Foreign Éclairs

by Julie Hyzy

  A marine sentry stationed in front of the door stepped forward and opened it for us. I thanked him, then whispered back to Yablonski once we were inside, “I thought the sentries were only on duty when the president was in the West Wing.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Yablonski led me through the Center Hall and to the Family Elevator. “There is something to be said for keeping up appearances. And calculated misdirection.”

  “You want Kern and his people to believe that President Hyden hasn’t been warned.”

  He pressed the elevator’s Up button and nodded. He still hadn’t answered my question about where we were going, but I assumed I’d find out soon enough.

  I continued to speak softly even though there was no one else around. “But once Kern and Slager discover that the bomb didn’t go off, they’re sure to know—” The look on Yablonski’s face stopped me mid-thought.

  The elevator dinged its arrival. I waited until we got inside and the doors closed. “I’m being hidden, aren’t I? You’re feeding the media, or at least dropping hints, suggesting a bomb did go off, aren’t you? Or maybe the bomb squad detonated it themselves. You’re making Kern believe that he was successful, so as to draw him out.”

  “You missed your calling as a strategist,” he said, deadpan.

  “That’s what Gav says.”

  “Yeah, I can see why he keeps you around.”

  A laugh burbled out of me, even though I wouldn’t have believed I had the energy for it. “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  The elevator doors opened at the second floor. “Home away from home,” he said as we stepped out and into that floor’s central hallway.

  “Uh, what?” I twisted my head back and forth between the West Sitting Hall and its counterpart across the building. “This is the residence. I don’t belong here.”

  “This is temporary. As I told you, the president and his family are safely away. You won’t be bothered.”

  “I won’t be bothered?” It took effort to keep up with the conversation but incredulity, I was beginning to discover, is quite energizing. “This is their home. I’m an intruder.”

  “You’re a welcome guest, and until you and I—and Gav—are able to come to an agreement about the future, this is the best we could do for secure temporary quarters.” He led me past the Yellow Oval Room and the Treaty Room into the narrow corridor that opened up to the East Sitting Hall. I’d been up here only a couple of times before but never in such a bedraggled state.

  Two maids waited for us. “Hey, Ollie,” they said. “Glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks,” I said, still not understanding.

  Yablonski turned his back to them and faced me. “The Queen’s Bedroom,” he said, pointing north, “or the Lincoln Bedroom?” He pointed south.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “You’re exhausted, you’re mentally drained, you saved yourself from being blown to bits, and, quite possibly, performed a similar service for the president of the United States. I wouldn’t kid you right now.”

  I rubbed my temples. Wow, I really wished Gav were here.

  “The Lincoln Bedroom is the one with the ghost, right?” I asked.

  “So they say.”

  “Then that’s my choice. I could use a spirit watching over me tonight, I guess.”

  Yablonski got that sad look in his eyes again. “Get some sleep.”

  * * *

  I woke up facing the windows, hands beneath my cheek. It took a few blinks and memory searches before I remembered where I was. Sunlight streamed in through the sheer window coverings, warming my soul and making me wonder about the time.

  When I’d first arrived, I hadn’t been alert enough to appreciate my palatial digs, but now I drew in a breath of total relaxation. The clean scent of fresh sheets surrounded me and brightness made this gorgeous room glisten as I studied the elaborate cornice boards above the two windows and smiled at the golden cords and tassels draped below.

  Wait. Shouldn’t Gav have gotten back by now? Why wasn’t he here? No doubt he would be called into meetings, but shouldn’t I have been able to see him before he got dragged away again? Had Yablonski lied to me about Gav being on his way? I wouldn’t put it past the man.

  Wide awake now and decidedly angry, I sat up fast.

  “What? Ollie? You okay?”

  The moment I turned, all my anger melted away.

  Gav reached over, sitting up to grab my arm. His hair was flattened on one side, and it looked as though he hadn’t shaved since I’d last seen him. “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?”

  He was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

  “You’re here?” I threw my arms around him, knocking him onto his back. I kissed him full on the lips, then pulled my head back. “When did you get in?”

  “Pretty late. You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you so I crawled in quietly.” He stared up at me, pushing my dark hair back behind my ears. “What happened out there?”

  I rolled back onto my side of the bed, feeling such uncomplicated bliss that I hesitated to relive the horrors of . . . wait . . . was that last night? Two nights ago? I raised a hand to my forehead. “What day is it? Do you know?”

  He sat up. “Tuesday, if I’m not mistaken. Flying back and forth so much, I lost track a little myself.” Reaching over to the side table he lifted up his watch. “Eight o’clock.”

  “That’s eight A.M., I presume,” I said, flinging a hand toward the windows. “Given the sunlight.”

  “Tell me everything,” he said.

  His eyes held fear, love, and worry in their gray depths. I reached up to stroke his stubbled cheek. “You already know it all, I’m sure,” I said. “I’d rather hear how things went for you. I mean, once Kern knew that you and I hadn’t been captured, he assumed you were flying out to try to infiltrate his faction. You had to be in danger.”

  “I’m here.” He gripped my hand. “And my team is safe. That’s all that matters. And yes, while en route I read every report I could get my hands on and talked to everyone with information, but I want to hear what really happened. I need to hear it from you.”

  I sat up, arranging a pillow behind my back for support. Gav rose, intending to settle in next to me when we were both startled by a knock at the door.

  I gave him a puzzled look then called, “Come in?”

  One of the maids peered around the door. “I heard voices so I knew you were awake.”

  A staffer, listening outside my room? I wondered how the First Family dealt with that level of attention every single day. I knew I’d go nuts.

  “Is there anything you need before breakfast?” the maid asked. “Anything you care to request from the chef?”

  “I’m the chef,” I said before I could stop the words from tumbling out.

  The maid, a middle-aged woman who’d been around for years, smiled. “Today you’re the guest. Bucky told me to tell you he’ll whip up anything you request.”

  My stomach growled as I turned to Gav.

  He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

  “Tell Bucky we’re starving,” I said to the maid. “I’ll take whatever he’s got. I guarantee nothing will go to waste.”

  And while we waited, I told Gav everything.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Gav and I got dressed. He had a change of clothes in his duffel bag. I’d slept in the scrubs from the hospital.

  To my surprise, several wardrobe choices awaited me on a nearby Queen Anne–style chair. There were blue jeans, dark cotton pants, a handful of V-neck sweaters, T-shirts, all the necessary underthings, and even footwear choices. The items had appeared, as if by magic, overnight. Clearly, someone had been dispatched to find me suitable clothing.

  Gav explained that the U.S. government hoped that Kern believed I’d succumbed to his evil plan. To maintain the charade, the Secret Service couldn’t be seen visiting my apartment and leaving with armloads of my clothes. Though Gav wasn’t forbidden from entering
our home, it was decided a better strategy to make it seem as though he remained out of town.

  Whoever had picked out my new attire—and I assumed the task had fallen to a female agent—had done an amazing job. Sizes and fit were spot-on and the combinations were comfortable and just my style.

  Gav and I were encouraged to make ourselves at home in the residence until further notice. “Can you imagine living like this?” I asked as we made our way to the Yellow Oval Room.

  “No.”

  “That was a pretty quick answer,” I said.

  I crossed the room to stare out the windows. Positioned directly above the similarly shaped Blue Room on the first floor, the Yellow Oval Room opened to the Truman Balcony and overlooked the south grounds. Gorgeous day out there today.

  He came to stand next to me. “I see how hard it is for the families who move in. They can’t let their guard down. Not for a moment. Every decision they make—whether manifested in a word, facial expression, beverage, or book choice—faces relentless judgment.”

  “I know that. I see it, too. I’m only trying to express how overwhelmed I am by the beauty and all the history surrounding us. And what it must be like to have this be part of your everyday life.”

  He wrapped an arm around my waist, snugging me close. “I need to feel you near me,” he said into my hair. “When I think of how close you came—”

  “Don’t think about it. I’m here. You’re here. That’s all that’s important now.”

  “I can’t not think about it.”

  We stood together staring out the center window. A giant cloud passed overhead, rolling its shadow over the green grass below.

  Gav cleared his throat. “But speaking of living in a fishbowl, do you remember how vulnerable we felt when we knew the Armustanians were listening in on our conversations?”

  “How could I forget?” With a sense of what was coming, I blew out a breath and stepped away from the window. “Right now, though, we’re in the White House; we’re safe. For one day—just one day—I want to forget the outside world exists. I want to forget that there are terrorists and assassins out there with our names on their to-do lists.”

  Offering a tentative smile, I lowered myself onto one of the twin yellow sofas and patted the cushion next to me.

  Gav faced me. I couldn’t miss the profound sadness in his eyes.

  “Ollie.” His voice held a timbre of warning.

  “We aren’t going to get that one whole day, are we?”

  He pulled in a breath.

  I had my answer.

  “Okay, then,” I said with as much energy as I could muster. “What happens next?”

  From behind me: “I’m glad you asked.”

  Yablonski stood in the doorway. He held a leather portfolio and wore the look of a man who’d been up all night. “How bad was it?” he asked Gav.

  Gav crossed the room to shake his mentor’s hand. “They knew we were coming,” he said. “I assume you’ve already read the reports. We got out with a few scrapes, no serious casualties. That’s the best we could have hoped for under the circumstances.”

  I bolted to my feet. “What happened?”

  Yablonski waved me back to my seat. “Your boy here walked into an ambush.” He made his way over and settled into the matching sofa across from us as Gav sat down next to me. I felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu. It hadn’t been all that long ago that we’d sat facing each other exactly like this in a very different oval room.

  I warped back to when Yablonski had shared details about my father’s service to the country—classified details Gav and I had sworn never to share with anyone else. And we hadn’t.

  Here we were again. Though not in the Oval Office this time, everything else was the same: a low table between us and Yablonski looking haggard.

  He placed his leather portfolio on the marble tabletop. “You know why I’m here.”

  Though not a question, it demanded an answer. Gav knew this was directed to me so he waited.

  “Kern is still at large, isn’t he?” I asked.

  Yablonski nodded. “The information you provided—your description of both men and insight into how they work—has been an enormous help. Based on what we know now, we’re convinced we will eventually track him down.”

  “As long as I stay hidden, you mean. As long as he believes I’m dead.”

  Again, the big man nodded. “We’ve taken extraordinary steps to perpetuate the charade. We tracked back to the location where they abandoned you and detonated the bomb.”

  “That seems like an extreme measure. You really think they might have come back to double-check?”

  “However unlikely, there remained a remote possibility.”

  “What about all the beautiful trees?” I asked. “Were they destroyed?”

  “The device was designed to maximize the loss of human life,” he said. “The flora and fauna suffered damage, but it was minimal.”

  “How long do you think we have until Kern realizes I wasn’t killed?”

  “If all goes as planned, he’ll never realize it.”

  “So that means . . .”—I looked from one man to another—“as long as I maintain a low profile, we’re in the clear? We can go back to living our lives?”

  Yablonski pulled in his bottom lip and sucked on it.

  Gav took my right hand in his. “Ollie.” His voice was a whisper.

  I started shaking my head. “No, no.”

  Yablonski wrinkled his nose and looked away.

  I had to make him see reason. “You have a plan, clearly. You just said as much. So all we have to do is wait for Kern to be caught, right? That can’t take long, can it?”

  Yablonski met my eyes. “You will never be safe while Kern is at large. Neither will the president. The difference is that Secret Service can’t tuck the leader of the free world into an underground bunker until all threats against him are eliminated.”

  Gav’s hand was warm, but I’d never felt so bereft.

  “But they can hide you,” Yablonski continued. “We don’t have the manpower to protect you the way we do the president. Kern has shown how little regard he has for American lives and collateral damage. If he knows you’re alive, he’ll come after you again—and again—until he succeeds in killing you. And he won’t care how many others he takes down with you.”

  I steeled myself to say the words I dreaded. “You’re talking about the Witness Protection Program.”

  “A similar arrangement, yes.”

  “You tried to break this to me yesterday at the hospital, didn’t you?” I expelled an angry breath. “The government is putting us in there, isn’t it?”

  Gav squeezed my hand. “They can’t do it without our consent.”

  Did I really have any choice?

  I faced the sunlit windows, not looking at either man. This couldn’t be happening. There were too many loose ends. How could I simply walk away from my life and pretend it never existed? Besides Bucky and Sargeant and the maids who’d brought us breakfast, who would be sworn to secrecy? My head spun with questions.

  “My mom, my nana,” I said. “What about them? Does this mean I’ll never see them again?”

  “As long as Kern believes you’re dead, your mom and grandmother will be safe. They’ll be flown out here to attend your funeral.”

  “What? No, that’s not right.”

  “Don’t worry, they know the truth,” he said. “They know you’re alive and they understand what needs to be done in order to keep you safe. They’re willing to do this.”

  “How can you say ‘They know’?” I asked. “You used present tense. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Yablonski tried to smile. “I believe you’re acquainted with your mother’s gentleman friend, Kap?”

  I nodded. I’d met Kap some years ago, shortly after a guest at the White House died at dinner. I’d been suspicious of the handsome, slick man—especially when he began paying attention to my mom—but he’d turned out to be one o
f the good guys.

  “He has been made aware of the situation. He’s advising your mother and grandmother even as we speak.”

  I felt as though all the life drained out of me in one painful whoosh. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “It isn’t your fault,” Yablonski said, not realizing I meant the apology to my mom.

  A million more thoughts raced through my mind. I plucked at the next one in line. “What about the winery?” I asked. “Bill and Erma have plans to bring Gav into the business. How will this affect them?”

  Yablonski and Gav exchanged a look that told me they’d discussed all this before. Probably when they’d first attempted to broach the subject with me and I’d resisted.

  The large man sighed. “For now, the winery is out of your future. But in time, once we’re convinced that terrorists from Armustan are no longer targeting you, then Gav may be able to resume working with Bill and Erma again.”

  “In time,” I repeated. “You make it sound as though it could take years.”

  “There’s no way to predict.”

  Desperate to grasp at any hope, I asked, “This disappearance of ours could be temporary, right?”

  Yablonski hesitated, but said, “It could.”

  “We could be back here within a week, maybe less . . . couldn’t we?”

  “It’s best not to speculate.”

  “But it’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Yablonski inhaled deeply, then leaned forward. “I know you’re fighting this and believe me, I understand. But I’ve dealt with a fair share of reluctant witnesses and I’ve maintained contact with some. Those who fully accept their new identities and try not to look back at what’s been lost are the ones who find the most success in their new lives.”

  This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

  “What you’re saying is that we not only have to agree to this, we have to embrace the complete upheaval of our lives. We have to go to a new city with new names, new histories, and forget that this life exists.” Thinking of Bucky in my kitchen two floors below, thinking of Sargeant, who I’d miss more than I’d ever allow myself to admit, I let my gaze rove the room.

  “Yes.”

  “And you can’t force us. We have to agree.”