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wasn’t too far off the mark. Many of the homes dated back a few
hundred years, and the graves in some of the old cemeteries held the remains of
several influential people from the Revolutionary War.
    The aesthetically designed exterior of the facility
instantly impressed when the convoy of Secret Service vehicles arrived at the
resort known as The Sanctuary . Its
unique combination of Charleston brick, cream-colored stucco, wood, ironwork,
and copper were complemented by the dark slate roofing. Sean had never grown
tired of staying in a nice hotel. From the looks of this one, that truth seemed
unlikely to change anytime in the next twenty-four hours.
    He turned his head from side to side, letting his
appreciation of the resort’s design take over. The men from the Secret Service unloaded
several pieces of luggage, and then let the driver cruise away in search of a
parking space.
    Yarbrough took a few steps in Sean’s direction and
motioned toward the entrance. “This way,” he said blankly.
    “Lead the way.” Sean didn’t even try to hide his
amusement.
    Even though the men who had peacefully abducted him were pleasant,
it was still difficult for Sean to actually acknowledge the fact that he was
about to speak with the president of the United States. Apparently, Sean was
the only one in the group who would find any appreciation of that fact. It must
have become trivial to the men who surrounded the powerful leader twenty-four
hours a day.
    The group strode swiftly through the entrance, a set of
glass doors underneath an enormous, pyramid-shaped awning made of poplar.
Inside the lobby, the building opened up to high ceilings and wide
thoroughfares. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, showing off
thousands of crystals. Directly ahead, several large windows and glass doors
opened to display unobstructed views of perfectly groomed Bermuda grass that
stretched all the way to the oceanfront. The facility’s two guest wings wrapped
around the centrally located lawn like the lower end of a tuning fork.
    A seating area designed to look like a big living room sat
between two bars. The bar to the right was decorated daintily with nineteenth-
and early twentieth-century art that featured feminine overtones. Glass cases
were filled with fine china, lacey tablecloths, and fine dresses. On the wall
behind the bar, a portrait of a nineteenth-century woman in a fashionable dress
hung as a symbol of the lady of the manor. Directly across from it, beyond the
sitting room, was a second bar. It was adorned with masculine trinkets like old
sports memorabilia, antique guns, hunting portraits, and cigar cases. Mirroring
the women’s bar, a portrait hung over the bar on the men’s side. It featured
the man of the house, a burly, handsome character with a thick mustache and a
commanding glare.
    Sean remembered reading about how, in the old days, a man
had his side of the house and a woman had hers. The two bars and the sitting
area were a new tribute to a time nearly long forgotten.
    He glanced down at the floor made from old, reclaimed wood
from several old mansions and factories in Charleston. He admired the thick,
dark beams and wondered what stories the gashes and grooves might tell if they
could.
    Yarbrough and the other two men turned left and headed
toward the eastern wing of the hotel.   A grand staircase wound up to a second floor sitting area. A sign at the
base of the stairs indicated that the famed Ocean Room restaurant was located
above. Sean had heard of the place. He hoped he’d get a chance to eat there at
some point, but he had the sneaking suspicion that his stay at The Sanctuary
would be a short one.
    They continued down the corridor and turned right into a
narrower hallway. They passed an elevator on the left and walked almost halfway
down the passage before stopping at a closed door on the right.
    Sean frowned. “The president is staying in a normal guest
room?” he asked, finding the notion somewhat