The room had indeed gone silent at their entrance.
A woman came forward, it took him a moment to recognize the First Lady. She looked like the halfway point between Ashlyn and Mandy. Medium height, blond hair with shots of gray worn long down her back. The midnight blue dress perfectly complimented by the russet and gold fall jacket.
Now, as she greeted Mandy, he was standing next to the three most beautiful women in the room.
Right up to the moment someone came from Ashlyn’s side and took his hand from hers.
The most stunning woman he’d ever seen, awash in clothing the color of her skin, beamed a smile at him from a perfect face.
“You’re Jeff the Chef.”
CHAPTER 109
It was the moment Mandy had been waiting for, had been carefully prepared for, by Jeffrey. The Prime Minister’s fiancé had precipitated it sooner than she’d anticipated, but that had been Jeffrey’s primary role here, to be recognized. It simply had been more efficiently executed than they’d planned.
Mandy kept her eye on President Tom Grant. Would think later about the goofy expression on Jeffrey’s face as he met the Prime Minister’s supermodel fiancé.
The President didn’t blink.
He didn’t flinch.
No sign that anything was amiss beyond the entrance of a few unexpected guests.
It was over. The President wasn’t involved after all. Amanda had failed, missed some guess along the way. Bad information from Ashlyn or Jeffrey.
Or maybe Phillip, damn his dead hide. Now they’d have to play out the moment. Once it was over and done, assuming they still survived, they could start running all over again. The enormity of their mistake overwhelmed her. Exhaustion hit her like a hammer, she turned looking for a chair to collapse in.
And then she saw it. From the corner of her eye.
It started as the slightest of motions. The President’s glass of beer tipped forward out of his fingers. It fell ever so slowly, with just the least bit of spin as it descended toward the floor.
Tom Grant’s eyes did not follow the fall of the glass.
He did not leap aside to avoid being splashed.
He did not shift a single muscle, including his hand which, until a moment ago had been strong enough to hold up the world.
The smash of a glass on the marble floor and the spray of a pint of Guinness Stout broke the moment.
The man by his side, holding a football, jumped back. That would be the British Prime Minister.
A group of card players leapt to their feet scattering queens, kings, and threes to the floor as they tried to see what was happening.
Lindsey signaled to some footmen who immediately moved forward to clean up the mess. Moved forward until the President aimed a vicious kick at one of them.
The footman blocked it easily, showed no sign of injury or upset, merely returned to his position, leaving the glass fragments where they lay.
Amanda recognized the training, that footmen was probably lethal whether armed or unarmed.
But she had other fish to fry and needed to do so quickly before she was forcibly removed. Now, with their theory confirmed, it was the time for her part in tonight’s drama. Hers was the main role. They’d debated the details right up to the front gate.
“Good evening, Mr. President. First Lady.” She slid her hand from Jeffrey’s arm and held up her palm so that he wouldn’t follow.
The mother inside her couldn’t help noticing that Felicity, no last name like so many silly young women nowadays, was eyeing Ashlyn. No matter how carefully mannered, beauty did not ignore beauty. The two girls assessed one another, but she’d face that issue another time. If there was another time. Clarice would just die that she’d missed this. Amanda was glad she was well away, death might yet turn into a reality tonight in this room. It had certainly been presidentially ordered from here before.
Focus. Jeffrey had insisted his plan would work and that it had to be done by her. She was so nervous she could hardly breathe. No rash moves. Nothing to incite the various guardians in this room to action.
She’d wanted to confront the guilty man straightaway. Her daughter had wanted to cut the President’s throat and damn the consequences.
But instead she’d play Jeffrey’s swap out.
She glanced his way and he nodded. You had better be right, Mr. Jeffrey Davis. Or we’re all cooked. She turned and faced the man standing beside the President.
“Mr. Prime Minister,” she took his hand which, after an uncertain moment, he received and shook with caution. She saw him glance to the side and shake his head, hopefully telling his own Secret Service detail to stand down for the moment.
“I was wondering if you might indulge an old woman a single question?”
“A woman of your beauty should not attempt to hide behind the attribute of old.”
“Beauty is a younger woman’s prerogative.”
The two of them glanced over at Ashlyn and Felicity. The former, beautiful and of daunting power; the latter was powerful and of daunting beauty. When aware that the entire room’s attention was focused on them, they both blushed and moved a little closer for mutual protection.
“Enough of this. Men, remove this woman and her companions at—”
CHAPTER 110
“Indulge me.” Lindsey Grant rested her hand on her husband’s arm. His arm was shaking. From fury? Perhaps, perhaps not. She’d never known him to be afraid before. What would happen when her divorce papers went public? Maybe she’d take a little vacation to be out of the way when word arrived. Capri had always sounded soothing.
“She is an old friend. Please allow her question, dear.”
She could see him struggle, could feel his arm muscles clenched like steel.
Lindsey waved a hand toward the audience of the room. The mighty and powerful were watching. He subsided with a curt nod.
“Ask your one question.” No one could miss the emphasis. It was all she could do, she hoped it was enough.
Amanda, with the perfect composure she’d shown when they first met fifteen years before at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting, returned her attention to the two women but addressed herself to the Prime Minister.
“To be your age, young man, is at times the most fortunate event of a lifetime.”
Lindsey still could not believe that Ashlyn stood here with her mother, and in a dress. Lindsey had never seen her in a dress. She’d learned to stop asking Amanda about her daughter shortly after she’d left home on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. Some incomprehensible rift existed between them, perhaps it was now partly healed. She hoped so for her friend’s sake.
And the chef, that was “Mr. Carr” as she’d guessed.
The chef was not watching the two pretty women. His eyes were all for Amanda Peterson. Was this the long lost love Amanda would never discuss? The reason she had never married? Perhaps, even likely. He was the one Amanda had turned to for assurance a moment before. Her friend was a fascinating woman of many layers and it appeared she’d just exposed a new one.
“So, to business.” Amanda indicated a pair of seats placed not far from them. The PM bowed over her hand as she settled into her chair.
“May I have your name, madam?”
Amanda covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.
“Please allow me to remain mysterious for a moment longer.”
The President signaled to a footman who turned for the door.
“There is no need, Mr. Agent. I shall reveal myself faster than you could run your search.”
He hesitated and at President Grant’s reluctant nod, returned to his post.
“Your question, madam. You do have us quite in suspense at the moment.”
“I know that you are aware of the actions I wish to inquire after. But I must know the motivation.
It will tell me much to determine the necessary next steps.”
“Now I am intrigued, lady of mystery.”
Lindsey struggled to put the pieces together. Amanda had known thirty-seven hours ago that this might happen. That she might need to be here to ask the British Prime Minister a single question. It had been a very eventful thirty-seven hours. Despite all of the attacks, Amanda had entered this room, the private residence of the most powerful world leader, to ask her question.
But Lindsey couldn’t solve the puzzle. There was some piece that was still missing.
“The two agents of yours who went missing seven days ago in Manhattan, what were they seeking and why?”
British agents gone missing? First she’d heard of it. She could feel the answer, but not juggle the pieces together. Close, she was so close.
“That—” the PM cleared his throat and tried again. “Other than being of an incredibly classified nature, that is two questions.”
“You are right. My apologies, Mr. Prime Minister. Allow me to rephrase my interrogative in a more palatable fashion. When agents Richard Clives and Hugh Matthews of your SAS were filmed on television, were they attempting to kill Jeffrey Davis, the dapper gentleman over there with the tux and the ponytail, or save him?”
There it was. Lindsey had it now.
Mr. Davis, the chef had been the key. He was the unnamed terrorist. The target of Stephen Richards and . . . she turned to look at her husband as the PM considered the question.
Her husband wouldn’t meet her gaze.
CHAPTER 111
Careers were made or broken in such moments. William’s whole life to date of striving to be the next great Prime Minister of Britain, would be made or broken in the next minute or so. Power was being brokered at a scale that was impossible to imagine until you sat at the fulcrum. That teetering moment when the bar could swing in either direction.
He looked to President Tom Grant, the man of the people. Some had called him too slick. William had found him pleasant enough, though the man’s knowing smirk after scanning Felicity’s body had not thrilled him.
In contrast, the woman withholding her identity from him had a forthrightness that was refreshing in a world usually shrouded by layers of nuance and innuendo despite her coyness regarding her identity.
She had not come alone. Her companions included a daughter of surpassing beauty who looked as uncomfortable in her dress as could be imagined. Despite the limitations of her attire, she was clearly a woman to command respect. The man, Mr. Jeffrey Davis, was the target of some very high-powered and very clandestine attention, including that of his own missing agents.
Mrs. Grant, the First Lady, had greeted the nameless lady as an old friend. Another high mark. William looked to his fiancée, looked into Felicity’s eyes. He knew that there was a mind there far sharper than anyone here would guess. Yet Lindsey Grant had given her the book, a gift of mind and heart, rather than beauty. She’d understood his Felicity before they ever met.
“My boy,” the retiring PM had told him. “When the big one rolls into your lap, and you won’t understand to what I am referring until it does, you must go with your gut. It is the only way through the situation. And it is always, always,” the old man had punctuated his point with a poke of his cigar in the air, “the right choice.”
He smiled at Felicity. She was either going to marry a brave PM or a complete idiot, and he wasn’t sure which he was about to be.
She smiled back and nodded. Knowing he had some decision to make, she was supporting him all the way and damn the consequences. In that instant, he knew he could marry Felicity only if he kept his personal integrity intact no matter the fall of the political cards.
He returned his attention to the woman beside him.
“I will trade you card for card.”
She nodded, had clearly played poker by the sheer unreadability of her expression. He bet she usually won. He had to be careful, he wanted to be the winner here as well.
“First card. Our British curiosity had been peaked by the death of the chef Miss Maggie Hadderly. Her mother was an agent of ours for some years. She is a rather formidable and successful lady of, shall I say, ill repute.” He knew of at least three men in this room that should be worried right now, so he didn’t look their way.
“She is now happily, other than missing her only daughter, cashiered in a very cozy Cotswald village under a new name. When Chef Julio and Miss Hadderly were so brutally removed, we became aware that Mr. Davis was a likely target. We had hoped by questioning him that we would ascertain what was happening and how serious the threat might be to British security. We did not expect it to turn into a rescue mission, or to lose contact with both agents only moments later.”
A pin. He wished he had a bloody pin. It was the moment you could test and see if its drop was indeed audible. Everyone in the room except his unknown interrogator looked as if they’d been stunned with a hammer.
The woman smiled sadly and patted his arm.
“I regret to inform you that I witnessed the untimely demise of your agents. They were murdered quite brutally by an overwhelming force stationed outside the rear door of Mr. Davis’ television studio. You’ll be pleased to know that they did manage to remove three of their six adversaries.”
The second card in the hand had just been turned over. Not many people in the world could take down a pair of SAS agents. Only six to overwhelm them? That implied that their attackers were also highly trained professionals.
How big was the play in this game?
Big.
She had chosen the White House residence to reveal this information.
Very big.
His poker sense told him to first, keep his mouth shut now and second, not to look toward the US President no matter how much he wanted to. Instead he’d keep a weather eye on the pretty young lady in red who he suspected would act as an excellent warning system of any sudden changes out of his visual range.
Her eyes indeed narrowed and she shifted forward onto the toes of her sandaled feet as she glared past his left shoulder. Though she was apparently inclined toward it, she didn’t leap to action. For the moment, he would sit calmly and wait.
It only took a few moments.
“Please allow me, sir, to belatedly introduce myself. I am Amanda Peterson, director of a, shall we say, very discreet scientific research organization.”
Third card.
EMS.
She had to be.
Director?
The actual director of the fabled EMS? It was like meeting the real-life Muldar, or in this case, the real Dana Scully of The X-Files. Huge third card. Huge.
Peterson. The man who’d died on the cooking show had been one Phillip Peterson.
“Your husband?” Had he been EMS as well?
Her face closed for a moment, and he could see her swallow hard.
“Brother.”
“I’m so—”
CHAPTER 112
“Enough of this, crap!” President Tom Grant stormed forward, his shoes crunching over the broken glass. He had to shut her up now. She was even more dangerous than the stupid chef. “Get them out of here now. I want those three under arrest and held for questioning by me personally. And only by me.”
The woman in the chair had the audacity to ignore him even as his agents about the room converged. She turned to Prime Minister Billy Masters and continued in a perfectly calm voice.
“As to who had your men murdered . . .” and she aimed a finger in his direction with a negligent wave that rooted him to the spot. How had she known?
Masters turned toward him. “Is that so?” It wasn’t a question, more a mental note.
It was impossible. Only one person on the planet knew of his involvement, Stephen bloody Richards. His perfect little operation had a leak. A leak that had somehow gotten t
o this woman whoever she was. Well, he’d shut that down but good.
“I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but it is.”
The woman blathered on and he couldn’t stop her. None of the damned agents moved either. All stunned in their tracks like the brain-dead front four defense of his final college football game.
“As were the deaths of my brother, the other two chefs, not to mention their attack on my daughter and repeated attempts to kidnap or kill a private citizen.”
She indicated goddamn Davis in his stupid tux. The man was supposed to be dead. Three times over dead.
“An entire team of Special Operations Forces was lost when raiding my daughter’s home. We’ve identified another dozen operating illegally on US soil, though they have recently been reassigned. In our country that is supposed to require a Presidential finding and a report informing Congress, neither of which was done. Bad, bad, bad, Mr. President. Very naughty. Our President has decided that he is both the executive and judicial branches of the government.”
The agents around the room had unfrozen. Unfrozen enough that every eye turned to him.
Something had shifted here. C’mon Tommy. What just happened? Grab control. Scramble like the country’s quarterback you are. That is what you do best.
Billy Masters rose to his feet. He spun the Redskin’s football in his hands a few times with the ease of great practice.
He helped the woman in the chair to her feet and kept her hand in his.
He turned and held out an elbow for his whore Felicity to take.
“Ladies, perhaps we shall dine in our guest quarters over at the Blair House. Would anyone else care to join us?”
Tom stormed in front of them and planted himself in his best blocking tackle stance. “That woman is under arrest and is not free to leave. She has not one shred of proof for her—for her—her lies.”
You didn’t get to be President just to have some over-the-hill popinjay knock you down with a little lucky guessing.
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