Behind Frenemy Lines

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  “So the threat turned out to be empty?” Lee interjected.

  “Good question, Galaxy. One we all are pondering. And yes, Lee, I know the warning seems rather trivial, but we have to treat each one seriously. Would you two like some coffee? I can have some brought in. I know I need a boost during the afternoon slump.”

  “No thanks, we’re good,” Gal declined. “Is that the only message you've received? What about anything from Pakistan?” She glanced at Lee. “Is there any fear of retaliation from the Bin Laden capture?”

  “Just a minute, Anita. I would love some coffee, thanks. Galaxy misspoke on my behalf.”

  She called for the hostess service and had a carafe sent in. “Seems I work later and later these days and I need the caffeine.” The steward poured them a cup.

  “Isn’t that the truth?” he agreed with a sip. “Now, about the menacing voicemail. Do you think it's a diversion tactic? And what is your position on the Pakistan notion?”

  Anita inhaled her cup of Joe before continuing. “It’s possible I suppose. We put the FBI and CIA on alert to cover all our bases. I don’t think Russia and Pakistan have a connection, though, not against the United States. I don’t see why they would care.”

  “Except to weaken the allies,” Lee murmured slowly, staring into his beverage, ideas swirling with the steam. Then his voice rose stronger as he exclaimed, “Maybe someone here doesn’t want Russia and the United States to join forces against other countries. That allows Pakistan more strength and possibly a chance to win Russia on their side. They might want the weakest links possible, and then they strike!” He set his mug down in triumph.

  “You might have something there,” Gal said thoughtfully. “Anita, does that make sense? Would someone want America to fail?”

  “Only just about every terrorist group in existence!” Her belittling snort left a welt.

  Lee noticed and swooped in. “Of course, that's a given. But she was referring locally, in-house.”

  “Well, they're politicians,” Anita cracked, “Personally, I suspect them all.”

  The agents stood and thanked her for the information. “We’ll see our way out,” Lee promised.

  In the West Colonnade, Gal asked Lee what he thought as he tossed back a few Tic-Tacs. “I see a way both our speculations could pan out. It could work hand in hand.” Taking hers in emphasis, he started down the hall. Galaxy followed, not having much choice.

  “I think the way out is the other way,” she suggested, words hanging mid-air. She couldn't help note his hands were thick and masculine, with the perfect amount of hair on his wrist. When she looked up, he was scrutinizing every nook and cranny. “Still set on finding a hideaway?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you think it would be cool to find one?” He palpitated the wall for indentations.

  “You mean as a phantom room bugger, right?”

  “Maybe,” he smiled. They had made decent progress down the corridor, crossing the lobby back into the East Wing where they ducked inside the Green Room.

  “Aha!” He touched a life-sized portrait of George Washington, discovering loose edges. He tapped the top with his fists, flaking off gilded paint chips.

  “You're wrecking a priceless piece of art just to find a crawl space?”

  Lee gave it a hard shove, and the heavy canvas slid up, revealing a dumbwaiter. They gasped.

  “Where do you think it goes?” Gal whispered.

  “No clue, but since it’s a Washington portrait, I would guess the GW bedroom?”

  “Wouldn't it be cool if every painting led to said person's chamber?”

  “Very! Not enough bedrooms but let's see for ourselves.”

  “You're not suggesting we actually ride this thing? Will it hold us both?”

  “Only one way to find out…” Lee gestured toward the square compartment. “We're lucky. Looks like the fire hauling kind.” He whisked off his suit jacket, spreading it on the floor of the mini elevator, impressing her.

  “Did you go to finishing school?” she asked in awe, hopping in and sneezing at the stench.

  “Why, yes I did. When you're born and bred in the Lone Star State, they expect you to be well-mannered. So I was a forced teen, but it's served me well. Just don't tell my parents. I hate it when they're right.”

  “Where’s your accent, Cowboy?” Gal was flabbergasted. Her partner couldn’t be any more American than a good ol' boy from the heart of Texas.

  “It comes out now and then, especially after a few brewskis. I try to sound professional for the job. Plus the folks sent me to a Swiss boarding school for two years. They're big into etiquette too.”

  “Whoa, you come from rich Texans? Did they strike oil?” she teased. “By the way, when you said GW, I thought you meant George Washington, but maybe you’re related to George W. Bush?”

  “The father of our country, of course! Why, does W still have a bedroom here?” He grimaced, gathering the pulley cord.

  “Maybe…who knows, they might book a weekend here and there to get away from it all.” She added her strength to the cables. “You tell me since you’re family and all.”

  Lee laughed. “Not all Texans have Bushes in their family tree. No relation. I swear!”

  Squished at the moment, she popped off her pumps, thankful for her gym membership. Good thing Lee was athletic and could bend his six-two physique. They wouldn't have wedged themselves into the confined box otherwise, even if his knees were punching him in the face.

  They used all their might to hoist the lift, which seemed to inch along at a snail's pace.

  “By the way, I was yanking your chain. George Washington never lived in the White House. Construction wasn't finished until after his term. Maybe that’s why he slept everywhere else.”

  She gave his hand a light smack as they resumed the repetitious chore.

  “Ouch! I got a splinter or something.” He picked at the webbing near his thumb. “I think the cords are a bit rusty. I wonder how long since they've used it?”

  “Not recent, that’s for sure.” Gal rubbed her upper arms. “Let me see. I'm pretty good at removing splinters. How far do you think we’ve gone?”

  “Probably as far as my pathetic rope climbing took me in gym class.” Lee held his hand out for examination, peering over the opening. With his arm the range of a T-rex, he fished out his cell phone, shining the flashlight feature down the cavity. “Actually, not bad. I think we've made decent progress. I don’t see the entrance where we climbed in, but each floor must have an exit, right?”

  “I suppose. I’ve never ridden one of these contraptions before. Shine your light over here so I can see. Ow, I feel like a pretzel.” She looked closely at his thumb. Damn. Just as she suspected, the cable dislodged the derma-transmitter!

  “This is no time to think about food. You should’ve grabbed a bun from the coffee service,” Lee snickered then flinched. “Yikes, did you get it out?”

  “Yes, you flicked off a shard of metal, but I got it.”

  “Thanks, much better.” He flexed his thumb. “Actually, it's been there awhile. Whatever it was, it's been bugging me for months.”

  “Well, you're good as new now.” She pocketed the tiny patch, grateful the shadows shrouded her guilt. “So, what was up with that coffee klatch anyway? I just wanted to ask my questions and bluke it. But no, you had to go and have a tea party. I was expecting the Mad Hatter to spring in at any moment.” The image made her laugh.

  “Hey, I needed a java boost, too. It sounded good.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” Gal giggled, trying to control an outburst.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think it’s the dark. I’m a little claustrophobic, and the air in here is pretty stale. I get giddy from nerves. So fess up, Mister.” She jabbed his dense chest, practically denting her finger. Wow, was he wearing an iron shield or what? It was such tight quarters; she was practically in his lap.

  “Okay, okay, when Anita called for the cra
ft service, I stuck a bug under her desk. It was becoming clear she wasn’t going to tell us anything specific.”

  “She did seem jittery, even without the coffee. Thanks for the rescue back there.” The closeness in the constricted space brought back the quivers from the lunch line. They had been playful all afternoon, and it was driving her insane. Loosening his tie, she unbuttoned the top of his shirt, running her hand over his firm pecs.

  “No problem. Her rudeness was uncalled for, and she practically threw Hillary under the bus. Did you catch that?” He sounded inebriated. “I'm beginning to think this threat was made up. Sochi Olympics? That's so last summer.”

  “Yes, I thought she was hinting in that direction. See, inside job! Uh, is this okay, or am I out of line here?”

  “You're reading between them just fine.” He guided her hand to his bulge. “You gave this to me at lunch.”

  “I noticed,” she admitted. “I'm still ravenous from last night. You worked me up and didn’t finish.”

  “And who’s the one that stopped us?”

  “I didn’t want to, believe me,” she muffled between kisses. “But someone had to be responsible.”

  “I don't know if it's possible, but we can try and continue where we left off.” He pinched his pants pocket, extracting a foil-wrapped disc.

  “Ah, so you came prepared. Planning this were you?”

  “Wishful thinking for whenever.”

  “About time!” Entangled in passion, they did their best to shuck some clothing free. “Just how should we do this?” Patience was not her virtue, and the limited space offered a challenge.

  He clutched her hair clip, partly for clearance and to avoid a gouge in the eye, but mostly because he wanted to grab it all day. Now that he had, it was a shame he couldn’t see the effect. Just knowing he had uncoiffed her style into a sexy spill was image enough.

  They consumed each other like greedy vultures until an abrupt jolt caused Lee to lose his grip. The packet tumbled over the open side, into the abyss.

  Panicked, they held each other. Were they falling? The platform didn’t move again.

  “Whew, that was scary,” Gal exhaled. “Do you think this thing will plummet?”

  “I think we’re stable. But we lost something important.”

  “Do you have another?”

  “Nope, sorry,” he whispered into her hair, inhaling the coconut scent.

  She wanted to cry, hindered again. The universe was relentless. Or maybe it was telling her to stop being so cautious all the time. In life, you're either regretting acts you've done or opportunities missed, and she knew this peculiar predicament would never cross her path again.

  “Hell, you only live once!” She threw a wet blanket on sensibility and herself on Lee.

  Their bodies agreed full-heartedly.

  When the last bursting orb faded, they relaxed into each other, pleasantly interlaced. Gal wondered if anyone could hear them. “You were pretty loud there, Monsieur.”

  “You weren't exactly ladylike yourself, Mademoiselle,” he laughed. “But I love it! Sounded like a sports arena. No worries, I think these walls are pretty thick. They were built back in the day.”

  “Don't they say the White House is haunted? Maybe it’s just people fornicating in the walls,” she sighed, caressing his chest.

  “I'd like to think we're the first.” Still riding the aftershock, he pressed his lips hard against hers, delivering an intense kiss. “That was unbelievable, huh? Definitely the oddest place I’ve ever fucked.”

  “Absolutely!” she agreed, then marveled, “You're full of surprises, aren’t you? You’re like this ordinary guy then, Bam! You turn into this sexy superhero.”

  “Well,” he started to say in mock modesty, just as a sudden quake rocked the cube. The cords unraveled, plunging them into the darkness. Their screams this time were for a different reason.

  Chapter Five

  “H ow did he sneak around without Secret Service noticing?” Anita demanded, expecting a clear-cut answer.

  “They haven’t been on top of their game lately, so it’s possible. He seems to know his way around the place.”

  “Well, I don’t want Fitzy Baker coming around here anymore. He’s not to get what he wants, understand?”

  “But what if it’s his due? He’s been unfairly shut out from his family.”

  “Are you on his side, Tom?” she asked sharply. The Media Specialist must’ve shaken his head because he didn’t respond. Anita continued, “His parents are dead. There’s nothing to give him. He should go to Hyannis, try his luck there. If he even is who he claims to be. There isn’t any proof that he ever existed.”

  “Right…wouldn’t you be angry too if that was how you felt all your life?”

  In the murkiness, Lee awoke to the shrill, metallic vibrations rattling his surroundings. Machine guns! No, he was enveloped in a quiet, heavy mustiness. How long had he been knocked out? He remembered a jarring jolt, slowly regaining memory of the night’s events.

  The intercepted fragments emitting from his cellphone tickled his brain before he fully recognized their significance. Feeling around, he brought it up. No, a high heel? Remembering he wasn't alone, he nudged his colleague. “Gal, we got a bite on the bug. Are you alright?” When she didn’t respond, he gently shook her then thought better of it. He started worrying. It was his fault they were in this mess. If he hadn’t insisted on tagging along or better yet if he hadn’t been bent on finding secret passages…

  Retrieving his phone tucked in a corner, he clicked on the flashlight and checked for a concussion. He was dazzled by the green specks in her hazel eyes and it prompted him to wonder what it was about his feisty partner he found so irresistible. Of course, brunettes were his type, and he found her attractive, but he admired her strength and confidence too. Still, there was something about her he couldn't quite place. Stirred by the brightness, she started blinking. “Thank God. Are you okay?”

  Gal felt disoriented. “Where—where are we…Viktor?” She attempted to stand, then noticed she was caged in, only heightening her fear.

  “No, it’s Lee. We’re in the White House underground, stuck in the walls, remember?” Who the hell was Viktor?

  The frightening news alarmed her until he illuminated the metal box. “Ooh…yeah, right. My head….” She reached up and touched her forehead. A stiff tendril of hair meshed against her skin. “Is it bleeding?”

  Guiding the light in that direction, he inspected the wound. “Maybe a skosh. Still got that napkin?”

  Patting her jacket, she reached in, tweezed it with two fingers and waved it at him.

  “Man, this sure has gotten around.”

  “Not so barbaric now, huh, taking notes on paper,” she chuckled as he blotted her cut.

  “Yeah, kind of bulky administering first aid with a Blackberry, unless we're on the Star Trek Enterprise. Are you fine everywhere else?” Dabbing her head, he thought how he teased her for being old school. He wouldn’t have known about their meeting otherwise, and he certainly wouldn’t have had the chance to plant the wire under Anita’s desk.

  “I think so. What about you, any damage? Hard to tell when we're so wrapped up. All my limbs are asleep.”

  “Just a cricked neck, I think. Hey, I always wanted to play dirty Twister,” he cracked as they separated body parts, making sure they survived in one piece.

  She looked down and noticed her blouse unbuttoned. “Oh no, did we—”

  “Pick up any evidence? Yes, in fact, my cell was tracing something when I woke up.” Crestfallen their intimate encounter wasn’t memorable, he decided it was best to change the subject. “Something about a fizzy bakery kept fading in and out. Have you heard of it? Do you think it has to do with effervescent bomb-making or something?”

  “I was just going to ask if we were the ones who broke this thing but hmm, no, I don’t know what it means. A soda factory, maybe?”

  “Ah, that's it. They're making threats with Mentos geys
ers.” He smiled at the idea, but Gal didn't get it. “Hey, no worries, okay? I don’t think it was entirely our fault the dumbwaiter fell. The pulley was ancient.”

  “Then adding the weight of two people wasn’t insane at all,” she mused. “Seriously, though, what if we missed some crucial information while we were out?”

  “Got it covered. I only spring for high quality.” He gestured with the device. “It saves to my voicemail, so we’ll never miss a word. Oh, and I disabled GPS, so we can’t be traced.”

  “Truly impressive, Cowboy. So you do think with something besides your Goodfella!” She gave him a playful jab.

  “Ow, I see the fall hasn’t weakened your elbow any.” Rubbing his ribs, he smiled, relieved. “Let's see what we missed.”

  He pushed play but couldn't get a signal. “That’s weird, how did it transmit in the first place?”

  “We are way down here. I'm shocked you had cell service at all. So, is there a way out of this death trap? I can't stand being cooped up any longer.” She could feel the claustrophobia closing in, the jitters making her chatty. She touched the mortared wall in front of them.

  Lee lit up the perimeter. “We’re off the cable. At the bottom of a cellar, it appears. Wait…I think if we can squeeze by this tapered space, we’ll be running loose in the basement.”

  “How tapered?” She peered around to follow the light. “Maybe we’ll fit.”

  They unjammed themselves from the dented cubicle and stretched, waiting for the pins and needles to subside. Galaxy stood first. “I’ll give it a go.” Staggering barefoot and stepping painfully on pebbled bits, she shimmied past the crashed vault, sucking in her breath. If she could just get beyond the area, there was sure to be a way out, maybe a staircase or door hatch. Willing herself to constrict like a cat, she managed to get halfway through the crevice. She pushed, but something was holding her back. She looked down and noticed what. “Damn!”

  “What’s the matter, dead-end? Something blocking us?”

  She sighed, embarrassed, then hollered back, “Yeah….just my…female anatomy. I wonder if Angelina Jolie has this problem when she’s raiding tombs.”