Home of the Braised (25 page)

The brave little boy I’d grown to love stared back with a combination of pride and resolve. “You can count on me, Ollie.”

“I know I can. Don’t let your escorts stop you. Tell them you have to see your dad. They
have
to listen to you. Got it?”

“Okay.” Josh pushed the papers into his jeans’ pockets and turned to his Secret Service guards. “I have to go upstairs now. I’m underfoot.”

The two men acknowledged him and followed their young charge out the door. I watched them go, my heart thudding deep beats of fear. When I turned, Urlich was still at the bookshelf. Even though he remained in the way of everyone else in the kitchen, constantly buffeted by busy chefs hurrying in and out, he didn’t budge. Anger and frustration twisted his features. Three cookbooks in the crook of his arm, he squatted to go eye level with the shelf as though to make sure his book hadn’t fallen behind the others.

I walked over. “Agent Urlich,” I said. “I told you before. You’re in the way. You’re going to have to leave my kitchen.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

When he looked up at me, I adopted the most convincing voice of concern I could manage. “What’s wrong? What in the world are you looking for?”

“The chief usher’s assistant,” he asked. “Has she been down here today?”

“Margaret?” I asked, feigning innocence. “I haven’t seen her in a while. Why would she come to the kitchen?”

Dropping the books to the floor, he turned away without answering.

I shot across the kitchen in the opposite direction, ripping off my apron and throwing it into the laundry bin as I ran past. I peeled off my white smock and dropped that in as well. I had on a gray T-shirt and navy slacks beneath my chef’s whites. While hardly black-tie appropriate, my appearance couldn’t be helped. No time to change.

I ran out into the ground-floor corridor, crossing it swiftly to take the stairs that led to a small space just outside the East Room. A quick right at the top of the steps and I’d be in.

Instead, I came face-to-face with an agent standing guard at the doorway. “Rosenow,” I said.

She looked startled at my un-cheflike appearance. “Ollie, what are you doing—”

“No time to explain,” I said, pointing into the adjacent East Room, where sounds of happy conversation, clinking crystal, and gentle dinner music floated by. “I need to get in there.”

“Sorry.” She blocked my path. “I can’t allow you in.”

“Agent Rosenow,” I began, “I have no intention of causing any problems.”

“No offense, Ollie, but you cause problems whether you intend to or not.”

“Fine,” I said eager to placate if that would get me what I needed, “let me have a look inside. I’ll stay right here next to you and I swear I’ll be unobtrusive.”

She flexed her fingers, making her knuckles crack as she weighed my request. “Right here,” she said, positioning herself close to, but still outside the doorway. “Right next to me. Don’t move.”

By the time I was able to see inside the room, Josh had already made his way across the expanse and was approaching the president’s dais. A ripple of amusement made its way through the crowd, with exclamations of how cute the president’s young son was. I held my breath as Josh and his two escorts made it to the front.

“What is Josh doing up here?” Rosenow asked.

I didn’t answer.

The boy leaned over the fancy table to face his father, moving a silver candelabra to be able to perch on his elbows. A collective “Aww . . .” went up from the crowd.

Josh paid them no mind. He uncrumpled the folded papers, then handed them to his dad as my heart beat a terrified rhythm in my chest. I could see concern flash in President Hyden’s face as Josh spoke. From this distance I couldn’t hear a word they said, couldn’t even see their lips to read them, but I could tell Josh was insistent. He poked a finger on the sheets more than once, and did his little-boy best to implore his dad to cooperate.

“Ollie, what’s going on?” Rosenow asked.

I heard the tension in her voice, so this time I turned. “We were working in the kitchen together but he needed to take something to his dad,” I answered vaguely. “I wanted to be sure he got up here safely.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She stopped badgering me long enough to allow me to return my attention to the goings-on at the head table.

President Hyden stood, patted his son on the shoulder, and announced to all those gathered, “Just like being president, being a dad is also a twenty-four-hour-a-day job.”

The audience laughed appreciably. President Hyden resumed his seat, smiling and joking with his tablemates. Josh hadn’t moved. He waited for his dad’s response, never budging from his perch across the table. His dad gave him a stern look, but finally nodded.

I watched President Hyden a moment longer. He unfolded the sheets, brought them to his lap below table height, and began scanning them. As he read, his posture grew more erect, his expression grim. Twice he glanced up into the crowd as though looking for someone, but returned immediately to reading once again.

The female agent, Naomi, had eased her way back into the room at some point. She studied Josh with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. She, too, began glancing around the room as though looking for someone.

When President Hyden stood and cleared his throat, the room went silent.

He ran a hand along his chin. “There’s been a change in tonight’s schedule,” he said. Murmurs rose and the president held up both hands to quiet them.

“Nothing disastrous,” he said with a forced smile. “And nothing wrong with the family.” He leaned down to Josh and pointed to the door. “Go on upstairs. Upstairs, you understand.”

Apparently unconvinced he’d done his job completely, Josh shook his head. The president pointed again. “Now, son.”

This time, the boy complied.

I thanked Rosenow, wishing I knew whether Gav and Tom would trust this woman. I needed to confide in someone who would know what to do. But I didn’t know, so I couldn’t act. Spinning away, I hurried to meet Josh in the Entrance Hall, grabbing him by both arms. “Thank you,” I said. “You were perfect. Now, like your dad said, you’d better go on upstairs.”

“Dinner isn’t over,” he said. “I thought I was supposed to help the whole time.”

“Josh,” I said quickly and quietly. “Trust me. You helped more than anyone else tonight. This is a really big deal. But you have to go upstairs now. Right now you need to be where it’s safe.”

The word
safe
seemed to convince him. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

“Can’t wait,” I said. Relief washed over me as he and his Secret Service team walked up the red-carpeted stairs to the private residence. He
was
safe. And maybe now the president would be as well.

FOR THE SECOND TIME TONIGHT, I HURRIED
across the Entrance Hall’s marble floor, intent on doubling back through the State Dining Room on my return route to the kitchen. Doing my best to appear sedate even though every ounce of me vibrated with tension, I tried to decide whether I should steal a few extra minutes to detour to the West Wing. Maybe I could find Tom on my own. Even if he wasn’t there, someone in his office had to know where he’d gone. Heaven knows my impassioned plea to Margaret hadn’t done the job.

At the cross hall, where a red runner covered the marble and softened my footfalls, I made a quick right and picked up my pace. Within seconds I was in the State Dining Room. It was still dark in here, more so than before because the door to the Family Dining Room had been shut. That was unexpected. And odd. I reached for the knob.

From the shadows behind me, “Where is it?”

I spun. “Agent Urlich,” I said. “You startled me.”

“Where is it?” he asked again.

As innocently as I could manage, I asked, “Where is what?”

Even in the dim light, I could see him study me, seeking evidence of deception. My being up here on the state level dressed in street clothes was certainly not in keeping with my executive chef duties, and I could read the hard suspicion on his face. I reminded myself that there were plenty of Secret Service agents around. Still, I took a wary step back.

His phone signaled a text; as he moved to answer it, I made for the door.

Urlich shot a hand out and grabbed my upper arm. “Where is the book? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, jerking away. “Get your hands off of me.”

Noises from the food preparation going on in the adjacent Family Dining Room were too loud for anyone in there to be aware of activity, but a Secret Service agent standing in the hall had heard my exclamation.

He stepped into the room. “What’s going on here?”

“Call Tom MacKenzie,” I said to the agent. “Please.”

Urlich waved the other man back and grabbed me again. “I need to take this woman in for questioning. She’s caused a disturbance tonight.”

I didn’t recognize the newcomer, which meant he probably didn’t recognize me. Without my chef’s whites, I could be anyone. I could be a threat. I struggled to break free as the agent turned to speak into his microphone, holding up a hand in a gesture for Urlich to wait.

Before he could get a word out, Naomi strode into the room. Her sudden appearance was enough of a distraction to make the Secret Service agent glance up.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” she asked.

The Secret Service agent was about to answer her, but at that same moment, Urlich let go of me long enough to whip a tube from his pocket. He shoved it beneath the agent’s nose.

The quick, sickly smell made me clap a hand over my mouth. The agent never had that chance. His eyes rolled up for two long seconds before he toppled to the floor, the carpet deadening the sound of his fall.

I bolted, opening my mouth to scream, but the woman had anticipated my move. She grabbed hard, clamping a skinny, sweaty palm tight against my face, stifling my yell. In the same instant, she’d twisted one arm behind me so fiercely it brought tears in my eyes. I shook my head back and forth in an attempt to break free, but it was no use.

This Naomi might have been wiry, but she was strong. Even worse, she knew what she was doing. Every move I made resulted in her tightening her hold. I was forced to stop struggling before I lost consciousness from pain.

The Secret Service agent on the floor didn’t moan, and didn’t move. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. I hoped he was.

“What now?” Urlich asked the woman. With one hand still tight against my lips, maintaining dominance over my every excruciating move, she began yanking me toward the Red Room in violent, angry tugs. She ordered Urlich to grab the Secret Service agent and drag him, too.

I shouted against her sweaty fingers. Tried to bite. Straining for volume, I shouted again. I needed to alert the closest Secret Service agents. Where were they? Weren’t we making enough noise for someone to notice?

We made it into the Red Room via the southernmost doors. They were keeping me as far away from the agents stationed in the hall as they could, given the circumstances. I fought with every scrap of strength I had. She was taller and far more muscular, but we were both sweating and I was beginning to slide out of her grasp. Trying my best to wriggle away, knowing my shouts were being stifled, I groaned as loudly as I could. Somebody was bound to hear that. They had to.

Urlich shut both sets of doors between the two rooms.

When he finished, Naomi thrust me into his arms. “Take her,” she said. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Again I started to scream, but they were ready for me. Urlich shoved fabric into my mouth—a wadded handkerchief—gagging me. He wrapped one arm around my middle, pinning my hands to my sides. I was suspended high enough that my toes barely touched the floor.

“Not another sound,” he said.

I shook my head violently, pushing my tongue against the fabric trying to force it out but it stuck to the inside of my mouth. A corner of the fabric slid down the back of my throat, making me gag. Even as I struggled, I tried to anticipate what might happen next. Tried to figure a way out.

Naomi quietly closed the doors from the Red Room to the Entrance Hall, cutting off my chance to alert Secret Service agents. What plan could these two possibly have? The documents they’d so carefully sequestered were now out of their reach. What would they try to do next?

Even if their only motivation right now was revenge, how could they expect to get me out of the White House to exact retribution? There was no way. No way at all. This residence was guarded like no other. I tried screaming and moaning again, but everything came out muted and low.

The two of them must have been thinking the same thing about escape because Urlich spun to face Naomi, his voice practically zinging with fury. “What now?”

“She ruined it,” she said in a low voice that nearly broke with emotion. “Ruined it. All our plans.”

Naomi shoved a fist under my chin, tilting my face up. “We can’t get you out of here and we don’t have much time. What we do have, however, is this.” She pulled out a vial and held it aloft so that its shiny casing caught the light.

She gestured to Urlich, who manhandled me around the furniture, along the room’s south wall, positioning me between the Red Room’s tall windows. That way we wouldn’t be seen in case an outside guard looked in, I supposed. I struggled, but Urlich was strong, much stronger than Naomi had been.

“You’re not going to use that,” he said to her.

Naomi’s voice was shrill. “What choice do we have? Everything we’d planned is gone. We can’t make those accusations stick without backup.” She flung a hand backward behind herself. “Did you see what she did? She delivered our proof directly into the enemy’s hands.”

Urlich began to sweat, hard and fast. I twisted to see his face. “We can’t.” He shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

Naomi’s eyes were bright. “The only thing we still have going for us is that no one knows who created those documents. They don’t know you and I are behind this. Don’t you see? The only way we get out of this is if she isn’t around to tell tales.” She glanced over her shoulder as though she’d heard something, then turned back to face us. “Hurry. Knock her out like you did the agent. We’ll release the gas and leave the two of them here to die.”

“We don’t have our masks. We don’t have any protective equipment,” Urlich said with rising panic. “You saw what that stuff does. It’ll get us, too.”

“Not if we move fast enough.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “Let’s go, we’re wasting time.”

“Naomi, you know we can’t get out
that
fast,” Urlich said, almost pleading now. “You saw how quickly the stuff works.”

“You have another idea?” She grabbed and twisted one of his lapels, bringing her face close enough for me to smell her angry breath. “What choice do we have? Think about it.”

He didn’t reply.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said, letting go. “Hurry up.”

When he reached into his pocket for what he’d used to disable the Secret Service agent—chloroform, I’d guess—I knew that in less than a minute I would be unconscious, too.

Naomi’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Do it.”

Urlich pulled a small bottle out, bringing it close to my face. He had the disadvantage of having to unsnap its flip-top lid one-handed, and my heart pounded as he struggled. I thrashed against him, hoping for a chance. Any chance.

Naomi made her way toward the far doors that led to the State Dining Room. “As soon as she’s unconscious, we’ll release the gas and go out this way.” She pointed, inching closer to the door. I got the feeling that if Urlich happened to succumb to the gas on his way out, she wouldn’t stick around to try to save him.

Still talking, she said, “See? Straight in. All we’ll have to do is settle ourselves in the next room, smile, and rejoin the party. No one will notice.”

Urlich’s bottle was almost to my nose. His pudgy hand was damp with sweat. Clamped tight around the bottle. Trembling.

I heard him suck in a deep breath and hold it. At the same time, he repositioned his thumb beneath the flip-top edge of the cap, ready to pop it open.

Gurgling my anger, I kicked backward like a donkey, landing my foot hard against his knee.

“Oof.” He stutter-stepped to the side, but didn’t fall, still holding tight to me. Thinking fast, I threw my weight against him, wrenching myself from his grasp as he stumbled.

In that frantic second of freedom, I fell to my hands and knees, managing to pull the handkerchief from my mouth. “Help,” I cough-screamed.

Startled, Naomi took a precious second to react. With wildness in her eyes and a strangled cry in her throat, she tackled me on the floor, scratching to get a grip. I was not about to let her gain control over me again. I broke free long enough to fumble to my feet. She did, too, and we faced each other—angry combatants. I had nothing to use but my head. Literally. I crouched, ducking. With a cry born of adrenaline and desperation, I launched myself into her midsection, ramming hard.

She lost her balance with a
whoof
of surprise.

Her arms shot up as she went down. The vial flew into the air, away from my grasping hands. “No,” I moaned as it spun away, out of my reach. “No.”

Almost as though it hung suspended by an invisible thread, the vial twisted and turned, reaching a terrifying apex before it began to fall. The woman’s eyes sparked with fear as the container landed softly on the floor, intact.

She was on her hands and knees. We both lunged for the deadly device and as I skidded to the floor, arms outstretched, I scratched, hit, and clawed at her, while blindly reaching where I thought the tube might have landed. My fingers wrapped around the cool, metallic container. I rolled away from her, up on my hands and knees now, screaming. “In here. Help. Help!”

Urlich had recovered enough to lunge at me. He latched on to me from behind and was doing his best to pry the vial from my fingers. I yelled as loudly as I could, gibberish probably. Anything to make myself heard.

Taller, bigger, and far stronger than I was, Urlich’s face was hot next to mine, his sweat making his cheek slide as he gained leverage. Naomi leaped into the fray, the three of us on the floor, Urlich using his body weight to hold me down, Naomi reaching for the vial.

I was seconds away from losing my grip. With Naomi so close to sliding the tube from my right hand, I fisted my left and used it to punch Urlich in the face. He was breathing hard at this point, but barely registered the blow.

I stiffened the thumb of my left hand and, summoning every tiny bit of strength I could muster, jammed the appendage into his eye.

That got him. He toppled sideways, taking me with him, knocking Naomi to the ground alongside. His hold on me loosened long enough for me to tighten my grip on the vial and wriggle out of his arms.

On my back now, I used my legs to push away from him, knocking my head into one of the room’s antique chairs. I scooched backward again, shoving the chair out of my way, hearing it topple to the floor. Urlich grabbed for my legs.

I was breathing like a marathon runner even though all this had taken no more than ten or fifteen seconds. “Get away from me,” I shouted, giving Urlich another kick.

I was about to flip over onto my hands and knees when three Secret Service agents ran in, guns drawn. One of them was Rosenow. I stayed down on the floor, my hand still holding the toxic vial. The confused agents stared down at us, and even though they looked ready to shoot me where I lay, I couldn’t have been happier.

“Thank you,” I said.

I brought the vial to my chest where I held it with both hands, and let my head drop to the floor.