Fonduing Fathers

by Julie Hyzy

  After Virgil had served lunch, he’d disappeared from the kitchen. I was thrilled to have him gone while Josh was here. While the moody chef must have engendered some good will with the family that had prompted them to bring him to the White House, he clearly chafed under my authority.

  “Look at this,” Josh said, dipping a palm-tree carrot into the creamy cheese.

  I wagged a finger at him. “What have I told you about playing with your food?”

  “That’s how you learn what works and what doesn’t,” he answered with no small degree of pride.

  “Exactly.”

  From the doorway behind me, a very familiar voice. “Ms. Paras, a moment of your time?”

  I turned to see Gav there. “Special Agent Gavin,” I said, feeling my cheeks go pink. I hoped to heaven that Cyan and Bucky were paying more attention to Josh than they were to me. I’d have a hard time explaining my schoolgirl blush.

  “A situation has developed,” he said. “Can I pull you away from your duties for a few moments?”

  “Of course.”

  He pivoted and strode out of the room. I wiped my hands on a nearby towel, then pulled my apron off.

  “What’s up?” Bucky asked under his breath. “You really are in trouble again, aren’t you?”

  I gave a helpless shrug and told the truth. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  He stared at the doorway then back at me. “Whenever that guy shows up, I know you’re in deep. Be careful.”

  I could detect no underlying subtext leading me to believe he thought anything about Gav other than his being an agent who occasionally brought chaos into our lives. “I always am,” I said.

  When I made it out into the hall that surrounded the kitchen, Gav gestured to follow him across the center hall into the Map Room. “Sorry to pull you away,” he said, after closing the door behind us.

  “This is unusual,” I said. “What’s happened?”

  “I have a meeting across town this afternoon,” he said. “I won’t be reachable for most of the evening.”

  He could have told me that over the phone. “Okay,” I said.

  His voice dropped and he spoke so softly I could barely hear him, even in this quiet room. “My friend Joe wants to see us tonight.”

  I stopped myself before asking, “Yablonski?” because I knew Gav wanted to keep this collaboration as private as possible. While staffers weren’t prone to eavesdropping, it never hurt to be careful. “But you just said you’re busy tonight.”

  “Which is why you’ll have to go on your own.”

  “I have no idea how to get out there again,” I said. “Remember, last time I was paying more attention to the files than I was to the directions.”

  He shook his head. “New rendezvous point.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “You’ll be contacted.”

  I gave him my best “Are you kidding me?” look. “What, is this some kind of thriller movie now? Do I have to worry about being tailed?”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “There’s always the risk of people following Joe. Some good guys, some not. Fortunately, no one will be watching your movements—at least, none that we know of.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying I’m not all that important, isn’t it?” I asked, a little chagrined.

  “I would never say that.”

  “Thanks,” I said, still in a complete state of disbelief. “Who will contact me, or is that a state secret?” My voice had risen, and I strove to quiet it. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t fancy having some breathy stranger jump out of the shadows because he’s been sent to talk to me.”

  Gav’s grin widened. “That’s exactly why he will have a code word.”

  This was almost too much, even for me. It was hard not to laugh. “Which is…?”

  “Balloons.”

  I must have reacted because he quickly added, “I came up with it. I kept thinking about that old shower curtain…”

  “Maybe we should have left it where it was,” I said uneasily.

  “No, I want the new one. It’s a good change.”

  Wow, weren’t we the demonstrative couple?

  “When will I be contacted?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said. “It’s still being arranged.”

  I resigned myself to tonight’s covert meeting, wishing Gav would be able to be there, too, but knowing I was perfectly capable of handling it on my own. Joe Yablonski might be a tough old bird, but if Gav had that much respect for him, he had to be okay.

  “You’ll call me when you get in tonight?” I asked.

  We both jumped as the Map Room door opened.

  “Thank you, Ms. Paras,” Gav said, brusquely. “I will let you get back to your duties.” Smoothly, Gav greeted our guest. “Agent Quinn,” he said without inflection. “We were just finished here.”

  Quinn seemed as uncomfortable stumbling upon us as I felt being caught. “Nice to see you again, Agent Quinn,” I said, still very curious about what he’d wanted to talk about earlier. “I know our conversation got cut short this morning.” I waved into the open room as we moved to depart. “Whenever you’re done with your business in here, feel free to stop by the kitchen again.”

  He wore a disconcerted look. What was up with that? Could Bucky be right? Had I inadvertently gotten into trouble again? It wouldn’t be the first time I was the last to find out. Was Virgil right? Was Quinn interested in me? “My apologies, again,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He left the room, his business there forgotten. “Good luck tonight,” Gav said. “Let me know how it goes when you can.”

  “I will.”

  BUCKY AND CYAN LEFT AT FIVE. I STAYED TO assist Virgil plating the Hydens’ six o’clock dinner, which went off without a hitch. I had to give my colleague credit. Everything he’d prepared looked great and smelled even better. Once we’d cleaned up after ourselves, Virgil packed himself up and thanked me for staying to help.

  Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  I tugged off my apron, changed out of my work attire, and dillydallied a bit, double-disinfecting the countertops and making sure the place was pristine before shutting off the lights. I leaned in the doorway for a moment, looking around. Mornings and evenings were the best times; everything was quiet. Days like this one were rare. There were no political upheavals or major catastrophes in progress and everything in the world felt right.

  How long would that last?

  I pushed off the wall, ready to depart for the night. As I turned to leave, I jumped. “Agent Quinn,” I said when the man appeared in front of me.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  I remembered Gav’s instructions about being contacted later tonight, but I didn’t believe another five minutes would make much of a difference. “Sure,” I said, “what’s up?”

  One of the maintenance staffers zoomed by, rolling an empty laundry bin. “Excuse me,” he called, causing me to step out of the hallway that rimmed the kitchen and back into the dim room.

  Quinn scratched his head. For a Secret Service agent, he was a lot less sure of himself than most.

  I noticed for the first time that he was carrying a diplomatic pouch and a file folder. “It’s a good thing I caught you,” he said. “This came for you this afternoon and it’s marked ‘Urgent.’” He handed the pouch to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, hefting it. “Doesn’t feel as though there’s anything in there.” I studied the outside. “Who is it from?”

  “Beats me.”

  “I appreciate you walking this over, but I’m sure you could have left it when you stopped by earlier.”

  “It only arrived an hour ago. That’s not why I stopped by before.” He blinked and held up the file folder. “I have this for you. I thought it best to discuss this when no one else was around.”

  He had my interest now. Tucking the diplomatic pouch between my elbow and ribs, I took the file fo
lder, opening it as I asked, “What is this?”

  “You seemed interested in Pluto,” Quinn said, “and you mentioned your dad worked there a while back. I thought I’d dig up whatever I could from our files,” he added.

  “That was nice of you,” I said sincerely. What I held in my hands looked to be almost identical to what Gav had come up with. I wasn’t about to tell him that, and I took my time paging through the copies he’d made, trying to buy myself time. If I was reading signals correctly, this was a twist I hadn’t expected, though Virgil and Bucky had. Not only that, I didn’t want Quinn “helping” me overmuch with this project. At this point I didn’t know what I might find.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said. Before he could provide ideas on how I might be able to thank him, I held up the diplomatic pouch. “I guess I’d better see what’s in here before I leave, don’t you think?”

  I turned the kitchen lights back on and placed the pouch on the nearest horizontal surface, opening it and wishing Quinn would leave. To his credit, he didn’t crowd, remaining a respectful distance away while I retrieved and opened the single sheet of folded paper within. The note instructed me to visit a franchise restaurant on G Street. Once there, I was to walk in and order a small coffee and a bagel. “Okay,” I muttered to myself. More cloak-and-dagger.

  “Bad news?” Quinn asked. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “I’m fine,” I said with a glance at my watch.

  “You’re leaving, obviously. Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  That was about the last thing my mysterious colleague would want to see, being escorted to the rendezvous point by a Secret Service agent. “Thanks, but that might be awkward.”

  Quinn confused my meaning, but for once I was grateful to be misunderstood. “Oh, sure. See you later.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone.

  TRAFFIC BEING AS BAD AS IT WAS, I DECIDED to walk to the coffee shop rather than flag a cab. It was still warm, and would be for a few more hours, but I kept up a brisk pace, needing to stretch my legs, to move. I enjoyed being outside in the fresh air.

  I scurried across G Street and spotted the coffee shop immediately, set back from the road in a sea of concrete. The neon OPEN light hanging in the window was unlit and as I drew closer I realized that all the inside lights were off. A sheet of paper had been taped inside the glass door with hand-lettered words: SORRY. CLOSED DUE TO ELECTRICAL PROBLEM. SEE YOU TOMORROW, WE HOPE!

  I fisted my hips. “What now?” I asked rhetorically. Not expecting an answer, I leaned forward, cupping my hands against the glass to peer into the darkened coffee shop. No one inside. At least, no one in the public part. I detected shadows moving in back.

  I turned around, scanning the area for anyone who looked as though he or she might be looking for me. No one jumped up and waved hello or took any notice of me. Commuters rushed by: men in suits and business casual and women in skirts and gym shoes, purses pulled tight to their sides. All of them walking with purpose. Tourists maintained a more leisurely pace as families consulted colorful maps and pointed south and southwest.

  The note instructing me to show up here didn’t specify a time. I wondered if my late departure from the White House had caused problems after all. If it had, Yablonski would no doubt give Gav an earful about me.

  There wasn’t much for me to do but go home to my apartment and await further instructions, if any. I was disappointed in one sense, relieved in another. Although Yablonski may very well be a valuable ally, and despite Gav’s insistence otherwise, I got the distinct impression he hadn’t liked me very much. Even more, I think he didn’t like the fact that I’d become important to Gav.

  I waited another moment, giving my fellow commuters one last look. A bum on a bench stared at the sky with one hand pillowing his head. He mumbled to himself, didn’t even turn my way. Ten steps away, a young guy in a black suit paced while talking on his cell. He stared right through me. Clearly, he was seeing whoever was on the other end of his invective-littered rant.

  I turned away from the coffee shop, bumping into a blonde man. Twenty-five, tall, wearing a gray suit and a loosened blue tie, he was out of breath. “They’re closed?” he asked, looking over my shoulder at the taped sign.

  Was this my contact? “Apparently.”

  “Hi,” he said. “Are you meeting someone?”

  A-ha. This had to be him. “I think so.”

  “Who are you here to meet?” he asked.

  He hadn’t given the code word. “Why don’t you tell me first who you’re meeting?”

  Momentarily disconcerted, he straightened his tie. “I’m sorry it’s closed. Maybe there’s another place to have coffee nearby?”

  “I think you and I are meeting two other people,” I said. “I’m not your blind date.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I’m mistaken,” he said, stumbling over the words.

  “Got it,” I said, taking my leave. “I hope you find her.”

  I was about to leave the general area—to grab the Metro and head home—when my stomach reminded me it had been quite a while since I’d eaten. I remembered that I didn’t have much in my house to choose from, either. Although I’d helped myself to a few tidbits during the afternoon, I needed a more substantial meal. Less than a block away was a fun new create-your-own-salad place. I headed for it.

  Within minutes, I took a seat at a counter facing the window and watched the passersby as I dug into my arugula salad with fresh tomatoes and shaved Parmesan. I’d have to tell Gav about the glitch with the closed coffee shop. Maybe he’d be able to get in touch with Yablonski and make things right.

  I wondered what Yablonski had wanted to tell us.

  I finished my salad, took a last sip of water, and tossed my trash, wishing I could talk to Gav right now. I knew he’d be tied up late into the evening, so there was no hope of that. I’d stuffed the information Quinn had provided about Pluto into my cavernous purse. Maybe when I got home I’d go through it. The chances of Quinn uncovering an important tidbit we’d missed were slim, but I preferred to be thorough. Plus it would give me something to do tonight all by my lonesome.

  I’d just stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the salad shop when a car pulled up into the no-parking zone in front of me. The dark sedan had tinted windows, a dented passenger side door, and a crooked bumper. The driver got out, stood in his open door, and waved to me. “Ms. Paras?” he asked.

  “And you are?”

  “Come with me,” he said.

  I wagged a finger at him, taking note of the busy sidewalk around me. “I’m not about to get into a car with a person I don’t know.”

  The guy was mid-forties, maybe older. Paunchy, with a ring of brown hair around his sweating head, he wore a plaid short-sleeved shirt and a glare of impatience. “Ms. Paras, how do you think I know your name if you’re not supposed to come with me?”

  Too many people—some with diabolical plans in mind—had attempted to get me to go with them. “Sorry,” I said, hands up in the air. “Not going to happen.”

  We were starting to cause a scene. People were giving us odd looks as they swerved around me on the sidewalk.

  I gave the guy one more moment to provide the code word, then decided to walk away.

  He grunted loud enough for me to glance back. He’d leaned toward the open door, keeping both hands on the roof, looking like Kilroy but without the overhanging nose. He held up an index finger, which I assumed was a signal for me to wait. I didn’t.

  I heard the door slam, and Mr. Plaid Shirt jogged toward me, sweat stains darkening his shirt deeply below both arms. “Wait,” he called, without shouting.

  I let him catch up. Nothing at all like the young man purportedly waiting for his blind date, this guy’s breathless speech came out with chunks of spittle. “What the heck is wrong with you?” he asked by way of greeting.

  “I don’t know you,” I said. “Unless you can prove who you are, I’m not going anywher
e with you.”

  He rubbed the side of his face, glancing back at the idling sedan. “Oh yeah, right. Hang on. I remember. Balloons. Happy now?”

  I gave him the evil eye. I didn’t want him to be right, but he was. “What’s your name?”

  “You don’t need to know.” He pinched my elbow between his thumb and forefinger. “Can we get going now?”

  I yanked my arm free. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own. I am not getting into that car until you tell me where we’re going.”

  “He said you were difficult,” the guy mumbled.

  “Who said that?”

  This sweaty guy had big eyes, the kind that look like giant white cue balls with itty-bitty dark marbles in their centers. “You got any idea how much trouble you’re making for my boss?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  By this time, we’d reached the car. He didn’t answer, simply opened the back door on the passenger side and ordered me in.

  I wasn’t happy to be herded like a reluctant sheep, but I obliged.

  “Good evening, Ollie,” Quinn said from the other end of the backseat.

  CHAPTER 19

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I ASKED.

  “I was supposed to meet you at the coffee shop,” he said, with an amused shrug. “We didn’t anticipate an emergency closure.”

  The bald fellow had closed my door and come around to the driver’s seat. He pulled into traffic, muttering up a blue streak.

  “Wait, I don’t get this. Why didn’t you say something back at the White House?” I asked. “And…wait.” It dawned on me that I hadn’t ever met Quinn until our stealth operation at the Food Expo on Saturday. “Hey…are you really a member of the Presidential Protective Division or are you just a plant?”