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“Not a problem,” said Guy. He understood the point of Parr’s request; although agents were discouraged from becoming friends with their so-called protectees, they needed to understand a person’s quirks and habits in order to protect him or her effectively. Conversely, it was important that the president—whom agents referred to casually as “the Man”—trust the members of his Secret Service detail and even take their orders when necessary. The only way to build that bond was to spend time with the man himself.

Guy had been granted such an opportunity when he and platoons of agents were sent to California to guard the president-elect after his victory in November. For more than a month, Guy had watched Reagan up close—lounging about his house in a robe, on official trips to the airport and at press briefings, and during private dinner parties. The agent even got a surprise preview of the president-elect’s inaugural address.

One afternoon, Reagan asked Guy if they could ditch the press and visit his tailor in Beverly Hills. Reagan was restless and did not like the idea of being stalked by a horde of reporters while being measured for a new suit. Guy didn’t think an “off-the-record” movement would be a problem, so he put a hat on Reagan and seated the president-elect next to him in the back of an unmarked and unarmored Secret Service sedan. Before they drove off, they stopped briefly at an encampment of reporters staking out Reagan’s house for news stories.

Rolling down the window, Guy asked, “Can we get you guys some sodas or something?”

No thanks, the reporters replied.

As the car pulled away, Reagan laughed and clapped his hands. “That was just great,” he said. Then, still chuckling, he reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a sheaf of papers. “This is my inaugural address,” he told the three agents riding with him. “I’d like you guys to listen to it and tell me what you think about it.”

Oh no, thought Guy. This was anything but good. Guy was hardly an expert on politics, let alone historic speeches, and he knew it would be hard to give the president his full attention while trying to keep an eye on both the surrounding traffic and the follow-up car that was tailing them.

“Oh,” Reagan added quickly, digging into a pocket and pulling out a stopwatch and handing it to Guy. “Do you mind timing me?”

“Sure, sir, no problem,” Guy said.

The president-elect then read a draft of his first inaugural address to Guy and the other two agents while the unmarked car traveled, as inconspicuously as possible, through ten miles of heavy Los Angeles traffic. Continuously scanning the freeway outside his window and checking to ensure that they didn’t lose the follow-up car, Guy had a hard time paying attention to what Reagan was saying. On an off-the-record trip like this one, his goal was to avoid any kind of incident that would draw unwanted attention to their passenger. The last thing they needed was an unscripted event or, God forbid, a car accident, especially on one of Los Angeles’ notoriously congested freeways.

“So, how was it?” Reagan asked when he finished.

“Excellent,” Guy said. “Just excellent.”

Guy’s outing with Reagan that afternoon was exactly the sort of informal encounter that every security detail leader hopes to have with a protectee. He’d learned that Reagan liked to have fun; he also appreciated the fact that Reagan didn’t treat him or the other agents like hired help. To his surprise, Reagan seemed like an ordinary guy.

Now it was Parr’s turn to get to know the president better, and maybe the Hilton trip would provide the right opportunity. “Good luck,” Guy told his boss.

* * *

RICHARD V. ALLEN arrived at the Oval Office a few minutes ahead of President Reagan’s 9:15 a.m. call with Chancellor Helmut Schmidt of West Germany, during which the two leaders would discuss the brewing crisis in Poland. Allen, a gray-haired and irascible forty-five-year-old with an oval face obscured by large round glasses, was Reagan’s national security