Oak and Dagger

by Dorothy St. James

  “No!” I stumbled to my feet and away from Nadeem. “No! Keep him away from me! I want nothing to do with that lying, murdering bastard. We need to call the police. We need to tell them where they can find him. He needs to answer for getting my mother killed and for murdering all those innocent people.”

  “What are you talking about? He’s never murdered anyone,” Nadeem said.

  Jack wrapped his strong hands around mine and held on tight when I tried to pull away. “I know you resisted talking about him before, Casey. I know this is hard for you, but it’s time you know the truth about him. Your father, he’s a hero.”

  • • •

  A HERO.

  My father?

  “You have to be kidding,” I said.

  It had been nearly an hour since Jack had made that announcement, and I still didn’t believe it. I doubted I ever would. Sure Jack never lied, but that didn’t mean he was never wrong.

  “I worked with him for years,” Nadeem said. “He’s a legend at the agency.”

  “The CIA?” I started to feel dizzy again.

  “Sort of,” Nadeem hedged. “The agency we worked for was a little less . . . restricted . . . in our activities. Because of your father’s work and sacrifice—and your mother’s when she was alive—wars were averted, the Berlin Wall came down, countless lives were saved.”

  “But at what cost?” I demanded, but held up my hand. I didn’t want to hear the answer to that. I didn’t want someone to tell me that my mother’s life or my childhood wasn’t as important as those nameless, faceless lives that hadn’t been scarred by murder.

  And besides, I had evidence that my father was a cold, heartless killer. While I dug around in my large purse for the damning newspaper article I carried everywhere with me lately, Frank brought out a tray filled with bottles of cold beer. He offered me a glass for my beer. After another glance around the filthy house, I politely declined the glass.

  Dan, who I’d learned was the youngest in the family, blushed furiously as he picked up the dirty laundry, dumping armload after armload into another room. Jack intervened when Dan powered up a vacuum cleaner that roared like a jet engine.

  I wished Jack hadn’t stopped his brother. The tan carpet was coated with potato chip crumbs, cereal, and I was afraid to wonder what else.

  Since Dan had cleared off the sofa, I sat down with my bottle of beer and continued my search for the newspaper clipping. Nadeem left the room without a word to anyone. Jack followed.

  “Sorry about the mess.” Dan rubbed the back of his neck much the same way his brother did when he was feeling regretful. “We don’t get many visitors.”

  “I can see why,” I said. “You could hire a maid.”

  “We tried that,” Frank chimed in from the kitchen over the clanking of dishes and running water. “She quit after the first week.”

  “Can you blame her?” I said.

  “Don’t blame Jack for this mess,” Dan said as he wiped off the sofa’s seat cushion and sat down next to me. “You should see his bedroom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His blush returned. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant he keeps his room freakishly clean. His office, too. But don’t go in there. Frank said it’s a disaster area now.”

  “I saw it. It looks about as bad as the rest of the house,” I said as I picked up a handheld cheese grater that was digging into my hip—how did that get tucked into the sofa cushion?—and moved it to the coffee table.

  Dan nodded toward the hallway, where both Jack and Nadeem had gone. “Who is that other guy? If he broke into our house, why hasn’t Jack kicked his—”

  “Dan! Watch your language.” Frank sauntered into the room and whip-snapped his brother in the back of the head with a soapy dish towel.

  “Hey!” Dan cried, rubbing his head.

  “Casey is Jack’s . . . er . . . guest.” He flashed me a toothy smile that wasn’t nearly as disarming as Jack’s. “I have to apologize for this one. It’s my fault he has the manners of an ape. And Jack’s. We wore Mom down. By the time Dan came along, she’d given up.”

  “I see,” I said, smiling. Despite the stress and the disgusting mess, Jack’s brothers had an easygoing manner that made me feel welcome.

  Frank plopped down next to me on the sofa, sandwiching me between him and Dan. He draped his arm over my shoulder and asked, “But really, Casey, tell us. Who is that guy? And why didn’t Jack kick his . . . you know?”

  I explained, very briefly, how Nadeem was the assistant curator at the White House and how he might have been involved with the murder investigation. Then I asked, “If Jack is so neat, why does he put up with this mess? He could pick up after you.”

  “He’s never here,” Frank answered.

  “I’m looking for a place,” Jack said as he came back into the living room. Nadeem was with him.

  While Nadeem stayed at the entrance, Jack crossed the room to the sofa. He glared at his brothers crowding around me and gave Frank’s foot a swift kick. Dan jumped up from the sofa as if he’d taken the blow. Frank remained pressed up against me. His smile grew a little wider, but after a moment he lifted his arm from my shoulder, which seemed to placate Jack.

  “After our mother retired and moved to Boca,” Jack explained, “we bought the house from her. At the time, it seemed like the perfect solution. The bottom had just dropped out of the housing market, so buying the house was helping Mom. And between travel and long shifts, it seemed wasteful to pay rent on an apartment I rarely visited.”

  “If you’re still working long hours and traveling, why are you looking for a place?” I asked.

  Jack’s expression softened.

  “Perhaps he’s looking for a place for two.” Frank nudged me in the arm.

  “Oh . . .” Jack had been making hints lately that he wanted to move our relationship to the next level, but I’d never let him finish that thought because I didn’t know if I was ready. “Are you sure he wants to move in with me, or just escape the garbage heap you call home?” I whispered to Frank.

  “He was fine with his living arrangements here when he was dating crazy Simone,” Frank answered.

  Jack kicked his brother’s foot again. “If you’re done discussing things that are none of your business, could you two meddlers get out of here? Casey and I need to talk to Nadeem, in private.”

  After much grumbling and feet dragging, Dan and Frank headed out to a local bar.

  Nadeem claimed the spot on the sofa where Frank had been sitting, which earned him the same hard glare Jack had given his brothers.

  “Now that they’re gone, we can finally talk about important matters,” Nadeem said, seemingly oblivious to Jack’s death glare. “What we need to discuss is classified.”

  “I don’t know that it’s classified,” I countered. “It’s important that we get to the bottom of what’s going on and what you’re up to. And I agree that including new players right now would just slow us down. But I don’t think any of this would be considered classified.”

  “No, it is classified,” Nadeem countered with absolute assurance.

  “Really? Gordon’s murder investigation? You should tell the newspapers that. They seem to be printing every minute detail. Or are you talking about Lev Aziz? Is he involved with the murder investigation?”

  “The murder investigation? No, I meant your father’s history.”

  “This history?” I handed him the newspaper clipping I’d finally located at the bottom of my purse.

  Nadeem barely glanced at it before tossing it aside. “That? That was just a story the agency planted to help insert your dad into a deep-cover assignment.”

  “If that’s true, why would they use his real name in the article? That doesn’t sound very covert to me,” I said.

  Nadeem hesitated before saying, “His cover had already been blown. It’s . . . it’s a long story, and it’s my understanding that things were chaotic at the time. Your mother had died just a few days before they
inserted him into the assignment.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re trying to tell me that my father was taking assignments days after my mother’s murder? What kind of cold-hearted man does that?”

  “The kind of man who is hungry for justice,” Nadeem said.

  “Justice?” The word tasted sour in my mouth.

  “I don’t understand how you can’t know,” Nadeem said. “James Calhoun is the bravest, smartest man I’ve ever met. He is most definitely a hero.”

  “I don’t know why I’m listening to you, the one who has lied about his past.”

  “I didn’t lie,” Nadeem said.

  “You said you were a fact-checker,” I countered.

  “I was . . . of sorts.”

  “And you’ve been stalking me.”

  He shrugged as if caught. “I have . . . but for good reason.”

  “What reason is that?” I looked to Jack to see if he’d help me. He had stepped back and was watching the exchange with a half smile as if he was enjoying watching me interrogate Nadeem.

  “I did it to make sure the killer doesn’t try to come after you.”

  “Bull. You were skulking around the hospital before I’d even arrived, before anyone really knew what had happened.”

  Nadeem was silent for a moment.

  “Well?” Jack finally spoke up. “Do you have an answer for her?”

  Nadeem turned toward Jack. “Not one she’s going to like.”

  “Spit it out,” I said.

  “Your father knows how important Gordon is to you. He asked me to go to the hospital. He wanted me to check on security to make sure everything was being done to keep the head gardener safe.”

  “My father knows how I feel about Gordon? How does he know that? Has he been watching me?” I rubbed my arms and shivered. “What does he want from me?”

  “That’s a question you should be asking James. I’ve only been helping, not directing. He cares very deeply for you.”

  I snorted. “You can’t be talking about the same man who ran away in the middle of the night like a coward. Because of him, my mom was murdered while I watched. Those same men shot me in the gut and left me to die. I was only six years old! Where was your hero then? Where was he when I was put into a broken foster system because no one knew my real name . . . I didn’t even know it. We’d moved so many times, changed names so many times, and I’d been told to trust no one. I had shut down. I didn’t speak for nearly a year. You’re telling me that I should consider a man who could turn his back on his own family a loving dad and a hero? Are you insane?”

  Nadeem looked to Jack for help again.

  “She has a point,” Jack said. “He owes her an explanation.”

  “He owes me nothing. I don’t want to see him. Ever. Let’s talk about something else, something important like saving Gordon’s neck.”

  Nadeem opened his mouth to say something but, wisely, closed it again.

  “Gordon,” I said through clenched teeth. “We need to focus on Gordon and whether or not you played a role in Frida’s murder.”

  “I agree. We have to be careful. The murderer could be in the room with us.” Nadeem flicked a glance in Jack’s direction.

  “You’re crazy,” I said. “Jack’s not involved with Frida’s murder.”

  “Are you sure? If Jack or his girlfriend”—Nadeem added that last bit with an extra emphasis on girlfriend—“is behind the threats you’ve been getting, how do we know there’s not a more sinister plot being hatched here?”

  “This isn’t about Jack. This is about you.”

  Nadeem’s gaze narrowed as he watched Jack move across the room like a predator stalking his prey. “Where was Jack at the time of the murder? Has he told you?”

  “Jack’s not a suspect,” I said. “You are.”

  “Isn’t he? When there’s the promise of riches and treasure involved, I’ve learned the hard way you can’t trust anyone. Why are you so blind when it comes to him? I already told you I saw Jack in the garden around the same time that Frida was murdered. And yet you say nothing. If he cares so much for you, why does he keep lying to you?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  If I should be so fortunate to reach the White House, I expect to live on twenty-five thousand dollars a year, and I will neither keep house nor make butter.

  —SARA POLK, FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES (1845–1849)

  JACK went still. Deadly still.

  I held my breath, waiting for him to bite Nadeem’s head off for tossing around false accusations.

  “Yes, you saw me in the garden,” Jack admitted. “I was doing my job, you moron. And I wish to hell that I had seen something, because we all know Gordon is innocent. I went back and watched the surveillance feeds several times because on Monday I was distracted by an unescorted assistant with the curator’s office who had no business wandering all over the South Lawn. Instead of saving Frida, I was following you.”

  “You have some nerve blaming me for causing distractions. Your crazy girlfriend has done nothing but cause one commotion after another with her threats.”

  “Ex-girlfriend. But you’re right.” Jack rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded tired. I didn’t blame him, I was tired, too. It was after midnight, and we all had to work in the morning. “I’ll make sure Simone’s family and the police know that she’s been sending you threats. I won’t take the risk that she might actually hurt you. I’m also going to make damn sure she understands I want her completely out of my life.”

  He knelt down in front of me and took my hands in his. “I never dreamed she’d go this far and frighten you.”

  “I haven’t been scared. I haven’t had the time,” I said. “I’ve been too busy wondering why Nadeem keeps popping up where he shouldn’t be. He’s the one who’s been scaring me.”

  “I already explained that,” Nadeem protested.

  “Did you?” I demanded, still angry with him for breaking into Jack’s house. Jack could have been hurt in the scuffle. And I was still angry with Jack, for that matter. I released my hands from his and tucked them under my arms. He should have told me about his ex-girlfriend, especially if she was causing him trouble. I was sick of secrets and lies. “All we have, Nadeem, is your word and your constant attempts to push the spotlight of suspicion off you and over to Jack. To me, that in itself is suspicious behavior.”

  Nadeem slouched on the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest like a pouting child. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then why were you researching the HMS Fantome and trying to hide it when I came into your office?” I asked.

  “I wanted to help. I wanted to find Frida’s killer and . . .” He sank a little deeper into the sofa cushions. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try us,” Jack said. When Nadeem kept silent, Jack added, “If you don’t, I’ll get my brother to come back here and arrest you for breaking and entering.”

  “If you’re arrested, you’ll lose your job. That is, if you’re really at the White House to work in the curator’s office,” I added.

  “It’s true! It’s been my lifelong dream to work with such a historic collection.”

  “But you’re also part of the spy business,” I said.

  “I’m retired from what you call the spy business. When I got out, I went back to college and pursued a joint master’s degree in art history and museum studies. The opportunity to work with Frida was a dream come true for me. And no, I didn’t pull any strings to get the position. My grades and performance spoke for themselves.”

  “And what about moving into the basement apartment where I live?” I asked, still not convinced he was telling us the complete truth.

  “It was available. Frida handed me your flyer about the apartment.”

  “But you had the money and could afford a nicer place,” Jack was quick to point out. “You expect us to believe you didn’t know James Calhoun’s daughter lived one flight above you?”

  He didn’t answer right a
way. “I knew she lived there,” he finally admitted, but quickly added, “How can you blame me for wanting to get close to her? I’ve heard about James’s amazing daughter, the daughter who was beautiful and talented, for the past fifteen years that I’ve worked with the man. And now she’s become quite a legend in D.C. for saving the President. Who wouldn’t have wanted to live near her?” He looked at me as he said it and smiled that dazzling smile of his. “Your father wasn’t exaggerating. You are the first person to notice that I was keeping surveillance on you. Not even the super spies in the Middle East who live on the edge of paranoia and see enemies even in the eyes of their most trusted friends and family ever suspected I was watching them. But you did. You’re pretty amazing.”

  What could I do but smile back?

  “Okay, okay,” Jack said. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re telling us the truth—”

  “You know I am,” Nadeem insisted. “You talked to James just now. Didn’t he tell you all this?”

  “He did,” Jack agreed, much to my surprise.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe it. “You talked to my father? When was this? Why didn’t you tell me? Have you been in contact with him all this time, too?”

  “No, I haven’t. Honest, Casey, I haven’t,” Jack said. “When Nadeem left the room a few minutes ago, it was to contact your father to tell him what had happened and what you now knew. Nadeem then handed the phone to me. I promise you, Casey, this was the first time I’d ever had the privilege of talking with the esteemed James Calhoun.”

  “Esteemed?” I sighed. My father was not the hero everyone seemed to think he was. And his intrusion into my life was an unwelcome distraction. Time was running out. If we didn’t find any evidence to the contrary, Gordon would be charged with murder.

  “Your dad told me that he trusted Nadeem with his life and that we should, too.” Jack grimaced. I couldn’t tell if his unhappiness was at his reluctance to trust Nadeem or his discomfort because I wouldn’t jump on my father’s hero bandwagon with him.