by Milly Taiden
“What about the boys and mom?” she asked.
“By the time things settled down enough to figure out what had happened, the family was no longer where they had lived in Russia. They were gone. We tried finding them, but we weren’t able to get inside help at the time with the situation.”
“So the boys think the U.S. government made their father come back and killed him or made him disappear forever,” she theorized.
“That’s what I’m taking from all this,” the president said. He shrugged. “It’s too bad, really. He was a nice guy and really loved his family. I wish we had been able to see what evidence Russia had to accuse him. He had to be innocent of any wrongdoing.”
Candy thought about what he said. If she had been in charge of that operation, she’d be ranting and raving about Russia’s interference with Americans living in their country. She’d throw their commie butts in prison and let them rot for wanting to hurt people in this country. Even now, she’d still be angry and hot over the deal. But the giant who could chew new assholes with one bite felt sorry about the situation.
Now she knew why the president was such a great leader. He cared for human life no matter who they were or what they did. He didn’t judge. Innocent until proven guilty. That was what she’d spent the last twenty years fighting for.
She noted how calmly the president was recalling the event. He didn’t bring in anger or physical violence. Like her father would’ve; like she would’ve. She never thought about a different way to react to negativity. Even in the military, she was taught to holler and yell to get attention. Maybe her way wasn’t the best way.
Not paying attention, Candy almost smacked into the president’s back. The group had come to a stop. “Are we there?” she asked. No one answered, but they all stepped into an old, musty basement-like room. After she exited, Josh got on his hands and knees, his face on the stair flooring.
“Where are we?” she asked.
The first lady’s face lit up. “We are in the subbasement.” She pointed to the door down the hall. “If I remember correctly, that’s the laundry room. And down the big hall, it’s mostly electrical and heating machines. I’ve only been down here once. Several passageways come through here also.”
“Secret passageways?” Candy asked.
The first lady nodded. “Mostly.”
Candy tapped her foot on the dingy white floor. She thought about what she’d learned in school history classes. This sounded dumb, but she’d ask anyway. “They had tile like this back in the 1800s?”
The woman laughed. Candy knew it was a stupid question, but she didn’t expect it to be funny. “I don’t mean to laugh at your question. But it is the exact same thing I asked when I toured the house.” The lady smiled at her. “Great minds think alike.” She reached out a hand. “I’m Monica. We haven’t had the chance to meet properly.”
Candy shook her hand. “Sergeant Major Candace Obermier, ma’am. Good to meet you.” The woman’s smile turned to a frown. What? Had she done something wrong?
“With my husband,” the first lady said, “it’s fine for you to be sergeant, but with me, you’re Candace.”
After an initial shock at such friendliness, Candy relaxed. “Ma’am, please call me Candy.”
“And you call me Monica, not ma’am.” Both ladies smiled at each other. “And the answer to your tile question is no. The original house didn’t have basements. In the late 1940s, Truman discovered the wooden beams supporting the house and floors were about to completely fail. Most everything was original from 1814 at that time.”
“Oh,” Candy said. “I thought the White House was built around 1776 when we took our independence.”
“The original was 1790s,” Monica said.
“Original?” Candy replied. “It’s been rebuilt?”
“Twice, actually.”
Damn, she was feeling stupid as shit now. Did she sleep through this in school? Monica smiled. “I’m a schoolteacher. Well, was until I became the first lady. I teach American history. Learning it once, like you, I wouldn’t expect anything to stick past the test; there’s so much. But me, I don’t even need a textbook anymore.”
That made Candy feel better. She was sure she’d known all this stuff at one time, like twenty years ago. “So how old is everything here?” Candy asked.
“The first build was 1790s. In 1814, the British burned down most of Washington DC, including the inside of this house.”
“All of it?” Candy couldn’t believe the White House had burned down.
“The walls stood since they were brick, but the inside was gutted.”
“So nothing from before that time exists. All the documents and letters from the presidents were destroyed? All that history lost.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Everything of James Madison and earlier is gone. When people say they have authentic things from that time period, you can almost bet it’s fake. Unless it was brought in after the fire and put here.”
“What happened the second time it was rebuilt?” she asked, now curious about the history on which her feet rested. Who had stood and walked where she had, hundreds of years ago?
“Rumor has it that President Truman was sitting in his tub, which happened to be on the second floor above the State Dining Room where the Daughters of the American Revolution were having dinner.
“Supposedly, the tub almost fell through the ceiling and onto their table. Truman was so embarrassed by the near catastrophe, he had the entire structure inspected. Turns out he was living in a death trap, practically.”
“Wow,” Candy commented. “The same frame since 1814? Grew strong trees back then,” Candy said.
“Can you imagine?” Monica gushed. “All floors could’ve collapsed on whoever was here.” She shook her head slowly, concern evident on her face. She cared, too. “Anyway, Truman had the place gutted and they dug the basements then. This tile is from the 1950s.”
If Candy ever had a friend, she’d want her to be like Monica. Sure, Candy socialized with other females, but in the military, having a close friend wasn’t the best idea. Like she’d said before: Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed for them.
That got Candy’s imagination going. She replied, “I bet they added secret rooms and hidden passages.”
Monica smiled. “Yes, they did. Several of them. And at the end of each term, the outgoing lady has to be sure the incoming lady commits them to memory.”
“Couldn’t you write them down and keep a list in a safe?” Candy asked. That seemed logical.
Monica laughed again. “I asked the same question. Then got a lecture like I hadn’t had since grade school. No way are we to keep anything written, or hints, or clues.”
Candy saw the purpose, but still . . . “Couldn’t a passage be forgotten?”
“My thoughts exactly, but I see the purpose of it. Safety for my husband.” Candy watched Monica turn to her husband, put an arm around the back of his waist, and slide under his arm. From there, she kissed his check and asked, “What are we waiting on?”
An explosion came from far away, but still the ground shook and dust fell from the ceiling. Candy had let her guard down too much. With no danger directly in front of them, there wasn’t as much immediacy to get away. She was back and wouldn’t be forgetful again of her responsibility.
A loud crack startled her, whipping her head around to look at Josh and his foot currently sticking through the floor. “What the hell are you doing?” Candy asked.
Josh pulled out his foot and leaned over the hole he’d made. “It only looks like the bottom is here. The steps continue lower.”
“Lower?” Monica said. “There isn’t a blueprint for anything lower than this floor. I’ve looked. This is it.”
Chapter Thirty
Josh heard the story the president told Candy about the Steganovich boys. Tragic, really. And now they were ru
nning from one of the brothers’ scheming.
On hands and knees again, Josh peered through the hole he’d made in the plywood at the base of the stairs. Well, not really the base since the stairs continued down. The heavy smell of dirt overwhelmed his senses. Old steel and wood floated to him. The mustiness of material that had sat in hot, humid weather too long; old cardboard and paper; and oil paint and . . . ? What the hell?
He tore up chunks of wood revealing another level.
“Wow,” the first lady said, “this wasn’t on any plans I saw of the house. Is it safe?”
Josh didn’t smell the telltale sign of alcohol, nor did he smell any human presence. That was a first. Never before had he been in a place where humans hadn’t been for years. Their scent lingered for a long time, so not smelling it—Wait. He took a deep breath. Yes, there it was again. Death, decay, but so minute.
He responded to the first lady. “I’m pretty sure there are no bombs, but I can’t promise anything else.” He’d ripped away enough flooring to continue down the spiral. “Give me a second to check it out.”
Sliding down the rail, he curved around twice then dropped to the ground. Ground meaning dirt, not tile or concrete, but dry, dusty earth. Then he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeingl. He was below the mansion. Literally. If there was an earthquake, or big enough bomb, the entire house could fall on him.
As he looked across the expanse, steel girders and I beams stuck up from the ground like skinny tree trunks supporting a ceiling. Except these were holding up the basement floor and five levels above that, not counting any roof.
Suddenly, he realized what he was looking at: the crawl space under the house. But you could stand and the space was huge. Old air shafts and pipes traveled the length of the floor above their heads, coming out one side and back up the other, as well as old wooden beams that didn’t look very healthy.
“Josh?” His mate called down, worry in her voice.
“It’s safe to come down. You won’t believe this,” he replied. He stepped up to the stair when he saw the first lady coming through the hole. He assisted her down and waited for the next person. When no one came, he tuned his ears into the upstairs area. Arguing? What the hell?
Josh hurried up the steps to see what was going on. He stuck his head above the floor level. His mate and the president were in a heated discussion.
“No, I insist, young lady. You go before me,” the president said.
“No, Mr. President. You go next. I go last,” Candy replied.
“Sergeant,” the president said, “you should go first—”
“Mr. President—” Candy huffed.
Josh couldn’t believe this. He clarified, “Mr. President, it is my mate’s job to protect you with her life, which means you come down next.”
Candy straightened her shoulders and smiled like she’d won a hard-fought victory. Note to self: mate is highly competitive and probably doesn’t lose well. An ass-kicking or two may be in the future.
Josh stood farther down on the steps as the president made his way around the metal pole, not very happy. Candy followed directly behind him.
“You wait,” Josh pointed a finger at his mate. When the stairs were clear, he rushed up and held on to Candy. She rolled her eyes at him.
“I am quite capable of going down stairs on my own,” she retorted. “I handled the previous several floors just fine.”
He scowled at her. “Let’s make a deal for here on out.”
“About what?” she asked.
“You let me coddle and overprotect you everywhere we go,” he said.
“What?” Candy snorted. “That’s not a deal. And I can take care of myself.”
“Okay, let me rephrase,” he said. “You pretend to let me coddle and overprotect you and we’ll all be happy.” His mate let out a soft laugh. Her eyes twinkled beautifully in the dim light from the upper floor.
“All right, I’ll pretend you’re saving me, a damsel in distress, everywhere we go.”
He leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips. She tasted fantastic. He wanted more of her and took it until a clearing throat interrupted.
“We should be going,” he said. “Even though I think we’re safe, we’re not out of the hole yet.”
“Nope,” she agreed, “we are definitely in a hole.” He tagged her ass for the smart reply and helped her down the rest of the steps.
The bottom of the stairwell was completely dark to human eyes, but the flashlights took care of that. Ahead, the president and his wife were kneeling, looking at something. There were a lot of things clustered together. This was where the musty material, old paper, and oil paint smell came from.
Candy waved her light around. “What is all this . . . stuff?” Old flowery upholstered furniture lined the wall. On their cushions was an eclectic mix of boxes, painted portraits, curtains, silverware.
“Oh my goodness, dear.” The first lady held up the silverware she’d spied. “These are the missing pieces to Truman’s silver set.” Her hand lay on a massive heap of curtains. “I think these are the curtains Roosevelt had in the Oval Office that had been lost. This is incredible.”
Not as impressed as the first lady, Josh meandered farther along the wall. Candy came up behind him and slipped an arm around the back of his waist. Her touch surprised him and when he lifted his arm to go around her, his elbow bumped her nose.
“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there until too late.”
She waved him off, tears from the nose pain gathered in her eye. “It’s okay. I must’ve missed something.”
“About what?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I watched the first lady do it and it looked easy. Guess not.” She wiped away water from her eyes. Then she reached down and pulled on the tip of a piece of paper sticking out between the pages of an old book. The light beige paper was folded into quarters and the edges looked burned. When she unfolded it, a section along the creases crumbled in her hands. “Oh, shit.” She quickly set it on the book, the only flat place nearby.
Slowly, Candy lifted the top half and lay it flush against the tome’s leather cover. It was an old letter in fancy script. The first thing Josh read was the date at the top: 1813.
Chapter Thirty-one
Candy almost shit her camo pants. “Do you see this?” she whispered to Josh. “Oh, my freaking god. Josh, this is history at its best. It’s pre-1814.”
In the header next to the date was written “White Palace.” Candy handled the paper gently. “Ma’am, I mean, Monica, I think you might have the answer to my question.”
“What do you have?” she asked as she made her way toward them.
Candy pointed to the top of the page. “Does this refer to this building? Palace?”
The first lady’s brows drew down as she picked up the book the sheet sat on. After a few seconds of reading, she looked up at Josh and her. “Do you know what this is?” They shrugged and shook their heads. “Where did you find it?” Monica asked.
Candy gestured at the book in the lady’s grasp. “The edge was sticking out of that book, and I pulled it. Some crumbled when I opened it. Sorry.”
The president came up behind his wife. “What are looking at?” Candy observed how the man stood close his wife. She leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Being in Josh’s arms was incredible. She could lean against him like Monica did her husband. She scooted over and back to get closer to him.
At the same second she leaned back, Monica fumbled with the old book she held. Josh reached around Candy to help stabilize the leather-bound relic, completely moving away from her target location. Her arms flailed in the air as her ass headed toward the dirt. She got her hands under her in time to stop her humiliating dirt dive.
Josh was with her in a second, helping her up. When on her feet, she slapped a
t his hands. “I’m fine. Don’t touch me,” she quietly ground through clenched teeth.
Her mate drew his brows in. “What?” he whispered.
“Nothing. I said I was fine. I tripped. That’s all.” Her mate glanced at the ground.
“On flat dirt?” he asked. She wanted to scream: Yes, on flat dirt, goddammit. But she remained calm as opposed to earlier where she would’ve gone off on his ass. She straightened and turned back to the presidential couple.
“If I’m right,” the first lady said breathless, “these are notes made by James Madison when he was president. He lists items he wanted in the Treaty of Ghent.”
The president leaned over his wife’s shoulder. “Are you serious? This is amazing.”
Candy knew Madison was known as the “Father of the Constitution” and the fourth president but wasn’t sure about anything else.
“Ma’am,” Josh started, “I didn’t pay much attention in American History class. What it the Treaty of Ghent?” Candy dropped her head into her hand. Don’t ask a teacher a question like that and expect a short answer. They knew too much to make it quick. As evidenced by the lecture they received.
Monica laughed, probably seeing their eyes glaze over. “No worries. The only reason I know this is my obsession with this house. When we started campaigning, I started researching. If I was moving in, I wanted to know everything I could about it. And the Treaty of Ghent marks the end of the American-British War of 1812.”
“How does that relate to the house?” Josh asked. Candy elbowed him in the stomach. “What? That’s a fair question,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “For someone who snoozed through school, maybe.”
“It’s okay, Candy. My husband did the same thing as a kid.”
“I beg your pardon. I paid attention and passed the tests,” Mr. President rumbled playfully.
“You squeaked by, dear, if I remember correctly,” the first lady said.
The president looked at Josh. “Word of advice, don’t marry someone you went to school with. You’ll never live down the stupid stuff you did as a teen.”