Fonduing Fathers

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Fonduing Fathers Page 25

by Julie Hyzy


  Gav patted his mentor’s hand. “I know, Joe.”

  The raw emotion on both their faces was too much to handle. I looked away.

  A moment later, Yablonski was gone. I locked the door after him and returned to the table. “Can I get you anything?” I asked.

  “Sit with me awhile,” Gav said, looking at me with an intensity that made my face warm. “I’ve wanted to talk with you alone for days. This is our first chance.”

  “I have so many questions,” I said, “but I don’t want to start in until you have time to acclimate yourself. They can wait.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine because I’m here with you.”

  “I think it would be better if you rested.”

  “Ollie.” His voice was a warning. “Do not baby me.”

  I smiled. My Gav was back. “Okay, fine. No coddling.”

  “Good.”

  I started in with the question that had me puzzled the most. “I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure how you knew to come to Eugene Vaughn’s house. You couldn’t have gotten that bogus text. Not during training. And even if you did get it, what happened? How did you know I was in trouble?”

  He leaned back gingerly, working a smug look onto his face. “Can’t figure this one out, can you, Paras?” For a man who had suffered a near-fatal injury, he was certainly in a playful mood. “Remember when Yablonski told you that you have friends in high places?”

  “Yeah…”

  “He wasn’t kidding.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When you didn’t show up for your appointment with Josh on Friday, he got worried.”

  More puzzled than ever, I said, “There’s no way he would have known to call you.”

  “No,” Gav agreed slowly, “but he started a chain reaction. He told his mother. When she suggested that you might have simply been delayed, he insisted that you would have called. The kid wouldn’t be talked down. He was so insistent, in fact, that he and his mother came down to the kitchen to look for you. According to the agents on duty, Josh pitched a vigorous fit when no one in charge would listen to him. He said he knew you were in trouble. Otherwise you would have come through.”

  “Josh said that?” My hand flew to my chest.

  “You and I both know that Josh and Abby aren’t the kind of kids who normally throw tantrums. His mother felt his behavior was off—way off—so she asked the staff to help find you. Imagine her surprise when it turned out that nobody knew where you’d gone.”

  I sucked in a breath of understanding. “But then how…?”

  “They talked to Sargeant.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  Gav tried to glare. “You didn’t tell me he knew about us.”

  “I meant to,” I said. “He figured it out himself. I just didn’t deny.”

  “Good thing you didn’t,” he said. “Sargeant suggested they try to find me. Mrs. Hyden couldn’t get through, but discovered I was in training. This all took about, oh, thirty minutes. On the high side. At Josh’s insistence, Mrs. Hyden called her husband and asked him to get me out of training so they could find out where you were.”

  “The president of the United States pulled you out of training because they were looking for me?” My mind couldn’t wrap itself around that. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all. Friends don’t get much higher.”

  “Oh my gosh. It boggles the mind.”

  “Thank goodness for Josh. Otherwise…” He didn’t finish the thought.

  I reached over and grabbed his hands.

  He rubbed my fingers. “You know, I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Whenever I woke up, you were there, holding my hand.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave your side. Not until you woke up.”

  “I know. And that’s exactly why I did.”

  CHAPTER 29

  DAYS LATER, WE STILL HADN’T GOTTEN ANY answers as to why Linka had felt the need to have me followed after we’d met with him. We hadn’t gotten any word on what happened to him or his henchmen after the federal agents had stormed in and taken them all into custody. Not a word of the story hit the newspapers, the television, or even the Internet.

  “Crazy quiet,” I said. “Too quiet. There’s way more to this story.”

  Gav concurred. “I’m starting to believe we’ll never know what this was all about.”

  When I finally returned to the White House, my first stop was to see Josh. Doing so required some touchy negotiation on my part with Doug, who seemed inexplicably angry at my request. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t give it much thought. Probably still holding a grudge because I wouldn’t write that letter of recommendation for him.

  When I managed my visit upstairs to the First Family’s residence, I was shown to the second floor Center Hall, where Josh and Mrs. Hyden waited for me.

  I started out with an apology for missing our meeting, but quickly moved to thank Josh, and praise him for his tenacity.

  “I cannot tell you how much it means that you had faith in me,” I said. “Because of you, I’m okay. Because of you, a lot of other people are okay. We owe you.”

  “My mom said something happened that we can’t talk about. Is that right?”

  I admitted it was.

  “I had a feeling you were in trouble again. You were, weren’t you?”

  “Big trouble,” I said. “But now, because of what you did for me—for all of us—we’re safe. I am so sorry about missing your party, though. How did it go?”

  He shrugged. “When you weren’t here, I was too worried to think about any party. I asked my mom to postpone it for another time. And it all turned out all right. The twins came down with a sore throat the next day.”

  Mrs. Hyden nodded. “Strep,” she said. “Looks like everything worked out for the best.”

  “I promise we’ll plan another party very soon,” I said. “I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said solemnly. “You saved my life once, remember?”

  My eyes grew hot. I ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I remember.”

  BUCKY AND CYAN GREETED ME WITH WIDE-eyed concern when I finally made it to the kitchen. “What in the world happened to you? You’ve been out for days,” Cyan said in a hushed whisper. “Can you tell us?”

  I was about to answer when Virgil tossed a comment over his shoulder. “We all had to give up our days off because of you. Next time you want to extend your vacation, how about you give the rest of us a little notice?”

  “What’s up with him?” I asked.

  Bucky rolled his eyes. “Foul mood. There’s a rumor going around that Virgil’s not particularly happy about.”

  “What’s that?”

  Bucky made a face. I looked over at Cyan, who wrinkled her nose. “You’re not going to like it, either,” she said.

  At that moment, Sargeant strolled into the kitchen. “Ah, Ms. Paras, I heard you were back. May I have a word?”

  “Of course,” I said, eager to talk with Sargeant, too. I cast a wary glance at my teammates as I followed the sensitivity director out of the room. If they’d seemed anxious already, they looked positively alarmed now that Sargeant had interrupted. What had they been about to tell me?

  He led me through the long hallway around the kitchen into the ground-floor central hallway. There were tours going on, so we stayed behind the grouping of temporary screens that the uniformed division of the Secret Service erected every tour morning to keep this end off-limits to visitors.

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” I began. “I wanted to thank you, Peter. I heard you were instrumental in helping locate my whereabouts the other day.”

  “Hmm, yes,” he said. “That’s not what I wanted to speak with you about, but I must say that I’m glad they thought to approach me.” His brow furrowed. “No one has told me the outcome of your latest adventure, nor do I believe any explanation is forthcoming. I understand this one is a hush-hush operation. I trust everything turned
out well enough?”

  “It did,” I said. “Again, my deepest thanks.”

  He nodded acknowledgment. The look in his eyes told me I was missing something.

  “What else is up?” I asked.

  “You haven’t heard, have you?”

  “Apparently not. Care to fill me in?”

  Undisguised amusement flooded his features. He was enjoying this, a situation that immediately put me on edge. “Two things,” he said. “The first of which is I wish to extend my thanks to you.”

  I waited. “For?”

  “For informing me about Thora’s…interest.” His cheeks went pink. “Interest in me, that is. Thanks to your intercession, she and I have had the opportunity to share several enjoyable outings together.”

  Genuinely happy to hear this, I found myself grinning. “That’s great. I’m so glad.”

  “I thought you might be.” He waited, eyes narrowing. “The second item may not render you quite so gleeful.”

  Uh-oh.

  “But,” he continued, “I must confess to being pleased to discover that I am to be the one to share the news with you.”

  This wasn’t sounding good. “Go on.”

  “Do you recall when I mentioned that I’d considered consulting you on an unexpected matter?”

  “Yes, but you said you couldn’t talk about it.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Now I can. Through no fault of my own, the secret has been leaked.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “A new chief usher has been chosen.”

  Oh no. “Please don’t tell me it’s Doug,” I said.

  “Worse.” With a smile as wide as I’d ever seen on Sargeant, he said, “An official announcement will be issued tomorrow.”

  “Who is it?”

  He held his hands out. “Me.”

  I felt my jaw drop, knowing instantly that he wasn’t kidding. Even as I extended my hand and said, “Congratulations,” I put the pieces together: Mrs. Hyden giving Sargeant more responsibility, Virgil’s stories about the “insider” having the best shot at the job, and Sargeant’s own unsurpassed attention to detail.

  “I’m delighted for you,” I said, warming to the idea. I shook his hand with gusto. “I really am.”

  “We’ve had our differences,” he said, shaking with equal fervor, “but I believe we have much to offer the White House. Individually, as well as together.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  When I returned to the kitchen, Bucky and Cyan looked ready to bombard me with questions, but just as they started in, Quinn appeared at the opposite doorway. “Ms. Paras, you’ve been summoned,” he said, jerking a thumb. “I’m here to take you to a meeting.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  Quinn was mum. “This way.”

  “I’ll be back, I guess,” I said to Bucky and Cyan. The looks on their faces were resigned. “Busy morning. I’m sorry.”

  Quinn led me into the West Wing, past the Cabinet Room into a narrow hallway that led to the president’s secretary’s office. Gav was there, leaning on the cane the doctors insisted he use until his muscles healed sufficiently. Instinctively, I rushed to him. “What are you doing here?” I laid my hand on his shirt, just below his rib cage. “You aren’t supposed to be out on your own yet.”

  “I was summoned.”

  “So was I. What’s going on?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  The president’s secretary was unruffled by our appearance and appeared to take our quick, bewildered conversation in stride. Quinn said something to her and she nodded. “Go right in.”

  An aide opened the door. Gav and I looked at each other. “The Oval Office?” I mouthed.

  He gave another slight shrug and held a hand out, confused as I was.

  “Go on.” Quinn opened the door and gestured us forward. “They’re expecting you. I’ll be out here.”

  They?

  President Hyden was behind his desk. He stood up as I stepped into the room, Gav limping behind me. “Welcome,” the president said as Quinn closed the door. Hyden came around the front of his desk to greet us. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you both to be here today.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I turned to Gav, who had drawn himself to attention and was saluting the president. The Commander in Chief returned the salute. “At ease, Agent Gavin.”

  It was then I noticed Yablonski. He stood in front of one of the two sofas that faced each other at the room’s center.

  My mouth was completely dry. I didn’t know what to say, to do. Fortunately for both of us, Gav had had a lot more experience with the president in such situations than I had. “Are we to assume this meeting has something to do with our recent extracurricular activities?” he asked.

  Yablonski almost smiled. “You may assume that.”

  I finally found my voice. To the president, I said, “I want to thank you for all you did…” He started to wave away my gratitude, but I needed to finish. “Especially for listening to Josh. Your son saved my life. He’s an amazing young man.”

  President Hyden beamed. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I have come to realize that he’s learning more from you during your sessions in the kitchen than I had anticipated. I hope you’ll continue to look out for him, as long as we’re here in the White House.”

  “It would be my great honor,” I said.

  President Hyden gestured toward the sofa closest to the door as he and Yablonski took seats on the one opposite. As we sat, the president said, “I’ve called you here for a specific reason.” Making eye contact with us both, he went on, “But first I need to get assurances—from both of you—that whatever you hear in this room today stays here.”

  I glanced at Gav. We answered, “Of course,” simultaneously.

  Yablonski cleared his throat, pointing to the file on the low table between us. “The documents in front of you are classified. Only certain very high-ranking members of federal authorities are allowed access.”

  The president picked up the story. “It has come to my attention that your recent altercation came about because you, Olivia, were searching for answers about your father.” He pointed to the folder. “Until you brought your concerns to Mr. Yablonski’s attention, he had no knowledge of the dangers your father faced protecting this country. Nor had I.”

  My breaths were coming in quick, anxious gasps. What was going on here? I tried my best to focus on what the president was saying.

  He hefted the thick folder. “I have a meeting I’m already late for, but I’ve offered the office to you and Mr. Yablonski for as long as you need.” He smiled. “Well, until my meeting is over—at least an hour. The folder cannot leave this room with you, but you are welcome to read through any or all of it as long as I have your solemn word that you never share its contents with anyone.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  Gav nodded.

  “That means,” Yablonski warned, “that you can’t tell your mother, either. Not a word of what you learn here.”

  “I understand.”

  The president placed the file on my lap. He stood and we did, too, me grasping tightly to the bundle as though afraid he might suddenly change his mind. He shook our hands, wished us the best, and within seconds was out the door opposite the one we’d come in.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, unable to help myself as we resumed our seats. “We’re actually in the Oval Office? Reading a classified file? What could be in here?”

  I placed the folder on the table and opened it. The first sheet inside didn’t offer much, simply a giant red-stamped warning not to proceed without appropriate authorization. Pages were bound and impossible to remove.

  Yablonski pulled in a deep breath. “There’s a lot to get through, certainly more than you would be able to digest in an hour. May I offer assistance?”

  I turned the file to face him. He flipped a number of pages before finding what he was looking for. “Fir
st, I want you to see this.” Twisting the folder to face me once again, he pointed a fat finger. “Your father’s authentic military record.”

  I pulled the entire book to my lap and took a look at the Department of Defense form he indicated. “Joint Message Form?” I read, puzzled. My fingers traced the computer printout, running down the numbered list like a three-year-old learning to read. “This is dated right after he was killed. Why would this be in here? He wasn’t still in the service when…” Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. “Wait…”

  Yablonski wiggled his fingers in a “give it to me” gesture. I complied. He paged through further. “Take a look,” he said.

  He turned the book to face me and I read another Department of Defense form: “Report of Casualty.” It listed my dad’s name, rank, and pay grade among other pertinent information. My breath caught when I reached the box where the circumstances of my father’s death—two forty-five caliber shots to the head—were recorded there in black-and-white. “My dad…” I began, “he never left the service?”

  “Your father was working as a military operative at Pluto. He was brought in when—”

  I couldn’t stop myself from blurting, “They’ve been selling tainted products all these years? No one’s stopped them?”

  Gav placed a restraining hand on my knee but it was too late. Yablonski graced me with one of those “quit interrupting” grimaces he was so fond of. “Perhaps you’d care to hear the entire explanation before you jump to conclusions?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, inching forward. “I really am. Please go on.”

  “You can read the notes, all the orders, the background, and the reports, but what it comes down to is this: Pluto never sold tainted products. That was an allegation Fitch made and there is no truth to it whatsoever.”

  I wanted to express my surprise aloud, but held my tongue.

  Yablonski continued. “Years ago, Craig Benson discovered that Harold Linka was using his company, Pluto, as a front to smuggle contraband—drugs, weapons, you name it—to enemies of the United States. He discovered this quite by accident. Instead of firing him on the spot, however, he made a shrewd move. He called a friend at the Pentagon.”

 

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