Eggsecutive Orders

CHAPTER 17

BACK AT MY APARTMENT, OVER MILK AND COFFEE cake, I called everyone to order. “Listen,” I said, “remember when those kids bullied me when I was little?”

Mom and Nana nodded.

“And remember how you told me that by giving in to my fears, I was allowing them power over me?”

Again, they nodded.

“Well, isn’t that what Liss is doing?” I asked.

Mom nodded. “That’s exactly right.”

“Let’s promise ourselves not to read his articles anymore,” I said. “Let’s refuse to let him have power over us.”

“I like that attitude, Ollie,” Mom said.

Nana yawned. “Me, too. As of right now-no more Liss.”

In the morning, when Mom asked, “Anything new in the headlines?” her tone was light, but her eyes asked if I’d cheated and peeked at what Liss had to say.

“More unrest in China,” I said, not rising to the bait. “Can you believe this?” I pointed. “The Chinese government is now claiming that the United States is responsible for the double-assassination.”

Her interest was piqued. She leaned over my shoulder as Nana came in, freshly showered and dressed to go out. We both looked up. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“I have a very good feeling about today,” she said, patting her fanny pack. “I want to be ready.”

“Good,” I said. “Maybe I can take you to see more of Washington.”

“Wow,” Mom said, scanning the article. “According to this, the two men who were killed had been wanted for questioning by the United States. The Chinese government is now saying it was the Americans who assassinated them instead.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Read it yourself.”

I did. The story was written by a U.S. correspondent clearly attempting to distance himself from any factual inaccuracies. He repeatedly talked about his sources and suggested, more than once, that presented facts should not be taken as true until proven. But, he also discussed the wild claims of the Chinese government and what it might mean to the United States if their allegations were true.

“So,” I said, slowly, trying to distill the information down to its key points. “They’re saying that they sent spies here and once we discovered them, we went over there to kill them? That seems so wrong.” I shook my head. “That can’t be the whole story.”

Mom and Nana looked at me.

“Think about it. If they have two spies who have given them information on the United States -and God help us if they got anything important-why would there be any need to kill them? The two men were back in China, for some time. I’m sure they had been debriefed. What possible motive would the United States have to kill them at that point?”

“You know as well as I do that our government does plenty of things in secret,” Mom said.

“True,” I acknowledged. “But this seems pretty far-fetched. Now, if those Chinese spies gave their government bad information”-I shrugged-“There might be repercussions from above. But they shouldn’t blame us for it. The United States gets enough bad-mouthing as it is.”

“Other countries are just jealous,” Nana said.

We both smiled at her.

“You two seem pretty chipper this morning,” she continued. “I take it that means neither of you read that Liss Is More filth.”

“You would be right,” I said.

A knock at my front door. Being on the thirteenth floor in a building that required a buzz-up limited the possibilities of who it could be.

“I’ll get it,” I said, and wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Wentworth.

She held today’s newspaper aloft, her arthritic right hand clamped around its edge, her other hand gripping her cane. “How come you’re still here?”

I was about to ask what she meant when she pulled her cane up and used it to move me out of the way. “Looks like your friend Liss scooped everybody this time.”

Before I could stop her, she’d tottered into the kitchen. “Good morning, ladies,” she said. Then, catching sight of the newspaper on the table, she turned to me with a glare of impatience. “How come you didn’t tell me you already saw it?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Liss? No way we’re reading him anymore. The lies he prints-”

She made an impatient face. “The guy is good.” Waving away my protestations to the contrary, she said, “Yes, yes, I know what he’s been saying lately. And I know he’s been taking pokes at you. But if you don’t look at his conjecture-if you just look at his facts-he’s been pretty damned accurate so far.”

“Accurate?” I started to protest. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you better hope he is this time.”

She splayed the newspaper out before us. Standing back, she smiled at us expectantly. “Nice to be the bearer of good news for once,” she said.

Curiosity got the better of me, as it usually does, and I leaned forward. I scanned quickly, looking for what might have spurred Mrs. Wentworth to come knocking at my door. And then I found it:

And You Read It Here First

We join the White House in saying, “Welcome back!”

Liss Is More has learned that the White House kitchen staff has been officially cleared of suspicion in Carl Minkus’s unexpected death. Word is that the staff will be notified shortly and will be expected to return to work immediately. Liss Is More also has it on good authority that the president and First Lady have had their fill of food prepared by well-intentioned but ill-trained Secret Service personnel. I know my good friend Executive Chef Olivia Paras will be delighted by this new turn of events, both for herself and for her staff.

Side note to Ollie: See? You can stop blaming me for the cloud of suspicion that hung over your head. I just report the facts. I don’t invent them.

“ ‘My good friend’?” I asked, fuming. “How does he come up with this stuff?”

Mrs. Wentworth tapped the words. “It sells papers, kiddo.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll cancel my delivery.” As angry as I was at Liss in general, I was mostly furious at his assertion that my staff and I had been welcomed back to the White House. “Accurate? I don’t think so. If he were accurate, wouldn’t I have heard from our chief usher by now?”

At that moment, a phone rang. The sound was faint and the tune wasn’t the one I used for my cell phone, but I instinctively turned toward the little device and picked it up. “Not me,” I said.

My mom got a split-second quizzical look on her face, then jumped up. “That’s mine,” she said, clearly surprised. “I don’t get many phone calls, so I didn’t…”

We missed the rest of her words as she turned into the bedroom. We heard soft scuffling sounds, then the tune ended and my mom said, “Hello.”

Two seconds later, she shut the bedroom door.

“A gentleman caller?” Mrs. Wentworth asked.

Nana snorted. “And I think I know exactly who that gentleman caller is.”

“Kap,” I said. I had forgotten about their “date” today.

“Now don’t get all worked up, honey,” Nana said, patting my arm like I was a four-year-old. “Your mom is allowed a little bit of fun while she’s out here.”

Her words hit their mark. I had wanted to make this trip the best Mom and Nana had experienced. I’d wanted to make them love Washington, D.C., as much as I did-by showing them the White House from the inside. By letting them walk the halls-not like tourists, but like insiders. Instead, the vacation had been sliced to ribbons by Minkus’s untimely death, and my obsession with getting back into the kitchen.

I had to face facts: The only real highlight this entire trip for my mom was her flirtation with Kap. In less than a week, Mom and Nana would be back in Chicago and Kap would still be here. Why was I behaving like an overprotective mother, trying to thwart my mom’s happiness? If she wanted to spend time with a man her age, a man who was clearly interested in her, then why shouldn’t she?

I argued both sides in my mind even as Nana and Mrs. Wentworth carried on a separate conversation. I had just about convinced myself that Kap’s phone call was a good thing for my mom’s ego when she emerged from the bedroom, her face flushed.

“Mom,” she said to Nana in a voice that held slight urgency, “you won’t mind if I take some time this afternoon, will you?” Almost as an afterthought, she turned to me. “You don’t mind either, right?”

Nana spoke before I could. “ ‘Course not, Corinne.” She slapped the back of her hand against my forearm. “Right, Ollie?”

Mrs. Wentworth asked the question. “Kap taking you out?”

In that instance, I felt a resurgence of fear. All the arguing I’d done with myself went out the window. There was something not right about Kap. I sensed he was not all he appeared to be, and if there was one thing I knew, it was to trust my gut. I couldn’t let my mother go out with him. Not alone. It was all too convenient that he’d popped into our lives just at this time. What was he really after?

“Yes,” Mom said. “He and I are going to dinner. But we plan to tour more of the National Mall first.”

“I thought we were all going to do that today,” I said, petulance creeping into my voice. “I thought we were all going to go together.”

Mom smiled. “I know how busy you are, Ollie…”

“Why isn’t he at the funeral?” I asked. “Shouldn’t he be with the family today?”

“I asked him that, actually.”

“And?”

“He said that Ruth and Joel preferred to keep the interment private. Family only.”

A teensy bit of spite from me. “I thought he was as close as family.”

Mom gave me a chastising glare.

“Hey,” I said. “Why don’t we go with you? Nana and I.” I turned. “And you, too, Mrs. Wentworth, if you want.”

Mom’s eyes widened.

“I’m not up for that today,” Nana said. “In fact, I think it might be just a little too cool outside for these old bones. Thanks anyway, honey.”

Mrs. Wentworth pierced me with a shrewd look that, in one second both berated me and mocked my attempt. “Sorry, dear. Stanley ’s coming by later. We have plans.”

The idea of my tagging along with Mom and Kap by myself was unappealing, to say the least.

The phone rang-my house phone this time-preventing me from making that suggestion. “Hang on,” I said, reaching for the receiver. “Before you give him an answer-”

“I’m going with him, Ollie.” Mom said. “I already told him he can pick me up at two.”

A thousand thoughts flew through my brain as I picked up the phone without checking Caller ID. “Hello?”

“Ollie, it’s Paul.”

Like a rerun of Monday morning, our chief usher was calling me at home-what could have happened now?

“Yes?” I said dumbly.

“I take it you’ve seen the Liss article?”

“Just a minute ago.”

Paul sounded angry and resigned at the same time. “I don’t know who leaked the story to him. It’s a pretty sad day when our staff learns that they’re back to work through the newspaper rather than through official channels.”

My mom’s plight momentarily forgotten, I caught hold of what he was saying. “We’re back? We can come back?”

“Right away. The sooner the better.”

Relief washed over me, rinsing away the crustiness of fear. “Thank you so much, Paul.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “The president and First Lady moved mountains to get the medical examiner to rush his decision. It’s because they want to get to the bottom of this mess, of course.”

I sensed he wasn’t finished talking.

“But it’s not just that. There’s another tidbit Liss got right in the story,” he went on. “The first couple is plenty tired of Secret Service food. How soon can you get here?”

There wasn’t a lot of choice, really. I couldn’t stay home-not when I was needed back at the White House. As much as I didn’t want my mom heading out for parts unknown with the mysterious Kap, there was little I could do to stop her. In the end, I left Mom and Nana with a spare set of keys and strict instructions to call me if anything came up or if they had any trouble whatsoever.

“What sort of trouble do you expect, Ollie?” Mom asked with a little too much glee.

“None,” I said. “Of course. But, you know, just in case.”

Nana looked up at me, a twinkle in her deep-set eyes. “So, no wild parties while you’re gone?”

A half hour later found me ready to board the Metro for my first trip back to the White House since Minkus’s death. My head was everywhere but where it should have been-aware of my surroundings.

I entered the mostly empty train car and didn’t pay any attention to the man who followed me in until he sat in the seat next to me. He wore an old-fashioned brown felt hat pulled low, and his overcoat was turned up at the collar. Except for his leather-gloved hand atop a cane, there was nothing distinctive about him. He smelled of too much aftershave.

In one instant, I berated myself for letting my guard down, but I’d been in situations more touchy than this one, so I didn’t hesitate. “Excuse me,” I said, and got up to change seats.

“Olivia,” he said.

About to take an aisle seat kitty-corner behind him, I turned. “What?”

“Come back. Sit down. We have to talk.”

He lifted the brim of his hat just enough.

I was about to exclaim, “Liss?” but he placed a finger across his lips. “Shh,” he said, then tapped the seat next to him. “Sit down. Quickly. We don’t have much time.”

“What are you, some sort of conspiracy theorist?” I asked, not caring at all that I spoke loudly enough to be heard by other passengers. “Oh wait.” I snapped my fingers. “That’s exactly what you are!”

I turned my back and headed to an aisle seat even farther away.

He turned and glared at me. Though I could only see his eyes and nose out of the top of his collar, I could feel the heat blaze. I wished I had a paperback or something to read. Instead I turned my head to the window. Unfortunately, we were underground and there really wasn’t much of a view, so I kept eye contact with my reflection, drawing from it a little sense of empowerment.

Liss scuffled to his feet and made his way over to the seat in front of me. There were a handful of other passengers in the car and they started to take notice. Not that I cared.

“I was right about you getting back into the White House today, wasn’t I?” he asked.

I didn’t bother to answer. I stared at the window.

“I have sources,” he said.

“Let me guess. Is his name Deep Throat?”

I felt his gaze rake me up and down. “Isn’t that a little before your time?”

“Facts,” I said, biting the word out, “and history are important to me. And should be to all of us.”

I was feeling pretty good about holding my own against this despicable man. He had already hurt me-and my mother-with his vicious column. I had nothing to lose here. I almost wished he would keep at it, so I could knock him to his knees.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What if I told you I have facts that would rock the country’s very core?”

“I’d say you wouldn’t know a fact if it bit you on the-” Stopping myself in the nick of time, I cleared my throat. “I’d say you were bluffing.”

He raised a white eyebrow. “So you are a temperamental chef, after all.”

Placing my hand on the back of his chair to boost myself, I stood to change seats, yet again.

“Please wait,” he said, placing his hand over mine. “I apologize.”

I yanked my hand out from under his. “You will never be able to apologize enough.”

When I sat four seats forward, across from an elderly woman who gave me a worried glance before staring at the floor, I expected him to follow. He didn’t.

He stayed in his seat for the entire ride to MacPherson Square. As the train pulled into the station, I stood to disembark.

Just as the train slowed, Liss stood up. He made his way over. Seconds before the doors were to open, he leaned close to my ear.

“There was trouble in the security office,” he whispered. “It has to do with China. Minkus was about to investigate Phil Cooper, his second-in-”

I turned to him, and spoke in a clear voice. “I know exactly who Phil Cooper is. After everything you’ve written, so does the entire population of Washington, D.C. ”

Shock registered in his eyes and he looked from side to side, like a spy from a 1940s movie. “Not so loud-”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said. “And why are you bothering me with this anyway? I don’t have time to listen to your crazy conspiracies. If you believe you have some burning scoop, why not publish it in your column? Why accost me on my way to work?”

By now the entire train was paying attention.

He whispered, “Because I think you can get me information on Phil Cooper and his anti-American activities.” His teeth were clenched, his body was rigid, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “From your Secret Service boyfriend.”

How did he know about Tom? Speechless, my mouth moved, but nothing came out.

He took the opportunity to lean in again. “You want me to go public with your romantic dalliances? I’m sure that headline will sit very well with MacKenzie’s boss.”

The car’s doors opened. “Climb into that little hole of yours and dream up more of your nasty lies,” I said. “It’s what you’re good at.”

I stepped out and didn’t look back.