Home of the Braised (26 page)

GAV AND TOM WERE ON THE SCENE WITHIN
moments, but it wasn’t until they’d personally vouched for me that I was finally allowed to get to my feet.

The Secret Service agents who’d rushed in seemed a little miffed, maybe even disappointed, not to be able to cart me away in chains. Well, except for Rosenow. As she holstered her weapon, she gave me a weary look and shook her head.

As soon as I steadied myself, I made my way over to Gav. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he wanted to pull me close and whisk me away from all this. He held back, of course. Not here, not now.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asked.

“Careful with this.” I handed him the vial. “I think this is the same stuff that killed Evan and the rest at the Ainsley Street Ministry.”

“Hydrogen sulfide?” His expression shifted from concern to alarm, even as his grip tightened on the little tube. “How did you get—”

“Long story,” I said, too weary to get into it all right now.

Tom took control. I heard more than one of his subordinates ask why I wasn’t being hauled away. He didn’t answer. All he said to each of them was, “You have your orders.”

Agents swarmed, checking the Red Room and its neighbors for any other possible threats. Gav and I stood together, watching as Urlich and Naomi were searched for weapons, then handcuffed.

“He has a substance on him,” I said, pointing to Urlich’s pocket. “Chloroform would be my best guess.”

The agent holding Urlich looked to Tom for guidance. He nodded. A moment later, after a more thorough search, the agent came up with not one, but two other vials, which they handed to Gav. I shuddered to think what else they’d been carrying.

As the guards herded the two toward the family elevator, I asked Gav, “Where are they taking them?”

“The ground floor and then out the back way,” he said. “We’ll try to keep this as quiet as possible, for now. Although the guests in the East Room are aware that something has gone down in here, no one quite knows what to make of it yet. Best to keep the excitement to a minimum until everyone has exited the building safely. No sense in starting a panic or giving the newshounds a bone to run with.” He blew out a long breath. “Not yet, at least.”

The White House doctor and one of his assistants had been summoned for the fallen Secret Service agent, who still lay motionless on the ground where Urlich had dropped him. The man was unconscious but at least he was alive. After a cursory examination, the doctor called Tom over to arrange to have the man transported to a hospital. From what I could tell, he was expected to make a complete recovery.

While they conversed, I asked Gav to bring me up to speed.

“Where’s the president?” I asked.

Gav examined the vial I’d handed him. “We need to get this out of here.” He pulled up a radio and spoke into it. “I need Hazmat in the Red Room, stat. Keep it quiet.”

“Where’s your cane?” I asked.

“You’re worried about me? After all this?” He gave me an amused look. “I’m fine.”

“What happens next?” I asked.

“We’ll have to see how much the two rogue agents are willing to tell us.” He reached, as though to take my hand, then stopped himself with a self-conscious glance around the room. “As far as the president goes, that was a brilliant plan to send Josh in with those documents. Absolutely brilliant. The president was able to excuse himself from dinner long enough to alert me and Tom. You provided the proof that someone was planning to sabotage tonight’s dinner, but none of us knew who was behind it. The president is back in there now, telling the crowd that there will be music and dancing first, speeches later.”

“That’s going to be tough to explain.”

“Fewer speeches?” One corner of Gav’s mouth quirked up. “That roomful of guests will be forever grateful to you for sparing them, whether they know it or not.”

Two Hazmat team members approached. They spoke with Gav briefly. He handed over the vials with a warning about what was inside.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Gav said. “How did you get your hands on those papers? How did you know who put them there? And how did you wind up here, in danger? Again?”

A butler walked by, wheeling a cart laden with covered dinner plates. “I’ll explain later,” I said. “Right now I need to get back down to the kitchen.”

“You can’t be serious.” This time he did take my hand. “Look, you’re shaking.”

I held tight to his fingers. “And the only way I’m going to feel safe again is if I can do my job. This is a major event, we’re still serving, and I’m supposed to be the chef in charge. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Ollie,” he said quietly, “eight weeks can’t come fast enough.”

“You really think this sort of excitement will stop once we’re married?” I squeezed his hand again as I glanced around the room. “Gosh, I hope so.”

• • •

EVEN THOUGH BUCKY HAD EVERYTHING
under control, he was relieved to see me when I made it back downstairs a few minutes later. “Where are we?” I asked.

SBA chefs were sending food up to the Butler’s Pantry via dumbwaiter. Others, pushing rolling carts, waited patiently for the elevator to arrive.

“That,” he said, pointing to the fourth cart in line, “is the last of the third course. There was a delay of some sort”—he glared at me, though not in anger—“that I suppose I shouldn’t ask you about. Once we were given the okay to start up again, we resumed serving.” He glanced up at the clock. “The entire meal is running fifteen minutes later than we’d planned. They said the president left the dinner for an extended period of time. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

I held up both hands. “Pleading the fifth.”

“Figured,” he said. “Anyway, we’re about to get started plating the entrée.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I haven’t missed it after all.”

He pierced me with a look. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I am now.”

Within minutes, I was fully immersed in the business of serving our guests, overseeing final touches and walking the kitchen, checking on uniformity and the beauty of each plate to be presented. I let Bucky know that I wanted him to continue managing and that I was there in a supportive role only. While I desperately craved taking control, I knew that to do so now would only confuse the staff. I didn’t want to cause any further turmoil. What’s more, Bucky had handled the dinner magnificently thus far. I didn’t want to strip him of authority now. This had turned out to be his night.

SBA chefs were running up to him with questions and concerns, and he treated each instance with more patience and quiet confidence than I might have expected of him. Bucky deserved to be named my first assistant. If Virgil remained out of the picture, he might even have a chance.

The pheasant breasts came out of the oven crispy and browned. I stepped aside as one of the chefs carried a tray of them past me. The room hummed with purpose, and I watched my team come together, creating gorgeous, delicious dinners. I smiled as the steaming breasts, sautéed spinach, sweet potatoes, and green beans with beets were lovingly placed on the Truman serving pieces.

Watching Bucky, Cyan, and the rest of the chefs work together in such harmony, knowing that the dinner upstairs had come close to being ruined, but had ultimately been saved, and knowing that I’d played a role in that happy outcome, made my heart swell.

“Chef Reed,” Samantha called to Bucky, “the butlers want to know if we’re ready for them.”

He shot me a look, and caught me grinning. “We sure are. Let’s roll.”

THE WEEKEND SPED BY WITH NO MORE THAN
dribbles of information coming our way. Gav, who had given up his cane completely, managed to glean a few more details to share with me Sunday night.

We were sitting at my kitchen table. Dinner was finished and we’d cleaned up. The sun had gone down and the only light on in my apartment was the one over the table, coating us in its warm glow. Being here with Gav was quiet and peaceful. For the first time in a long time, I felt myself relax.

Some of what Urlich had told me was true. What he hadn’t told me was that he and Naomi had met as Kalto team members, working in Durasi. Their boss, Alec Baran, had no idea that his agents had been conspiring under his nose. He hadn’t even realized they were a couple.

“When Baran was told, he was shocked,” Gav said. “Not merely surprised. I think the fact that two of his employees could get as far as they did with their plans without him being aware has truly shaken his self-confidence.”

“I’m sure they did their best to cover their tracks,” I said. “And I’ll bet he wasn’t the only person they fooled.”

“Yes, but Alec Baran’s business is security. This is a devastating professional blow.”

“I get it,” I said. “He really had no idea?”

Gav shook his head. “Baran did have an inkling that something was amiss. I’ll get to that in a minute. The thing is, he never suspected Urlich. He trusted him above all others. Believed the man to be not only his employee, but his friend.”

“I need you to explain why Urlich and Naomi were plotting against the president. I can’t believe it’s simply because they’d lose their jobs, or because they might be assigned to boring details here in the States. That’s hardly motive for murder.”

Gav leaned forward on his elbows and as he spoke, I admired everything about the man: his unpretentious air, the set of his jaw, the concern in his eyes.

“Here’s what happened: Urlich and Naomi met while working in Durasi. He was assigned to her division, and it didn’t take long for her to tag him to help her run a business she’d established out there. From what we can tell, she’s the mastermind behind all this. The brains of the outfit.”

“What kind of business was she running?”

“Dealing black-market items: alcohol, fake IDs, some drugs. A thriving bookie enterprise. Even though Durasi is a relatively poor country, there are still people willing to gamble.”

I couldn’t believe it. “They managed to hide that kind of organization for four years? How was the Secret Service able to unearth the truth over the past couple of
days
?”

“Other authorities had jurisdiction up until now,” he said. “And once we knew where to look, we were able to dig. That came thanks to you.”

“So Urlich worked for Naomi?”

He made a so-so motion with his head. “Started out that way. They eventually became partners. Apparently her business grew faster than she’d anticipated. When Urlich arrived on the scene, she recognized him as a kindred spirit and quietly pulled him in. Together they’ve been running a multimillion-dollar empire.”

“That means . . .” I began, reasoning aloud, “they couldn’t have been very happy with the president’s decision to pull Kalto’s forces out of Durasi.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“Why didn’t they simply resign from Kalto? Move to Durasi and keep their activities going without anyone being the wiser?”

“Ah, that’s where it gets interesting,” Gav said. “Durasi has strict laws about foreigners in the country. Individuals can’t simply decide they want to live there. Not without jumping through a year’s worth of hoops and winding their way through mountains of red tape. Even then, they risk being turned away.”

“I’m starting to understand.”

“The important point here is that the removal of Kalto’s forces from Durasi meant the end of Urlich and Naomi’s business out there. They were desperate to fight the president’s initiative.”

“But by the time of the Durasi dinner, this was a done deal. What did they hope to accomplish?”

Gav held up a finger. “Number one, they’d gotten rid of Secretary Cobault. He was probably the most anti-mercenary statesman in the country. Not only that, he had the president’s ear. Urlich and Naomi cobbled this plan together quickly—remember, they didn’t have much time and they were desperate for results. They believed that if they forged that letter, making it seem as though the secretary had advised the president to reverse his decision, they could silence Cobault and blame the president with one shot. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“But their business was still lost to them.”

“Which brings me to point two.” He held up a second finger. “What Urlich and Naomi needed was for President Hyden’s initiative to be blocked. With his approval ranks soaring, that wasn’t about to happen. What they needed was a scandal—a big enough one to cast doubt on every decision the president had made. Possibly even getting him impeached.”

“That couldn’t happen,” I said. “President Hyden is innocent. Surely the forensics and all the evidence would prove that.”

Gav leaned forward a little bit more. “You’ve seen it as often as I have. We’re supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. In the court of public opinion, however, that isn’t always the case. Urlich and Naomi set out to ruin President Hyden. They were counting on the fact that plenty of people believe that, as an individual in power, he has hit men at his beck and call.” He gave me a meaningful look. “There
are
people like that across the globe, no question about it. Our President Hyden, fortunately, is not one of them.”

“Why kill your friend Evan and Jason Chaff? Why kill the other three men at the Ainsley Street Ministry?”

Gav nodded as though he’d planned to get to that point next. “As I mentioned, Alec Baran suspected that all was not right in his organization. There had been signs of trouble, hints of problems. He sent Jason undercover to investigate and report. Because Baran didn’t know who in his organization he could trust, he approached the Secret Service, and they came up with the plan of Jason connecting with Evan to pass intelligence.” Gav heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately for them, Baran trusted Urlich enough to tell him of the arrangement. Those men at the ministry were killed before the information could be properly conveyed.”

I shuddered. I’d seen Urlich and Naomi’s desperation and what they were capable of. I’d come way too close to sharing Evan’s, Jason’s, and the other men’s fate.

“That reporter Daniel Davies?” Gav continued. “He was part of this, too. I can’t quite call him innocent, but the worst thing he’s guilty of is sitting on a story in the hopes of snagging an even bigger one.”

“Are you saying that he reported the Ainsley Street murders as a carbon monoxide accident on purpose?”

Gav nodded. “Urlich recruited him. Told the young journalist that if he stayed tight and reported as directed, Urlich would hand him on a silver platter the story of all stories. And he’d have the full scoop before anyone else did.”

“That scoop being that the president was behind Secretary Cobault’s murder?”

Gav gave another nod. “Tyree and Larsen went to talk with Davies yesterday morning. The kid was practically in tears and gave them everything they asked for, including a copy of the mock-up article you found.” He smiled at me. “Nice bit of detective work there, finding those pages secreted in the cookbook.”

“Why on earth would they put them there?” I asked. “Why not just bring the documents in a purse or a pocket?”

“That’s what Naomi did. She carried the paperwork into the White House with the intention of passing it to Urlich sometime in the afternoon before he made his speech. They ran into problems, however, when Alec kept Urlich busy all day, inadvertently putting a crimp in their plans. They had to find a way for her to get the documents to Urlich.”

“She couldn’t simply hand them to him later?”

“They weren’t certain they would see each other before the dinner started, so they had to come up with a plan for her to leave the documents in a place that would be safe, yet where Urlich could find them with relative ease. A dead drop. Hiding the pages in a cookbook seemed like a perfect choice—who would think to look there?” He chuckled. “They underestimated you, Ollie.”

“What about the chloroform? And the poison? How did they get those in?”

“Tom and his team are currently looking into how they managed to get the hydrogen sulfide past security. The chloroform? Urlich stole some from the doctor’s office earlier in the day.”

I was blown away. “They came so close,” I said. “Too close.”

Gav wrapped his hand around mine. “Thank goodness you followed your instincts.”

I could feel the mood shift. “How are you doing?” I asked. “You haven’t been using your cane and you’ve been involved in this investigation a lot, even though you’re still on medical leave. This can’t be helping your recovery.”

“Are you safe?” he asked.

I gave the room a quick glance, as though checking for bad guys. “Yeah, I think I am now.”

“Then my life couldn’t be better.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Well, except for one thing.”

“And I know exactly what that one thing is. We still have about seven weeks to wait.”

“Maybe you’re right; maybe your involvement in adventures like this won’t stop even after we’re married. Maybe I’m fooling myself into believing that once we say our vows, you’ll be safe forever.”

“Do you have any idea how superstitious that sounds?”

“Do you have any idea how much I hate that I think that way?” He reached over and grabbed my other hand. “Ollie, I will love you forever. These recent weeks have convinced me that I need to put these irrational fears behind me. You’ve reminded me time and again that you’ve been able to get yourself out of trouble. You’ve proved your point many times over. Time for me to get a grip.”

At that moment, the little clock on my kitchen wall made a clicking sound that signaled the hour. Gav looked up. Eleven
P.M.
“It’s late,” he said. “I’d better go.”

“It’s not that late. You’re still on leave and tomorrow’s my day off.”

“I thought you were going in.”

“I’ve got a meeting with Sargeant at nine. After that, I want to connect with Bucky and Cyan and get a few things caught up in the kitchen. We haven’t had a chance to do the event’s postmortem yet. Josh said he’d like to be part of that, too.”

“Still, I’d better go,” he said. “We both need our rest.”

I was sorry to see him leave, but I understood. These last few days had been taxing for him and as much as he hated to admit it, recovering from serious injuries was hard work.

“Okay,” I said. When we got to my door, I asked, “See you tomorrow night?”

He cupped my chin and looked at me with the sweetest sparkle in his eyes. “Definitely.”