Eggsecutive Orders (32 page)

I looked up at both of them.

“What is it?” Kap asked.

I lied, “Nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“I . . . I have a lot to do for tomorrow. I just thought of something I forgot.”

Sargeant wrinkled his nose as he shut his notebook. “I suppose that will be enough for now. I’m no longer needed here.” He waited, as though hoping we’d correct him. We didn’t.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kapostoulos,” Sargeant said with a little bow. He ignored the rest of us and left the room without looking back.

Kap turned to us. “Who hired
that
. . . gentleman?”

Cyan laughed. “We haven’t been able to figure that one out yet.”

Kap smiled at her and at Henry. “Would you mind if I borrowed your boss for a few minutes?”

My heart gave a little thump of disappointment. I didn’t know what he might want to talk about, but it was probably about my mom, and not something I wanted to hear. I steeled myself and followed him out. He led me into the Center Hall. “I don’t want to worry you, Ollie,” he began.

“I’m not worried,” I said. “My mother is a smart, strong lady.”

“She is,” he agreed. “And her daughter takes after her.”

Blatant flattery always made my teeth hurt. I clenched them. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my visit here.”

That seemed like a peculiar request. “Your visit to the kitchen?”

“My visit to the White House.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Your family?” He shot me with that laser gaze again. “Howard Liss?”

“What?” I laughed my disbelief. “Why do you think I would have anything to do with that repulsive—”

“He hasn’t contacted you?”

The question shut me up. “How did you know that?” I asked. “What kind of consultant are you, anyway?”

“Let’s keep my visit to the White House between us, okay?”

I didn’t understand. “But other people have seen you here.” I held up my fingers, one at a time. “Henry, Cyan, Jackson, Peter Everett Sargeant III, not to mention everyone in the West Wing.”

“I’m not worried about the other staff. They’re not on Howard Liss’s radar.” He ventured a smile. “Please, let’s just keep this between us, shall we?”

The minute he left, I headed for the computer. “So that’s your mom’s boyfriend?” Cyan asked.

I didn’t think it was a good idea to look up my Internet question while Cyan stood next to me. “Just while she’s in town.”

From behind us, Henry grunted. We both turned.

“He’s here to stay,” Henry said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Henry stopped chopping scallions to look up at us. “He’s got the look.”

“What look?”

My former boss waved his knife at me. “You’re not going to get rid of him very easily.”

“Great,” I said.

Cyan patted me on the shoulder. “He’s very good-looking.”

“So was Ted Bundy.”

Cyan laughed, but at least she headed over to the other end of the kitchen. I was free to surf the ’Net. Sargeant’s inquiries—with Kap at his sleeve—were too suspicious to be the routine questions he claimed. The first thing I typed into my browser was “Puffer fish,” then, “Enter.”

And there it was.

Tetrodotoxin. Extremely deadly. Could cause death in as little as twenty minutes. This
had
to be the toxin Kap and Cooper were discussing at lunch today.

Puffer fish was considered a delicacy, but much too dangerous for me to consume myself, let alone serve to the president. But if my hunch was right, it was this toxin that killed Minkus.

I signed off and sat there for a minute, closing my eyes against the fear. Puffer fish poisoning was serious. No wonder they suspected the kitchen. I had no idea how to deal with the onslaught of publicity this revelation was certain to generate.

All day, with this new tetrodotoxin information floating around, I had expected the Secret Service to swarm the kitchen and kick us out again. That hadn’t happened. Instead, the eggs arrived just as Craig had promised; preparations moved forward for the following day’s holiday meal; and Cyan, Henry, and I made great strides on the Egg Roll preparations.

When I finally left the White House that night, it was late. The Metro was still running, fortunately, so I set off for the MacPherson Square station, hoping the brisk walk would help clear my head. Just outside the East Gate, I pulled out my cell and was surprised to see I had two missed calls. The first one was from Tom. “Call me when you can.” I looked at the phone, waiting for more. But that was the extent of the message. Time-stamped about two hours ago.

The second call was from Liss. Of course. My new buddy. Despite Kap’s best efforts, Liss had probably gotten wind of the ME’s report and wanted a news scoop for tomorrow morning’s edition, about how often we served puffer fish to the president. I listened to his message. “Olivia—I understand that the two men we discussed have indeed had their audience today. You may be interested to know that when they left their meeting, they went straight to visit the ‘late agent’s’ office.” He paused, as though allowing me time to let the information settle in. “What do you think they are looking for?”

He’d made it sound like one of his scandalous headlines. The lunatic. I ignored his call and instead steeled myself before dialing Tom. He answered right away. But rather than say hello, he asked, “Why did you tell Craig we had broken up?”

“He
told
you?”

“Why did you do that, Ollie?”

“So he could no longer hold you responsible for my actions.”

Tom made a noise of complete exasperation. “You didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I didn’t think you should have to.”

He was silent a moment. “Let me guess: You’re running your own investigation.”

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m just trying to clear the kitchen’s name.”

“Well, you can quit right now. You’ve been cleared.”

“What about Bucky?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

I pressed my luck. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“They know what killed Minkus, don’t they?”

He hedged. “This is a discussion for another time.”

“Was it really tetrodotoxin?”

“Where did you hear—?” Agitated, he nearly shouted, “How do you know that? No one knows the name of . . .” His voice trailed off but his anger was still palpable.

I was at the mouth of the MacPherson Square station, but I didn’t head underground, where my signal would be lost. “I just heard some things, okay?”

Tom’s irritation manifested itself in a series of restless noises. “My God, is nothing safe from your damn snooping?”

I started to answer, but he cut me off.

“We’re on cell phones. Stop talking. Now.” He blew out a breath. “Where are you?”

“Just about to get on the Metro to go home.”

“You’re at the station?”

“At the top of the stairs.”

“Wait there,” he said and hung up.

I didn’t much care for the idea of hanging around waiting for Tom, especially when he sounded so aggravated. It was dark out, and standing alone outside a Metro station made me believe I was asking for trouble. But he arrived in less than five minutes. Pulling up in a government-issue sedan, he popped the locks and waved me in.

“First of all,” I began, even before my butt hit the seat, “I work in the White House. I hear sensitive things all the time.”

He pulled away the moment my door was closed. “Do you usually broadcast them over your cell phone?”

“No one is listening in on my cell phone.”

“You sure about that?”

I shrugged.

His mouth was tight as he asked, “You ever think they might be listening in on mine?”

“I thought yours was secure.”

He made an exasperated noise. “You and I work in the White House.
Nothing
is as secure as we’d like it to be.”

“Second,” I said, “if this puffer fish toxin is what killed Minkus, why in the world is the kitchen cleared of suspicion? I would think this would make us look more guilty.”

“Puffer fish isn’t the toxin’s only source,” he said.

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean the kitchen should be cleared.”

I had no idea where we were going. From the arbitrary turns Tom took, it appeared he had no idea either. “You don’t want to be cleared?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t understand it.”

There was a parking spot open, just a few cars ahead of us. Tom was silent as he pulled into it and shut off the engine. “Why do you need to understand? Why can’t you just accept the facts as presented to you?”

“Because they don’t make sense.”

He stared out the windshield for a long moment. We were on a deserted street not far from the expressway, and I could see the lighted Washington Monument in the distance. At least I recognized where I was, in case he made me get out and walk.

I took in his profile, and knew that would never happen. For all our miscommunication and differences of opinion, Tom was an honorable guy.

“Now, listen carefully, Ollie,” he said, still staring straight ahead. “I am going to tell you something that is not classified information. But it’s close. This may not answer your questions, but if you listen . . . carefully”—he turned to face me as he repeated the directive—“you should be satisfied. And maybe then you’ll be able to stay out of the Secret Service’s business. For once.”

I was about to protest that I hadn’t actually done anything wrong this time, but the look in his eyes warned me to keep quiet.

“Hypothetically,” he said, “special agents who have done field work . . .”

“Like Minkus?”

He held a finger to my lips. Despite my resolve to distance myself, I felt a familiar tingle at his touch.

“Special agents who have done field work,” he repeated, “may, and I repeat—
may
—have acquired the necessary means to . . . dispatch . . . hostile individuals who intend to harm the agents.”

“Dispatch meaning . . . kill?”

He nodded.

I thought about that. At dinner on Sunday Minkus and Cooper were the only two present who had ever done field work. “Okay.”

“Tetrodotoxin,” he continued, assuming a bit of a teacher-tone, “which can be extracted not only from the puffer fish, but from the blue-ringed octopus, and several other species as well, is very effective in killing humans.” He raised his eyebrows. “Because tetrodotoxin is an unusual substance, a medical examiner would not know to test for it. At least not initially.”

“I’m with you,” I said.

His eyes registered sadness. I wished I’d chosen different words.

“It is not unreasonable to assume that a field agent could have such a substance in his or her possession.”

“So you think Cooper did it? You think Cooper spiked Minkus’s dinner?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t answer, but I could tell that wasn’t the conclusion he wanted me to draw.

“If we take our hypothetical agent as an example . . .” he said.

Okay, he meant Minkus.

“. . . and that agent believed he was being targeted . . .”

“For what?”

“
That
is classified.”

I nodded. “Go ahead.”

“If the hypothetical agent was under pressure from outside forces . . .” Tom gave me the evil eye. “Strong forces, say from hostile foreign governments . . .”

I nodded again.

“. . . we think it is likely that such an agent might have been prepared to protect himself.”

“Then how did
he
end up dead?”

He shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Could he have committed suicide?”

“That is one of several scenarios we are looking into.”

I held Tom’s gaze for an extended moment. “That’s a nice, tidy answer,” I said. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

He licked his lips and shrugged. “All I can tell you is that agents all over the world—some from other countries—have the same means of killing at their disposal. It’s also possible that our hypothetical agent was assassinated by another country’s operative.”

“China, most likely,” I said. “Right?”

Tom leaned back, and it was then I noticed how close he had been. “That’s as much as I can say.”

“I take it from your reaction over the phone that this revelation about tetrodotoxin won’t make the evening news.”

He shook his head. “We can’t let that out. Not yet. No one knows except for the president, a couple of trusted advisors . . .”

I thought about Cooper and Kap. Were they the trusted advisors Tom referred to?

“ . . . and those of us on the PPD. I gotta tell you, Ollie: I never expected the chef to be party to this information.”

“I overhear a lot.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly not believing me. “Just don’t tell anyone else, okay? We’re not even telling the Minkus family, yet. Until we know for certain whether he was targeted—or whether he took his own life—we can’t let even a hint of this get out.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

One thing still bothered me. “What makes the medical examiner so sure this toxin didn’t come from the kitchen?”

Tom shifted in his seat. “Hypothetically, again?”

Could he use that word any more times tonight? “Of course.”

“Toxic substances are tightly controlled by the government—as you might expect.” He squinted into the night. “But occasionally the government experiences a breach. And sometimes a breach isn’t discovered until an inventory is taken.”

“The NSA is missing a supply of tetrodotoxin?”

Tom’s jaw worked. “It may have simply been misplaced.”

It all made sense now. “That’s why the ME knew to test for it.”