Buffalo West Wing (5 page)

I held my breath, envisioning her anger and disappointment in me. No wonder she’d been so cool this morning.

But Sargeant was shaking his head. “No, no, no.” Stepping closer to me, he continued, his voice soft, “We still don’t know who sent it, but it doesn’t matter. You stood by your convictions and now you get to deal with the consequences of your decision. The First Lady is most certainly aware that this was all your doing.”

“With help from you, no doubt.”

Sargeant affected an innocent look. “When I am questioned, especially by a member of the First Family, I always strive to give the best, most truthful answer I can. I’m sorry if that bothers you.”

“What bothers me—”

Before I could finish, John Weaver came running into the kitchen. His eyes were wide and his forehead damp with sweat. “There’s a siege going on at Lyman Hall Hospital,” he said, pointing toward his office. “Right now. Just happening now. It’s terrible. Terrible.”

“What sort of siege?” Sargeant asked him.

He held up both hands, palms upward. “Three people have been shot. That’s all I know.”

Bucky, Cyan, and I raced to John’s office with Sargeant bringing up the rear. Three agents stood in front of the little TV, which was blaring the news. An announcer’s voice tried to rise above the cacophony of screams and shouts behind him to let the audience know what was going on, but I could barely make out what he was saying. I scooted between agents Bost and Nourie to see better. Bedlam reigned at Lyman Hall Hospital. Handheld cameras tried to capture everything but shifted focus so fast they wound up catching nothing at all. I heard the announcer say, “Five White House employees ...” and “... taken hostage.”

“What? Who?” I turned to the agents behind me as though expecting them to have answers. But these guys were part of the PPD, Presidential Protective Detail, and as such would be stationed here to keep the residents of the White House safe. The third agent, Gardez, stepped away from the group to listen closely to his microphone. Nourie joined him.

Bost lifted his gaze long enough to make eye contact with his colleagues, then returned his attention to the television.

“We are as surprised as you are,” he said to no one in particular. “This is the first we’re hearing.”

At a signal from Nourie, he nodded. “The White House is officially on lockdown until we can understand what’s going on.”

“What hostages are they talking about?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he said over his shoulder as he joined the two other agents. The three huddled together, listening intently to their microphones, all looking ready to spring should the order be given. I saw the intensity in their faces and it scared me. Lyman Hall Hospital wasn’t more than three miles away from the White House. Threats to the hospital were threats to our security as well.

And what did the television announcer mean by “Five White House employees?”

The agents broke apart as I approached them. “The First Family is covered by a contingent upstairs,” Bost said. “The president is being moved to a more interior location. The White House is secure. Those of us on this level are to remain here until further notice. Everyone on staff is to return to his or her station.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “We will update you there.”

Thus dismissed, Bucky, Cyan, and I started for the door. John’s phone rang. He hurried to answer it.

The last of our party, Sargeant, stood in the doorway. His shoulders were pulled so far back it had to hurt. “My office is not in this part of the building,” he said to Bost. “Am I to remain here as well?”

Bost nodded. “Either here or in the kitchen. Take your pick.”

“Here, of course.”

My relief at being free of the little man was short-lived because John held up his hands. “Paul is on his way down to talk with you, Olivia. I told him you’d be in the kitchen.”

Sargeant’s impatient eyes lit up. “Excellent. I need to speak with Paul as well.” Turning to Bost, he pointed west. “I’ll be with them.”

The four of us trooped to the kitchen, discussing the siege, wondering what was going on, and why. Cyan looked at her watch. “It’s still pretty early. Why would anyone plan to attack a hospital during the day? Does that make sense?”

“I’m sure we’ll know more soon,” I said.

Bucky didn’t chime in, but his face wore an expression of concern.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” I asked.

He shook his head and made his way across the kitchen without another word.

“Such a temperamental fellow,” Sargeant said. “I’m surprised you keep him on.”

I shot him a deadpan look. He missed it. “Why don’t you sit right there, Peter.” I pointed to the stool I kept in front of the workstation that served as my desk. My computer was on and connected to the Internet. “If you want to check for news updates while we wait for Paul, the rest of us can get lunch started. I’d really like to know what that announcer was saying about the White House. It sounded important.”

“Everything about the White House is important,” Sargeant said. Having successfully one-upped me—which probably made his day—he pulled himself onto the stool and fidgeted until he was comfortable. I watched him grab the mouse, his attention focused completely on the screen, and I knew we were good to go.

I stared at the list we’d prepared for today’s lunch, but couldn’t concentrate. I was aware of reading the first line twice, but, too worried about what was going on at the hospital and how the White House might be involved, I simply could not force my brain to pay attention.

Just as I started reading for a third time, Paul Vasquez came in. “Good morning, everyone,” he said, startling Sargeant. “You’ve all heard?”

“Not enough,” I said. “We’re still pretty much in the dark.”

Bucky returned from the other room and Sargeant wiggled off the stool to stand next to me. “When you’re done here, Paul, I have a matter to discuss with you.”

“Okay,” Paul said, then turned to face the rest of us. “First: Our regular morning meeting is canceled until further notice. Here’s what’s up: I don’t understand it, and I don’t know what the connection is, but we could be facing a significant threat.”

Not one of us said a word as he explained, “Three women from our laundry room and two butlers were rushed to Lyman Hall Hospital early this morning. Two others were sent home due to illness.”

Laundry women? Butlers?

I glanced at Cyan. She’d gone completely still. Neither of us spoke while Paul continued.

“The five who were hospitalized were complaining of violent stomach pain and vomiting. Some experienced other intense symptoms.” He made eye contact with each of us as he spoke. “We believe several butlers were in the laundry room late last night, and we have a team down there right now, scouring the place and looking for what might have caused so many to get sick all at once.”

Cyan sat straight down on the floor and placed her head in her hands.

Paul glanced at her, then at me.

“Paul,” I said. “We need to talk.”

CHAPTER 5

PAUL ALERTED SECRET SERVICE IMMEDIATELY, and told them to search the laundry area for any remnants of the mysterious chicken wings and the box they had come in. Cyan remained cross-legged on the floor, holding her head, little moans escaping from time to time as the weight of the situation crashed down on her. Bucky kept a hand on her shoulder and crouched next to her, speaking softly.

We didn’t know for sure that the wings were the culprit, but the circumstantial evidence mounted. Cyan identified which butlers had been in the laundry room the night before when she’d delivered the wings. They were—to the man—the same individuals who had been stricken with this inexplicable illness.

Sargeant nodded at me, a strange smile on his face. Acknowledgment for being right, perhaps? I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Right now I needed to make myself available to help wherever I could. I turned to him. “You may want to hold off talking with Paul about your ‘other matter’ for a little while.”

Clearly stunned, Sargeant nodded again, and started for the door. “I will be in the curator’s office if anyone needs me.”

Paul peppered us with questions until the Secret Service swarmed in. Bucky, Cyan, and I were questioned separately. Bost and another agent pulled Bucky toward the giant mixer for his interview. Gardez and Nourie took Cyan into the refrigeration room, and as executive chef, I was blessed with Tom.

“Why, Ollie?” he asked in a low voice. “Why is it always you?”

I thought for a moment about Special Agent in Charge Leonard Gavin. Higher ranking than Tom, he and I had butted heads a few years ago when we’d first met, but we had eventually become friends. He’d once explained to me exactly
why
it was always me. After knowing me for just a week, Gav had understood me better than my then-boyfriend Tom had.

This close, I probably should have felt the familiar zing that often accompanied my interactions with my former love, but this time his question left me cold. “Because I notice things, Tom,” I said. “And once you hear the whole story, you might not be so quick to find me guilty of interfering. In fact, this time you might even thank me.”

He started to reply—probably how he wouldn’t count on it—but Paul rejoined us. “You two okay?” he asked. Paul had been one of the few people on staff aware of our relationship—such as it was—while it was in full bloom. Some people change. Others don’t. Our bond had suffered for that difference.

“I think it would be better if
you
explained everything that happened yesterday, Paul,” I said.

Paul nodded and began. When he got to the part about the chicken wing box bearing the message that it was for the children, Tom stiffened. “If we discover that food was tainted,” Paul said, “this will have very serious repercussions.”

Tom listened to the rest of the story then asked why he hadn’t been notified.

I reminded him that he had. “I called your office yesterday to ask about the delivery, remember?”

He shook his head.

“I left a detailed message about checking the tapes ...”

Recollection hit him. I saw it in his eyes. “I did get that message,” he said. “I had my guys follow up and check for what you were looking for, but we came up empty. We believed the situation had been handled. I planned to talk with you this morning, to follow up.”

I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why didn’t you call me back last night yourself?”

His eyes met mine. No anger there. Resignation, maybe. “We followed up. We ran down every delivery of every box that matched the size and shape you described. Our search was exhaustive. I can tell you with certainty, that the box didn’t arrive yesterday.” He pursed his lips. “Unless,” he said, “it was hidden in the Hydens’ belongings.”

Tom seemed to forget we were there. He started to sprint away, then turned back. “That may be it. I’ll be in touch. Keep your eyes open.” And with that he was gone.

The agents with Bucky listened and nodded, taking notes. Bucky’s hands gesticulated wildly as he answered their questions—a clear sign of nervousness. All I could see of Gardez and Nourie were the broad backs of their suit coats. Between them, facing me and looking very small, was Cyan. Her eyes, rimmed red, were a stark contrast to the frighteningly bright blue of her contacts. Always cheery and rarely emotional, Cyan shifted from foot to foot. Her lip quivered. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but when she vehemently shook her head, I thought I read her lips: “I never would have ...”

Paul watched them, too. I asked him, “What do we do?”

He took a breath and let it out before answering. “Cyan’s breach was serious, Ollie. I don’t know if she’ll make it through this.” He looked at me. “I don’t know if she should.”

“I understand.” And as much as I didn’t want to, I did.

“There will be an emergency meeting shortly. Select staff members only. Put Bucky in charge of lunch and send Cyan home for the day.”

I took another look at my employee. Tears flowing down the sides of her cheeks, she seemed to have shrunk even smaller than from a minute ago. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” I said. “She’s pretty fragile.”

Paul gave me a look that said Cyan should have thought of that before doling out suspicious food, but I knew he was a compassionate man and Cyan needed support to get through this. “You and Bucky handle the food until further notice. I know Cyan is trustworthy but we have to follow the proper protocols. Have her reorganize your cabinets ... or ...” he looked around the room, “... clean up that desk area,” he said, pointing to the computer station Sargeant had vacated. That was my mess. I couldn’t inflict that pain on anyone.

Still, I understood his meaning. “Got it.”

“And Ollie?”

“Yes?”

“I know I don’t have to remind you to keep all this quiet for now,” he said. “But I feel it necessary to mention that the Hydens are not the Campbells. You are a valuable employee, a talented and creative chef, but you don’t have the same capital with this new family. I’m in the exact same position. They don’t know either of us yet. And if you get into trouble again, I don’t know that there will be anything I can do to protect you.”