His speech was met by silence. Everyone seemed to retreat into their own thoughts.
"Wyatt . . . Sandra," Casey, who hadn't spoken since the others left the room, called them back. "You might want to think about this and talk to the President later. Why don't you go out for a while and talk about it. We have to fly back to Washington this afternoon."
"Casey's birthday party is this evening," Everett said, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders. "If you'd like to attend, we can arrange it."
Wyatt looked at Sandra. Neither of them spoke. She needed time to think about what the President had said. She needed to talk to Wyatt. In the past few days she felt as if her mind was being overloaded with information and she needed to let it sink into her brain so she could sort through it, find the right methods of dealing with it.
"You don't have to decide now," the President said. "I'm sure we've given you plenty to think about. Just let Mrs. Kingsley know if you decide to come. She'll take care of everything."
"Thank you, sir."
Sandra and Wyatt shook hands with the President and First Lady. At the door Sandra turned back.
"Mr. President," she said. Everett turned to her. He suddenly looked taller and straighten "How involved is my father in all this subterfuge?"
Everett didn't hesitate. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked on his heels. "Up to his proverbial eyeballs."
Sandra muttered something and left the room. A military aide escorted them back to the front door where the car waited.
"What do you think?" Everett asked his wife. He'd joined her at the table.
Casey poured herself another cup of coffee. "I think Sandra Rutledge has very passionate beliefs. She's a solid citizen and she has the American public's best interest at heart. She'd make a wonderful president." She patted her husband's hand. "I also think she's lying through her teeth."
Chapter 15
Wyatt took Sandra's hand as they watched the presidential helicopter lift off and head for the White House. Wyatt hadn't bargained for this when he'd decided to run for office. Never had he known he'd be called upon to make a decision that could affect the lives of me entire world. He knew his constituency and he was prepared to fight for his small section of the country and to look out for the entire nation, but he never assumed this kind of weight went with the job.
Sandra had been preoccupied since they left the President. He was sure me knowledge that her father was involved in the situation was something she was trying to deal with. He hadn't even asked her how her dinner with him went. Last night seemed years ago in light of the importance of this morning. It should be the only dung on his mind. He wanted it to be the only thing on his mind. He wanted to be allowed to delve into the feelings Sandra created in him, revel in the euphoria he felt at the thought of making love to her. He shouldn't be forced to put aside his remembered rapture to concentrate on the world and what could happen to it if he and Sandra didn't find the stones and turn them over to the Defense Department.
They walked in the gardens surrounding the guest house. Sprawling land faced them in all directions. Wyatt knew somewhere out here was an underground defense station, a safe haven for the President and other government officials in the event of some catastrophe. He was sure they were under surveillance. He wondered if what they said could be heard. For a moment, last night flashed in his memory. Had anyone been listening in as he made love to Sandra? He rejected the idea. Too many foreign dignitaries had slept in that house. What could we have possibly learned if Project Eagle had been functioning then?
On one side, much of the negotiation could be reduced to the real issues and the politics eliminated, but on the other side, the far-reaching effect was that countries could be blackmailed because their secrets could be discovered or their devices made inoperable. It was a dangerous system. No one country needed the much power.
"Do you want to go to the party?" Sandra asked, calling him back from the brink of world destruction.
He stopped walking and linked his arms around her back. "If you'd like to go, I’ll be your date."
Sandra laughed. He hadn't seen her laugh in days. A permanent sadness had settled over her. Sadness was probably on his face, too, but he didn't have to look at himself. He noticed it on her and he much preferred a smile.
"I've never been to a White House party."
He'd rather take her back to bed and not get up for days, but if she wanted to attend Casadia Horton's fiftieth birthday party he'd certainly take her. He dropped his head to kiss her. God, she was the most wonderful woman in the world. He only intended a simple kiss, but when had anything ever been simple where she was concerned? She was complex and beautiful and his mouth hungered over hers. Her lips parted and his tongue swept inside like a cyclone finding an open door.
Her arms climbed over his shoulders and she went up on her toes, pressing herself against him in a way that, despite their coats, was most arousing. If anyone was watching them they were certainly putting on a good show. Wyatt didn't care. He only knew that he was happy.
When he slid his mouth from hers she clung to him. Her cheek against his was warm and soft. He wanted her out of her coat and out of the skirt and sweater she wore beneath it. He wanted nothing between them, as there had been yesterday and all of last night. It was time they went back.
"I know this isn't the right time," Sandra said against his ear. "Times couldn't be worse. I don't know if we'll ever get out of this, but I've never been happier."
She'd voiced what Wyatt felt. He pulled back to look at her. Her face glowed. She smiled.
"I love you, Wyatt."
"I love you, too. I'll always love you."
He turned her toward the guest house. With arms twined around each other, they walked back as carefree as lovers on a holiday.
"We haven't talked much about the President's proposal. I guess we'll have to say something to him before the night is over."
Sandra stopped him at the back entrance. She didn't say anything. Wyatt wondered where her mind had taken her. Since she'd arrived she hadn't said a word about her father or what he'd told her. The fact the she'd returned told him nothing. He knew she was confused about the two of them. They both loved her and they both had different stories about the stones. She had to sort through the maze of information alone and decide who was telling the truth and who was lying.
Wyatt wanted to help, but he couldn't. This was a decision she'd have to make on her own. He did want to know what Senator Rutledge had said.
"Sandra, what happened at dinner?" he asked.
She told him everything, leaving out nothing. She told him about her father's accusation that he, Wyatt, was the person trying to sell the stones. She told him about the motel and hiding the car, about her bus trip to the District and calling Grant Richards. The only thing she didn't tell him was that she knew where the stones were.
When she finished her story, Wyatt led her inside and asked Mrs. Kingsley to get them some hot tea. They went to the library and Wyatt added wood to the already blazing fire. Sandra sat on the end of the cushioned sofa near the warmth. When Mrs. Kingsley had come and gone and she had her hands wrapped around a cup of strong black tea, she completed her story.
"Wyatt, I know where the stones are hidden." He sat across from her on one of the winged chairs. He stared at her. "At least. . .I think I know."
"Where are they?"
"When Jeff died he didn't say 95147. He said Ro 95-147."
Wyatt looked confused. "What difference does that make?"
"It's two numbers not one. He was saying mute. Route 95, mile-marker 147. I saw it last night on the bus coming back from Quantico. There’s rock bed there.
"Jeff had dinner with Lance near Quantico. It rained, and if he knew people were following him, he'd want to get rid of the stones. I drove to Quantico in the snow last night and there isn't much in that area. I don't know that he had the stones with him. They could be in his house
."
"I checked there." Wyatt explained his nocturnal escapade up to being caught and flown here.
"That must mean they're at his office or he had to have them with him when he met Lance. If he needed a place to hide them where no one was likely to look, that rock bed would be the perfect place."
"We've got to go there."
Sandra shivered. "Wyatt, what do we do when we find them? Do we give them back to the government?" "We'll decide that if we find them."
***
The party was in full swing when the helicopter let them off on the grounds of the White House. Sandra hadn't thought of arriving like this. She might have been invited to a party with her father, but she assumed she'd get out of a car at the famous portico door, not out of a helicopter.
Their intention when leaving Camp David was to pretend to go to the party so they could get a ride back into the city. Both Sandra and Wyatt had assumed they would return by car, but the helicopter had come back for them and landed on the White House lawn. They had to go in.
Wyatt looked magnificent in his tuxedo, and the red and silver sequined gown she'd found hanging in the closet fit as if it had been made for her. The only thing out of place was the backpack.
She expected they'd be the talk of the party and knew that if Casey Horton wanted her fiftieth birthday to be a memorable occasion she was certain to get her wish. The ballroom was decorated with balloons and streamers and a large sign wishing the First Lady a happy birthday.
"Ready for the lion's den?" Wyatt whispered in her ear as they stood at the entrance to the reception room.
"I guess we have to go forward," she whispered back.
Unlike most receptions, the President and Mrs. Horton did not stand at the entrance, but were in the middle of the room. She and Wyatt were going to have to run the gauntlet to get to them. He took her hand and they started across the room. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd backed away. An audible hush settled over the room. Nothing could be heard except the band playing a soft show tune in the background.
"Welcome," Casey said when they reached her. "You've gone through the worst. From this point on it'll be a breeze."
"I hope so," Wyatt whispered in a voice only the four of them could hear.
"I'll start it off. Sandra, would you dance with me?" Everett asked.
Sandra looked at Casey. It was her birthday and this was the first dance.
"Don't worry, Sandra," Casey assured her. "We're a very untraditional First Family."
Everett led her to the middle of the dance floor and took her in his arms. Sandra noticed Wyatt and Casey dancing, making them the only two couples on the floor. Everett waved his hand and eventually couples joined them.
" 'Fugitive Kicks up her Heels at First Lady's Birthday Bash,' " Sandra said.
Everett laughed.
"Don't laugh," Sandra chastised, "That will be the headline in the morning's Post."
"Don't worry about the reporters. They're just jealous I got to you before you could tell them the story."
"Are there any here?"
"Oh, yes, there are reporters permanently assigned to the White House."
"I'll bet by now they're burning up the telephone lines."
"That's all they'll burn. I've given orders to keep them away from you and Wyatt if you showed up. I suppose they're fighting mad."
His eyes danced with a mischievous twinkle.
" 'President Protects Fugitives; Keeps Reporters Off-limits.' " She gave another headline. "They'll accuse you of aiding us."
"What do you think they'll do if I sign an executive pardon?"
The dance ended and he was called away to other guests.
Wyatt appeared at her side. The music started up and Wyatt turned her into his arms just as a crowd converged on them. Several people called them by name, but Wyatt danced her away holding her tighter and more intimately than the President had.
"How are you doing?"
"We should have skipped the party," she returned.
"We would have if Everett had sent a car for us and not the helicopter that landed on the East Lawn. We're the center of attention."
"I guess slipping away unnoticed is out of the question."
"Completely," Wyatt agreed. "At least for the time being. Maybe later we can go for a walk . . . through the East Gate."
"Do you know somebody at the East Gate?"
"Not yet." Wyatt checked his watch. "I will in about an hour."
Sandra laughed for the crowd watching them. "What happens in an hour? It won't be midnight."
"Sam Parker is picking us up."
***
They were late in meeting Sam by nearly an hour. The colonel, dressed in civilian clothes and short-tempered from having to sit for so long out in the open, spun the car around on Fourteenth Street and headed for the bridge to Virginia.
Getting away from the crowd all wanting to know if Wyatt and Sandra were guilty of the accusations printed in the papers hadn't been easy. They evaded most of the questions and spoke briefly to Everett and Casey before leaving. Wyatt told him they were still considering his offer and would let him know in the morning. They escaped before he could stop them.
On the north side of the Interstate 95 just short of mile marker 147 was a bed of gray and white rocks slightly larger than Sandra's hand. Sam left them on the road adjacent to the highway, only a few hundred yards from the rock bed, still angry and still hot-tempered. "Maybe we should have stayed at the party," Sandra said as she used Wyatt as a post to remove one shoe and clear it of dirt and small stones. Thankfully, the snow of the night before had melted in the day's heat, but the ground was mushy and wet. She was ruining another pair of shoes.
When she replaced her shoe, Wyatt slid a few feet with her directly behind him. They reached the bank of rock. From the highway the stones had looked like a small plot. Up close they covered a good eight-foot square. Cars whizzed past them creating a wind that blew her hair back and made her eyes water.
"See anything?" Wyatt asked.
"We'll probably have to turn over these stones." Sandra kneeled and started to move the first one. Wyatt grabbed her hand.
"Wait," he said. "Let's see if we can find anything that looks as if it's been moved."
Sandra scanned the area. Every rock looked the same, as if they had gone undisturbed since the highway was landscaped. She hoped her logic was good and that Jeff had decided to stash the chips before someone caught him.
"See anything?" she asked.
"They all look the same to me," Wyatt agreed.
"Let's start turning them over."
"I'll start at the top."
"Thanks," she said. The ground at the bottom was flatter and she'd have more stability. Sandra methodically began turning each rock over and looking under it. She broke three nails by the time she reached the seventh row. Cars constantly flowed up the highway at speeds exceeding the maximum limit. If anyone saw them in the beam of a headlight they continued on their journey without stopping to investigate.
Sandra hoped they would find the stones soon. Some do-gooder would eventually pass and let the police know of their presence by way of cellular phone and they'd have a slew of new charges tallied up against them.
Sandra continued. She finished another row and found nothing. Cold, tired, and sweating, she pulled her coat closer, turning the collar up, and sat down on the freezing bed of stones. Wyatt came and sat next to her. The uneven surface felt strange to her backside. Shirring, she tried to find a more comfortable position.
"We're nearly done," he said.
"I don't think there's anything here," she admitted. "I'm sorry I dragged you here for nothing."
He put his arm around her and she leaned against him. "It was a long shot, but we didn't have any other lead. This is the first sensible thing that's come along since Jeff died."
"Yeah, but it was a useless effort."
"I suppose Sam is getting tired of waiting, t
oo. We promised to call him as soon as we knew something."
Sam had driven them the hundred-plus miles and dropped them off in the clearing where Sandra had hidden the rented Jaguar. The car was still concealed and the two of them took it to their present site. At least they had a ride back to Washington after this useless trip.
Wyatt picked up one of the gray stones behind him, turned it over and replaced it. Then he took another and another to the same task. Sandra shivered. He pulled her closer.
"Ouch!" she said.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No, the rocks under me are unsteady. I'm slipping."
"Let's get the last three rows done and we can go."
Wyatt got up and reached for her hand. Sandra took it and he helped her to her feet. As she tried to take her first step, her heel caught between two rocks and she pitched forward. Wyatt’s strong arms grabbed for her, but she overbalanced, crashing into him and tumbling them both backward into the wet ground.
They came up a mass of arms and legs tangled inside her dress.
"Wyatt, are you hurt?"
"No, I'm wet."
"My foot caught."
Wyatt lay back with her on top of him. He pulled her close, and despite the uncomfortable position, she wanted to stay where she was. Images of them making love came to her. Wyatt stared at her and she saw desire in his eyes. They ignited a fire inside her that burned to her toes. Warmth flooded through her system. They had better get out of here, she thought or the travelers on Route 95 would really get a show.
Sliding to her side, she dislodged the rock that had tripped her.
Nothing was under it. Quickly they finished looking through the rest of the grouping and found nothing.
"I guess that's that." Sandra felt defeated.
"Ills got to mean something," Wyatt told her. "We just haven't found out what it is yet."
They started up the incline on their way back to the car. At the top Sandra stopped next to a tree to free her shoes of the debris they'd collected during me walk. Wyatt waited for her. Sandra noticed his gaze swing from the tree where she stood to others in the area. When he'd swept the flashlight back and forth several times, she said, "What?"
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 56