of a small Baptist church and watched Reverend Stokes preach to a rapt congregation.
The crowd, mainly African-Americans, was cheering him on. His preaching style was so inviting. Whether it was that or his orating skills, Reverend Stokes was always persuasive, and he always played up God.
“God’s Word says,” he proclaimed, “that where there is no vision, the people perish.”
“Yes sir, yes sir!” someone exclaimed.
“Gotta have a vision, now!” a woman wearing purple declared.
“After working in the U.S. Senate, I realize that this country needs a serious change,” Stokes declared.
“Need a change!” a man shouted.
“And the best way I can make the greatest impact is to become President of the United States. I know you all have your own dreams. What is inside of you, yearning to become reality? Don’t keep it bottled up. Release it. So what if it seems impossible—with God, all things are possible.”
“Yes, they are, chile!” the woman wearing purple said, shouting loudly again.
“Start working on your dream today. If obstacles appear, find a way over, through, under, or around them. If you believe you can, with the Lord’s help, you will.”
“Amen!” someone from the crowd exclaimed.
“Hallelujah!” another shouted.
“Come on, Springrice Baptist, and show some love for your next President of the United States.”
The crowd whooped and hollered so loudly that I had to cover my ears. Cool Falcon was a hit.
I knew that with God all things were possible, and that with Him beside me I could accomplish any and every thing. The message motivated me to make my dreams come true, and not to let anything stop me. However, I still felt unworthy of His love and blessings because of my past.
I glanced at Ryan Hold, who was standing at attention next to me while we watched the protectee eat after the service. I knew his dream. He’d told me he wanted to run the Secret Service one day.
“Ryan, do you remember what Reverend Stokes talked about today?”
“Yeah. He talked about actualizing your dreams, making them realities.”
Intrigued with the fact that he knew what he wanted to do, I asked, “Why do you want to run the Secret Service? Why is that your dream?”
“Well, Christian, I definitely don’t think it’s a level playing field, but I love my line of work. I want to run it so I can be the one to iron out the kinks,” he revealed.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“No, no! It’s just that I think that’s a really good reason to want to run it.”
We stood in silence for a moment, watching the members of the church mingle with the Reverend and his wife.
“Chris, what is it that you want? What is your dream?” He caught me off guard.
“I don’t exactly know,” I said, remaining pensive. “I want something. Does that make sense? To desire to have something, though you don’t know what it is?”
“I
