“How sad! If she lived in this century, she could’ve run her own life. Early society has been so oppressive.” She didn't mean to sound bitter, but she hated when women were forced to be submissive. She thought of her country, her mother, and especially third world areas. “But back to the clue…I still don’t see where Fitzy fits in.”
“He wasn’t the miscarriage after all...”
Gal gasped, “You mean—”
“Yep!” Lee closed the laptop.
“How did you connect him to his famous parents? His last name isn’t Kennedy or Monroe.”
“Well, Anita's mention of Hyannis kept running through my mind, and then your guess of a scandal melded it all together while I slept— Kennedy territory and one of the juiciest presidential disgraces of all! They went to great lengths to hide it from the media and Jacqueline, of course.” He took another swig. “Mind you; this is all just speculation so I'm not sure of the details, or if it's even true, whether Marilyn named him or even saw him after she gave birth—if she gave birth at all.”
“This is pretty wild. Do you think anyone will believe it?”
“I don’t know. Mind boggling, right? I've been digging deep for over an hour, and there isn't much to go on, not from reliable sources anyway. From what I could gather, Marilyn may have convinced the doctor to let her keep the baby full term. Maybe someone in her family kept him, or she gave him up for adoption. The mental ward could’ve been a diversion to hide the pregnancy.”
Gal skimmed through the printouts on his desk. “So a legacy of JFK and Marilyn Monroe lives on. Interesting...”
“Of course, that’s it!” Lee, in the middle of a Eureka moment, grasped her shoulders in a congratulatory manner. Galaxy jumped, sending a mass of papers flying. “Sorry to startle you. It’s just that I’ve been racking my brain for this last piece of the puzzle. It’s been giving me a headache.”
“Well, thanks. Now I have one. Out with it then!” Frowning, she rubbed the upper end of her sore collarbone, then leaning forward again, all ears, tucked a strand of hair behind one before resting her chin in her hands.
“JFK… his initials were glaring me in the face this whole time, but somehow I overlooked the obvious, his middle name…duh. Fitzgerald!” He tried not to gawk at her blouse.
“Ah, Fitzy.” Gal nodded. “I guess Baker is his adopted name?”
“Probably, now to get an actual interview. How do we get to him?” He stretched out in his chair, hands behind his head.
Gal stood, pacing the room. Was it her imagination or was there a pup tent in his pants? Covering her blushing curiosity, she stooped to gather the scattered documents— printed versions of the web pages Lee was researching all afternoon. Organizing the stack, her eye fell on a paragraph as she straightened. “Baker is his real name.” Glad to finally contribute, she proudly held out the paper for him to see. “It’s his mother’s.”
Lee took the sheet. “Norma Jean Baker. Right, I’ve heard that before. Duh, again!”
“Fitzy Baker. That’s clever,” she marveled. “Do you think he was born with it or did he take it on as an adult?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just dumb luck.”
“We can ask Anita how to get in touch with him,” Galaxy suggested, coiling a piece of hair for ideas.
“But she thinks we already talked to him, remember?” He drummed his fingers on the desk.
“We can pretend he stood us up. We can say he contacted us, but we don’t know how to reach him.”
“Hmm, that works. I’ll give her a call.” Picking up his desk phone, he spotted his cell lighting up like a pinball machine. “Whoa, something's going on.” He magnified the sound so they both could hear. The transmission carried some static, so they had to listen carefully, heads close together. The warm exchange of breath brought back the excitement of that first night.
“Make sure all extra bedrooms are locked tight,” Anita ordered.
A woman answered, “Yes, ma'am, they have been.”
“Well, I don’t understand how Fitz got into the Lincoln Bedroom, or how he arranged to meet with LINK. This is getting out of hand.”
A man cut in. “That particular bedroom has a back door to the cellar. It's been there since the prohibition because it's rumored Harding used it to sneak in his booze. It's speculated JFK found it handy as well.”
“I asked you to blockade all doors, didn't I?” she barked.
“I did, Anita. I painted it shut—”
“Well, Tom, do you think that was strong enough? He's in and out like a mouse.”
“Ma'am, the little elevator's missing if you find that relevant,” the woman volunteered, timidly.
Galaxy and Lee exchanged guilty looks.
The sound of pouring liquid and clinking china clued them into Anita's four o'clock coffee service.
“Do you think that's our girl, Justine?”
Gal shrugged. “Anita's dishing it out to poor Tom, though. I feel bad for him.”
“He's a big boy with a high-pressure job. He can take it. Shh, what’d they just say?”
“—but that's a fire hazard,” Tom protested.
“I don't care; this is a national security issue. Arrange a search party and find that carrier. Whatever floor it's on, must be where he's staying. And Tom…”
“Yes?” he asked, fed up.
“Cement the doorway this time. We need everything fortified.”
A shuffle of feet scurried out, and the door closed with a thud.
“Well, that will keep them busy,” Galaxy decided. “I hope we didn't leave any evidence behind.” A wistful expression in her eyes met his.
“They're going to find it smashed to smithereens,” Lee joked. “I think we're good.” Craving her irresistible lips, he made a move and took them.
The sound of the door creaking scooted them apart. Geoffrey! If he caught them canoodling…
They scurried, trying to appear busy but when they looked up, no one was there. With blood pressure descending, they sighed, realizing it was just Anita back in her office.
Her chair cushion squeaked, expelling air from the weight of its recipient whose sudden snatching of the handset rattled them. “Hey, she wants the place scoured with a fine tooth comb,” the hoarse voice informed, surprising them more. “Yeah, no shoe Cinderella, don't you think I know what that means? And more bad news, Smitty, the dumbwaiter's out. So we gotta go with the backup plan.” The jarring ring of the slammed receiver signaled a frustrating setback.
“Who was that?” Gal asked, bewildered. “Why was he using Anita's office?”
“I think it's Tom, trying to whisper,” Lee laughed.
“I don't know, didn't sound the same. And who do you think Smitty is, some contractor hired to cement the door?”
“Maybe. I wonder if they'll fill the whole stairwell.”
“Hey, do you think it was that Fitzy guy?”
“Creeping around in broad sight? I doubt it. Maybe on the other end, though. Whoever it is, they're up to something.”
“Ah ha, an inside job!” Gal rejoiced. “You didn't believe me, but it's quite common.”
“Yeah, looks like you're right. Good deducing, Sherlock.”
She glared for a second, expecting sarcasm, but found genuine approval instead. “Thanks,” she smiled, surprised at his forfeit. Lee's stare of admiration unnerved her, so she broke contact, her eyes falling on the print pile instead. “Poor Fitz, it must be awful for him, being tossed aside and kept from his legacy.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t met him yet. We don’t know what his agenda is. He could be an imposter, even!”
“You think it might be a scam?” She got up, pacing the room once again as she pieced the information together.
“Sure, why not? It’s a good premise. He can play the sympathy card, get lots of moola, live large as a forgotten Kennedy. Pretty smart.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble to prove, though. Do you think his birth certificate identifies his rea
l parents?”
“Doubt it, not after all the effort to keep him mum. Plus there’s always PhotoShop.” Lee spun around in his chair.
“Such a skeptic. Typical man,” Gal scoffed, tossing a wad of paper at him.
“You’re a softie, typical woman.”
“I know someone who's not a softie,” Gal purred, propping herself on the desk.
Lee’s cheeks crimsoned. He thought he had concealed his weapon. Was she up for more? “Does that interest you?”
“Not particularly,” she lied, enjoying the puzzled look on his handsome face. “Besides, you still have to call Anita and get us to Fitz.”
“I will,” he promised. “And then…”
“And then, you will take me on a proper date.” Galaxy decided if they were going to continue their fling, she wasn’t giving the goods away for free.
Chapter Eight
C overtly stepping into Galaxy’s office the next morning, he nixed flipping on the light. Luckily, he had convinced the janitor the night before that time-sensitive documents were left inside. Diverting Hank's attention with his favorite crab cakes from Phillips Seafood didn't hurt either. It kept him busy while Lee pressed the key into duplicating putty.
He touched the envelope to his lips. Did he really want to do this? He had a mission to complete. Dating Gal would bog him down. They were probably better off parting ways so they could get some work done. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be a perfect example of keeping your enemies close? Not that he was sure she was an enemy exactly. Or could it be, he wondered, hovering over the presentation, he was, in fact, falling in love? The rose he left probably clinched it.
About to leave, a devious thought crossed his mind. The secret compartment! He shook the handle to find it locked, the same being true for the two side drawers. He half-heartedly tugged the third when it slid open, to his surprise.
Flipping through tedious files, he just about gave up until alas, hidden in the end space was a black quilted case. Looking around, he unzipped it carefully. The pouch overflowed with feminine products, which was so repelling, he nearly dumped the whole works into the cubby. Then a tri-fold of square packets caught his attention. Interesting... Was she stockpiling after he failed to do so?
Detaching a single condom, he shoved it into his pants pocket for good measure then wiped grimy film off his fingers. They weren't new! So why didn't she offer one up that first night?
Hastily re-zipping the case, the metal teeth pinched the fabric. Struggling against time to unsnag it, something shiny shook free and fell on the floor. A key! Could he be that lucky?
The click-clack of heels in the hall kept time with his pounding heart. He slipped it into his pocket, closed the drawer with his foot and peeked between the window blinds. It wasn't Gal but did he dare risk it? It was now or never. Popping the lock, he pulled the drawer to find—nothing! Disappointed, he quickly patted the perimeter just in case something stuck to the side. A loose edge lifted! Peeling back the felt, he discovered a treasure trove of trinkets.
He rustled through some papers—her visa and passport, a badge—whoa KGB, who was she really? He slipped it inside his jacket, tit for tat. Several silver lipstick tubes (or were they bullets?) rolled around until finally, he fished out a flip phone. Flicking it open, the screen remained black. “Outta juice,” he muttered, feeling around for a charger but coming up empty.
Tossing it back, the impact jostled the screen protector loose, emitting a subtle border of light. Reclaiming it, he stripped away the black-out plastic, revealing a brightly lit display of odd fonts, Soviet he was sure. Pressing his way to the contacts file, the only listing was Firebird, all other fields blank. Curiosity begged him to scroll further, but he knew he already chewed up the clock.
Reaching into his inner pocket, he pulled out a miniature transistor device. On the off chance she still used the old thing, he pried the phone apart with a scissor blade, peeled off the bug's adhesive with his teeth and nestled it inside a groove within the housing panel. The echoes of co-workers were gaining in number, so he snapped the phone back together, and wiped it clean with his kerchief. He replaced it among the contents, plinking the key back into the case as well. Backing out of the room, he made a beeline to the cafeteria for a strong cup of coffee.
Gal was only half-awake during the elevator ride to her floor, sleep-walking down the hall, just missing Lee. On a night when she should’ve slept well, she tossed and turned, lecturing herself for giving him such an ultimatum, ruining everything. He didn’t exactly look enthused about courting her. Maybe he wasn’t used to being put on the spot, or maybe he wasn’t the wine and dine type. No, that can’t be. He’s such a gentleman; surely he knows how to treat a lady. Odd that he didn’t give an answer to her proposition, instead immediately calling Anita to arrange a meet and greet with Fitz.
Ah, it’s just business to him! Feeling foolish, she jabbed her key in the door, finding it ajar. The unsettling lurch woke her as she gave the room a defensive sweep. The cleaning crew again! She would be sure to report their incompetence this time.
When her briefcase didn't lay flat on the desk, she soon saw why. “What?” Her spirits soared as she inhaled the flowery scent. She snatched the envelope, tearing it open like she won a sweepstakes. The writing indicated an invitation, written in an attempt of childlike calligraphy. She pulled out the remainder, revealing…a cocktail napkin. She shook her head, chuckling.
Please join me for an evening of champagne and dancing
at the Dandridge Hotel and Ballroom, Georgetown
Saturday @ 7pm
Gal fell backward into her chair and spun around. He was the dating type! Relieved now that she knew Lee was a man of action, she warned herself to play it cool. She couldn't get attached. This is a job, not a romance. It was becoming her mantra, but she wasn't following it very well. Still, she couldn’t deny the floating sensation whenever she was with him. When she realized she was holding a napkin to her chest, she reprimanded herself for being silly. She needed to get some work done. Springing up to grab a coffee, she bumped into Lee, who arrived equipped with two steaming to-go cups.
“Oh, thanks! I was just about to go get one.” She caught her breath, the proximity of his strong build causing mild arrhythmia.
“I took a chance you might be in,” he smiled, extending his offering. “It's double cupped so be careful; it’s hot.”
“Yes, is it,” she agreed, staring at his chest. Lee took the hint and kissed her, a sweet, business appropriate smooch that held the promise of passion later on.
Feeling self-conscious when their lips parted, Galaxy was grateful when her eyes fell back on her desk. “Thank you,” she said, scooping up the fancy lettering. “Surely this can't be the same one from lunch. So, a night of bubbly and bopping…is that what you Americans call dancing?”
Lee chuckled, reclining leisurely on her desk. “Could be, but bopping has another meaning too.” He wagged his finger between them. “It’s sorta what we've been doing lately.”
“Ah, so tangos and waltzes then?” she smiled, swiveling in her chair.
“Well…” His voice trailed off, and he decided to leave it at that. Resting on the desk corner, he stretched his long arm to place his coffee on an end table. “So is that a yes? Does it meet your specifications?”
“We'll see.”
“We'll see, that's your answer?” he laughed in disbelief.
She smiled. “Who knows, I might have to wash my hair. We'll see how things pan out. If you're still taking notes, bowling or dinner would be fine too.”
“I went for the big guns too soon, huh? You seem more like the caviar type.”
“Why, because I'm Slavic?” She crossed her arms, a bit offended.
“No, because you're elegant and beautiful.”
She eyed him carefully. “And…you're forgiven. But nah, I can’t stand the stuff. I’m up for anything fun. I’m flexible.”
“True dat,” Lee mumbled.
J
ust then the boss popped in. “Good morning, any leads?”
They scrambled to their feet. “Morning, Geoff. We’re interviewing a potential suspect today,” Lee offered. Gal wasn’t sure how much they should reveal, so she concentrated on her coffee.
“So you figured out who then?” Geoff’s eyes brightened with interest. He took a pen out his jacket and opened his folder.
“Yes, we're on the trail of a likely culprit. It sounds a bit out there, but we think he is the illegitimate son of JFK, seeking revenge.”
“What? You mean Junior left behind a legacy? The most eligible bachelor of his time?” Geoff beamed, scribbling furiously at this spicy morsel.
“No, sir, we mean Senior,” piped Gal. “And well, Marilyn Monroe.”
Their boss clicked his pen several times in aggravation then snapped his padded folder shut. “Don’t waste your time falling for tabloid hogwash. I want a real solution, understand?” He pointed his portfolio at them, leaving as curtly as his words.
Lee closed the door and whistled.
“Now what?” Gal asked, slumping in her chair. “We give up?”
“No, we’re spies, aren’t we? We can do anything under the radar. I don’t want to quit now, especially after all the effort we put in making connections.”
“Did you reach Anita? You were calling her when I left.”
“As a matter of fact…” He reached into his jacket, flashing a business card. “I met up with her, and she gave me ol' Fitzy’s number.”
Gal jumped up. “You’ve been sitting on this and not telling me?”
“Well, we were discussing our date, and then Geoff barged in. I got his voicemail when I called, but we have an appointment in a couple of hours.” Lee glanced at his watch. “We better go.”
Behind Frenemy Lines Page 6
