Affairs of Steak

by Julie Hyzy

  I’d been hoping that Sargeant had gotten away, that help would come. If he had, shouldn’t they be here by now? It wouldn’t take long for him to run around the front of the building to alert our Secret Service guards. It wouldn’t take long to swing open the door to set us free.

  No, I thought as I slid down to the floor with my back against the confounding metal. They must have caught up with him. They might even have killed him by now. Even if they hadn’t—if they’d taken him prisoner and disappeared—it was obvious they weren’t coming back for us.

  Agents Millcourt and Frederick would eventually grow suspicious as the hours wore on and Sargeant and I failed to emerge. I expected them to investigate, but if Sanker and Brad had planned this well enough to scope out this vault ahead of time, I had to bet they’d also found a way to blur their trail. Eventually the Secret Service would burst in here looking for clues. But would that be too late for us?

  “It’s getting hard to breathe,” Mrs. Quinones said. “Have you noticed?”

  I had, but I’d chalked it up to paranoia. More brain tricks. This one designed to induce panic. If my mind believed we’d run out of air, my body would respond sympathetically. Like a psychosomatic terror. “Then let’s not talk, so we don’t use up whatever oxygen we have left.”

  “No talking?” Bettencourt asked. “Whenever our mother told us no talking, we would sing instead. Do you want to sing?”

  “Dad, no.”

  “A hundred bottles of beer on the wall…”

  “Mr. Bettencourt,” I said, “how about we play a game?”

  “I like games.”

  “Great. Let’s play…” I scrambled to come up with something, “what’s that in the dark?”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “We all have to sit very silently until we hear whatever the leader calls. I’ll start, so I’ll be the leader. If you hear it first, then it will be your turn.”

  “Okay.”

  “I call…a bird singing. Whoever hears a bird singing first should call it out. Then you’ll win.”

  He sounded excited to play. Thank goodness. Maybe the concentration would put him to sleep. People took up less oxygen when they slept, didn’t they?

  We were quiet for all of two minutes, when Mr. Bettencourt said, “I don’t hear anything at all.”

  “Just a little longer,” I said. “You know there has to be a bird out there somewhere.”

  This time when he went quiet I suspected he had, indeed, fallen asleep. Eventually he began to snore. Rumbles at regular intervals. Except…the noises came from behind me.

  “What’s that?” Mrs. Quinones asked.

  I’d already scrambled to my feet and pressed my ear to the metal. I couldn’t hear anything. “Maybe it was a big truck going by—”

  There it was again.

  “Someone is out there.” I began pounding at the door with both fists, both arms.

  Mrs. Quinones was at my side seconds later, trying to pull me away from the door. “What if they came back? What if it’s them?”

  Shaking her off, I said, “You are why women in distress get a bad name.” I resumed pounding. “In here! In here!”

  For at least fifteen minutes there was little change. The occasional rumbling, followed by silence. Mrs. Quinones started to cry again. “It’s got to be a machine making that noise. There’s no one out there.”

  Her attitude was jaw-droppingly underwhelming, but the same thought had occurred to me. What if this was nothing? What if I’d wasted precious oxygen on shouting for help to an empty room? “We can’t think like that,” I said, “so don’t.”

  “But—”

  Mr. Bettencourt stirred. “Cecelia, honey, when can we go home?”

  “Soon, Dad. Very soon.”

  “You keep saying that, but…”

  Whatever he said next was lost to me. The rumbling was back. This time louder. Closer. Maybe? “Hello!” I shouted. “In here!”

  This time the rumbling didn’t stop. It grew louder and stronger. So strong that I stepped back from the door and covered my ears against the shrill screech of metal against metal.

  When the door finally swung open, I blinked against all the light. My hands flew to cover my eyes. “Who is it?” I shouted. “Who’s there?”

  The first voice I heard was Sargeant’s. “They didn’t kill you!”

  The rest was a blur until we all got outside, shuttled into waiting cars, and driven with lights and sirens back to the White House.

  Mrs. Quinones and her father were taken to the doctor’s office on the ground floor so that Mr. Bettencourt could be checked out. I suspected he would be fine, but it never hurt to be sure.

  Sargeant and I had been brought up to the Red Room again, where we took the same seats on the couch we’d occupied before. The group gathered this time, however, was much larger. Doug was present, as were more Secret Service agents in one room than I’d seen in a long time. I didn’t recognize most of them. But I did recognize the golden rectangle on each of their lapels. I hadn’t noticed Mrs. Quinones’s guard’s pin when they first showed up because Sanker had kept his back to us most of the time. While I’d believed he was giving us privacy, he was actually protecting his cover.

  My biggest mistake was in trusting Mrs. Quinones. She’d sold us out—something I could never have imagined. Even doing so to protect her father wasn’t a good enough reason.

  Tom strode in to take charge of the meeting. As he made his way to the front of the group, I leaned closer to Sargeant. “Thank you,” I said, “for saving my life.”

  Sargeant didn’t look at me. “I couldn’t save Milton’s.”

  I patted his hand. He didn’t pull away.

  Tom cleared his throat. “Everyone, we’ve all had another exciting night and we have a lot of information to cover. I will appreciate your attention while we sort through what we know, what we don’t, and where we go from here.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear everything. The agents in the car had been close-mouthed. All I knew was that Sargeant had alerted them and that it had taken considerable time to find a drill that would cut through the vault door.

  “Here’s where we stand,” he said. “Mr. Sargeant was able to provide us with important information that led to the release of Ms. Paras, Mrs. Quinones, and Mrs. Quinones’s father from confinement. The Metro Police have issued an all-points bulletin for the two men who abducted them in the first place. We don’t have a make and model for a car, but we do have other agents working a different angle.” He turned to me. “Ms. Paras, please share with us what Mrs. Quinones told you while you were in captivity.”

  I hadn’t expected to be put on the spot. I explained what she’d told me, implicating her husband and his assistant, Nagy, in the process.

  When I was finished, Tom continued. “Special Agent in Charge Gavin is currently bringing Mr. Nagy and Secretary Quinones to headquarters for questioning. We will keep you all informed.”

  He explained a few more details about the night, details I hadn’t heard before. Sargeant—at least twenty years older than Sanker and Brad—had known he couldn’t outrun the two men, so he’d hidden under a desk until they left the building looking for him. When he believed the coast was clear, he’d run directly to Millcourt and Frederick. They’d leaped to action, and as the APB went out, the rescue efforts began.

  When the meeting broke up, Tom pulled me aside. “There was some doubt as to whether you were alive inside that vault. You couldn’t hear us, and we couldn’t hear you.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thank goodness you came when you did. I was starting to lose hope.”

  “You?” Tom asked. “Never.” He whispered close to my ear. “There’s one more thing you ought to know. He would be furious if he knew I told you, but your buddy Sargeant was panic-stricken out there. I think he was the most excited guy in the room when you came out safe.”

  “Sargeant?” I said. “There’s got to be a mistake.”

  “Spea
k of the devil,” Tom said as Sargeant approached. “See you later.”

  “How are you holding up, Peter?” I asked.

  “Fair enough. Did you hear we still get guarded until they pick up those two thugs?”

  “Makes sense.”

  The agents had all dispersed and it was just me and Sargeant making our way to the stairs. “How did you do it?” he asked. “How did you stay so calm, so focused when they were ready to kill us?”

  “Calm? Focused?” I almost laughed. “Me? Not even close.”

  “You fought them. How did you do that?”

  I thought back to that moment, to springing at Brad in the face of a gun pointed straight at me. “When you have nothing to lose, Peter, you have everything to gain.”

  CHAPTER 26

  I GOT BACK TO MY APARTMENT COURTESY OF Agent Scorroco. “Sorry it’s so late, Ms. Paras,” he said as we pulled up to my apartment building’s front door.

  Shocked that he’d initiated conversation, I smiled. “Could be worse,” I said.

  “That it could. I heard about this evening’s trouble,” he said. “I’ll be here in the morning in case you need to go out anywhere.”

  “I’ll be going in to the White House again,” I said. “Just not so early. What’s good for you? Nine o’clock? Or would later be better?”

  “Isn’t tomorrow your day off?”

  “I have to talk with Doug about something pressing. It can’t wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Nine o’clock will be fine.”

  Agent Rosenow met me at the car door. “Everything safe and secure,” she said. “I bet you’re happy to be home.”

  “I am,” I said, and I was. There was an emptiness I’d felt since I’d departed the White House tonight. Even though I’d been surrounded by people who were thrilled that I was safe, I wanted to talk with Gav. I needed to. But he was out catching bad guys, and I had a guard on duty all night. There was little chance of our seeing each other. All I could hope for was a phone call. But who knew when that might come. If it came at all.

  After Rosenow ensured my apartment was secure, I said good night and settled in. Hours later, still no word from Gav, I shut off the light and tried to sleep.

  As promised, Agent Scorroco was at the building’s front door at 9:00. We drove in without conversation, which, for today at least, was fine with me. I’d made an appointment to see Doug at ten. I knocked at his door right on the dot.

  “Good morning, Ollie. I was surprised to get your message. How are you feeling?” He gestured to one of the chairs opposite his desk, and I took the one closer to the wall.

  “Much better this morning,” I said. “By the way, I’ve asked a couple of other people to join us. Tom MacKenzie should be here any—”

  “I’m here now,” he said.

  Doug gave me a funny smile. “What’s going on? Is there more I don’t know about? Do we have a problem?”

  “We do,” I said, “and his name is Wyatt.”

  Doug’s face closed. I’d expected it would, which is exactly why I’d asked Tom to be present. There would be no protecting of friends here. Not when so much was at stake.

  “I have reason to believe Wyatt has compromised White House security,” I said.

  “Wyatt? The social aide? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I know he’s one of your buddies,” I said as though he hadn’t interrupted, “but I have reason to believe he changed the guest list to eliminate the Baumgartners from it, then left a note for Lynn, the calligrapher, to catch the omission.”

  Doug sat back, dumbfounded. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He hates Sargeant,” I said. “Simple as that. He’s trying to discredit him. Did you know that he approved Virgil’s interview—the one that eventually resulted in Virgil telling the world that Sargeant and I had discovered Patty’s and Cawley’s murders?”

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Do you realize that article could have cost us our lives?”

  Doug shook his head. “Sargeant approved that.”

  “Check again,” I said.

  Tom sat forward. “Ollie asked me to look into this. We’ve found multiple instances where Wyatt Becker overstepped his authority. All using Peter Sargeant’s name or access codes. Yes, we will be talking with Mr. Sargeant about protecting his personal information, but the fact is, Wyatt Becker is a security risk.”

  Doug stammered, “But…but…are you sure?”

  “The investigation is ongoing, but yes. We have enough information now to press charges. There has been no real harm done at this point—except to Mr. Sargeant’s reputation. Once we have it all complete, we will need access to files to see what damage has been attributed to Mr. Sargeant that was actually Mr. Becker’s doing.”

  “Did you know Wyatt was doing this?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” Doug said.

  Tom tilted his head. “You should have. Paul should have. I understand he’s been worried about his wife, and perhaps he slacked off these past weeks. We will be taking a look at all your procedures.”

  “Of course,” Doug said, his always-pink cheeks glowing red. “I apologize.”

  At that moment, Lynn knocked on the door. “You wanted to see me?”

  Doug looked confused. I took control. “Yes we did, Lynn. It’s about that sticky note again. Do you like working at the White House?”

  She took a step back as her hand flew to her throat. “I do. I love it here. What’s wrong?”

  “All we ask is that you be completely honest with us.”

  She nodded vigorously.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Tom smirk.

  “Did Wyatt Becker have anything to do with that sticky note you found, alerting you to the incorrect guest list?”

  Loyalties waged war across the young girl’s face. “He did,” she said finally, her face crumpling. “He told me not to tell anyone. He said it would be our secret.” She looked up at us with tear-filled eyes. “Are you going to fire me?”

  Doug assured her that since she’d told the truth, her job was secure. “Just remember,” he said as we sent her back to her office, “no secrets in the White House.”

  After further discussion, Tom accompanied me out. “Nice detective work, Ollie.”

  “Aren’t you going to chastise me for butting in where I don’t belong?”

  “Not this time. This was a wrong in our midst. You righted it. Best of all, you didn’t have to put yourself in danger to do so.” He thought about that for a minute, then turned to me. “Did you really just save Sargeant’s job?”

  I laughed. “I guess I did.”

  “Then I take back what I said about putting yourself in danger.”

  After a brief stop in the kitchen to bring Bucky and Cyan up to speed, I called for Scorroco to drive me home. But when I hurried out the back door, it was Gav who waited for me.

  “You’re done,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re all in custody. Your buddy Brad, his friend Luis Sanker—we’re betting he’s your ‘bump guy’—Ethan Nagy, and the secretary of state. You really aim high, don’t you?”

  “They’re all arrested?” I asked. “You mean, no more guards?”

  “You’re free again.”

  I dropped my head back to stare up at the sky. Clear blue and bright. Just like spring should be. “I love it.”

  “Let’s celebrate. Where do you want to go?”

  Although there was a chill in the air, the sun was out, so I suggested we leave the car and walk up 17th Street and grab something from a local vendor. “I’m starved.”

  We strolled past Connie in her tent across Pennsylvania, taking our goodies to a bench just inside Lafayette Park. “I first ran into bump guy…what’s his name?”

  “Luis Sanker.”

  “Here. I thought he was reading Connie’s posters. After all that’s happened, I realize he was waiting for me.”

  “I talke
d with Brad. He spilled his guts in exchange for a lighter sentence. Once they realized you had seen Luis—the ‘bump’—when Milton shouted at him—they reported in to Nagy. Bettencourt had already been kidnapped and Brad was supposed to leave him to wander in the city with the thought that some good Samaritan would eventually help him out.”

  “The abduction of Bettencourt was to send Cecelia a message, right?”

  “A warning for her to cooperate. Behave like a good wife. What kind of a guy does that?” Gav took an angry bite of his hot dog.

  “Did Brad just happen to run into me at the Metro?”

  Gav swallowed. “Nope. Seems your kindhearted tendencies are well known. We can thank the media for that. Brad waited for you at the station with Bettencourt. They’d hatched a plan to use the older man to find out how much you’d seen at the murder site.”

  “Stupid plan,” I said. “Whose idea was it?”

  “Does it matter? And it might sound stupid, but it almost worked.” He took a breath, then said, “It gets worse. You remember that gift—the pen Ethan Nagy gave you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Inside was a tiny tracking device. So they could keep tabs on where you were.”

  “But I left it at home the night you and I went to dinner,” I said. “I guess I thwarted them again, without even knowing it.”

  “You have the knack.” He said it lightly, but the fact that I’d been followed bothered me more than I cared to admit. I didn’t want to think about that.

  “So what now?” I asked.

  “The media will go nuts when all this breaks. Quinones was beloved around here. A genius in foreign affairs.”

  “Too bad he wasn’t better at his domestic ones.”

  “Sad to say, but true. You can bet there will be a full investigation into all his dealings.”

  I’d taken a couple more bites of my hot dog, but my appetite suddenly waned. Gav’s apparently had, too. We both got up and threw our remainders in the nearby trash can.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “about us.”

  “So have I.”

  “You asked a question the other day,” he said. “You asked if we would always push each other away when times got tough.”