The Gemini Deception

Chapter Thirteen

The White House

That evening

As Ryden ate her dinner in the private second-floor dining room across from her bedroom, she wondered why Kennedy—who’d been with her all day—had now been replaced by a Secret Service agent named Jason. She sat alone at the long table, two waiters catering to her, while he read a magazine from a chair by the door.

Tonight’s fare included Caesar salad, beef bourguignonne, potatoes Florentine, and fresh asparagus with a balsamic reduction. She always ate until she was stuffed and included dessert with lunch and dinner, because her fast metabolism, combined with the stress she was under, burned up the calories with alarming speed. She’d already lost five pounds since she’d been here.

Ryden had never eaten a bigger variety of delicious meals. Betty always asked her in generic terms if she would prefer this or that—chicken or fish, potatoes or rice—but when the waiter served at dinnertime and announced the menu it was like listening to a foreign language. She’d never been to expensive restaurants, and although her crash course in French and culinary cuisine helped decipher some of the dishes, she still had no idea what to expect.

The same applied to the different wines they would present her with and expect her to choose from. As far as Ryden was concerned, they all tasted good, and since she really couldn’t tell the difference, she usually left it up to the White House sommelier.

She liked to take her meals here. The view of the grounds was compelling, and she could shed Thomas’s high heels and designer suits for more comfortable slippers and loungewear without fear of being seen by anyone but her servers and guards. But something was missing tonight. She’d gotten used to Kennedy’s presence during dinner. The bodyguard would either stand or sit by the window and occasionally look outside. Although they rarely said anything, Ryden found comfort in her calm presence and silence. It wasn’t until Kennedy became her shadow that she realized how tired she had grown of eating alone in her small apartment or in diners.

As a child, she would have dinner with whatever foster family she was placed with, which was her least favorite time of the day. Either her foster parents would find it the most appropriate time to argue, or the other foster kids would massacre each other over who got the larger serving. The only other person she had ever shared a meal with was Magda, during work in the back. She had found Magda’s constant need to gossip about their customers tiring and only seldom amusing.

Even though Ratman had probably hired Kennedy, the bodyguard was the only one of the two of them who, despite the truth, still treated Ryden with respect. For some unknown reason, she felt safe when Kennedy was around, though vulnerable.

Kennedy had stayed at her post all day, but Ryden had seen little of her because she’d spent most of her time in closed-door meetings. She was sure Kennedy’s absence now, when they would have been alone, had to do with the horrible way she’d treated her at the dinner event last night. Had Kennedy been allowed to quit? And if so, wasn’t someone obliged to inform her of that fact? She looked at the male agent and cleared her throat.

“Yes, Madam President?” He immediately set aside his magazine and stood.

“What happened to Kennedy?” she asked nonchalantly.

“She’ll resume her duties later tonight, Madam President.”

“I see.” Ryden felt relieved. “So, she’s taking a break from me?”

Jason smiled. “Not from you, Madam President.”

“Whom else?” Ryden smiled back. Why couldn’t she let it go?

“I think she needed some private time.”

“Oh? Is she all right?”

“Nothing serious, I suppose, since she’s still in the House.”

Ryden scooped up the last of her dessert—tiramisu this evening—and chewed slowly. Was Kennedy avoiding her until she was off to bed so she didn’t have to face her? And if so, was she even allowed to? Sure, Ryden had snapped at her, but that was no excuse to forgo her duties and…ignore her. “Do you know where she is?”

The guard had remained standing. “I’m sorry, I don’t, Madam President. I can find out in just a moment.”

Ryden finished her wine and got up. “Don’t bother. I’m going to retire early tonight.”

Jason followed her toward the bedroom. She had just reached the door when she saw Kennedy walk out of the Yellow Oval Room farther down the corridor still wearing her trademark dark pantsuit and starched white shirt.

*

Shield had requested a time out for personal reasons without further explanation. She’d used the time to call the EOO for any news and to plant a listening device in Thomas’s bedroom, using the adjoining door from her room while the president was eating dinner across the hall. She hadn’t mentioned the eavesdropping to Pierce, but no risk was involved. Since she was the president’s primary and the one responsible for the routine, weekly sweep of the room for bugs, the Secret Service wouldn’t find the device by chance. She might, however, be able to overhear a private conversation between Thomas and Moore.

She’d eaten dinner then and was headed to her bedroom to get her cell for another call to Pierce, when she spotted the president leaving the private dining room.

“Does this mean you’re on duty again?” Thomas asked her.

Shield was used to the cold, formal attitude of her subjects and even found it interesting when it came to attractive women, but Thomas had pushed all the wrong buttons when she’d accused her of playing on the job. Shield knew she had to be a professional and swallow her pride when it came to difficult and downright rude individuals, but nothing vexed her more than unfairness. That, combined with the fact that the EOO hadn’t been able to offer any news yet in response to her inquiry, had put her in a less than pleasant mood. “Yes, it does, Madam President.”

“Good, because I would like a word with you.”

“Of course, Madam President.” Shield looked at the other agent and nodded. Jason headed toward the stairway while she started down the hall toward the president.

Thomas met her halfway and gestured toward the room Shield had just come out of. “I don’t see why we can’t talk in there. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Shield let the president go first into the Yellow Oval Room and shut the door behind them.

Thomas scanned the room and her gaze fell on Shield’s meal tray. “I didn’t know you were allowed to take your dinner in here.”

“The perks of not being your average Secret Service.”

Thomas approached the small table by the open balcony doors where Shield had sat and looked down at the bottle of wine. “They let you drink on duty?”

“You may have noticed I haven’t opened the bottle.”

“Then why is it here?”

“Because I felt the need to look at it since I can’t be at home,” Shield explained.

“I don’t understand. You want to look at the bottle?”

“It reminds me of home and the job I love. I make my own wine.”

“As in moonshine?”

“As in, I have my own company. A vineyard back home in Tuscany. It’s quite a successful label.”

Thomas picked up the bottle. “Il Grigio Angelo,” she read. “They serve this here, although I haven’t tried it yet.” She sounded surprised.

“Here. In Europe. In every good restaurant.”

“So, if you live in Tuscany, how did you end up in Washington?” Was Thomas going to get to the point of her request to see her, or were they going to talk about Shield’s bio?

“The organization I work for—”

“The EOO.”

“Yes, has us stationed all over the world. I usually baby…guard,” Shield corrected herself, “European political dignitaries, and occasionally American ones. It depends on where I’m needed.”

“Are you as good as they say?” the president asked.

“I must be, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“How does the wine fit into your life?”

“It’s what I do when I’m not on a job.”

Thomas sat down at the table, on the armchair opposite the one Shield had been in. “How did you decide to start a vineyard?” She sounded sincerely interested.

Shield sat down, too. “I started out by helping the owner—a friend. Eventually, I inherited the vineyard, improved the wine, and marketed it worldwide.”

“I doubt you need this job, then.”

“I don’t. I do it because part of me wants to—even though I hate being taken away from my home—and part of me has to.”

“Has to?”

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say I’m contracted to work for my employer indefinitely. In other words, until I’m no longer fit for my work.”

“It must be difficult to leave your loved ones.”

“Not really. I don’t have any.”

“I don’t just mean a girlfriend,” Thomas said.

“Why would you assume I had a girlfriend?”

“I…I simply meant I saw the way the waitress was looking at you.”

Shield was glad for the opening. “About that. I never play on the job, and I have a strong disliking for being accused of something I didn’t do.”

“My apologies,” Thomas said. “I never meant to offend you. I was tired and looking for someone to blame. I should never have reacted the way I did. It was uncalled for and unprofessional.”

“I won’t argue that.”

“It’s why I wanted to see you. I wanted to say I was sorry.” The president was looking at her with an expression of sincere regret, a response Shield found uncharacteristic in light of her previous bodyguard’s experience, but welcome nonetheless. Elizabeth Thomas continued to confound and surprise her.

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m glad.” Thomas smiled. “But what I meant earlier is that I assumed you prefer the same sex.”

“How presumptuous. Is it because of my job?”

“I don’t have to be a homosexual to have a gaydar. Am I wrong?”

Shield snickered at Thomas’s use of the word gaydar and the president smiled. “No, you’re not wrong. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not at all. What you do in your spare time is none of my business.”

“I’m glad,” Shield repeated, and smiled, too.

“How about your family?” the president asked next. “Don’t you miss them?”

“I don’t have one. I was adopted by the organization when I was six.” Shield rarely volunteered such information, but with Thomas, it didn’t matter. The president certainly had a briefing file somewhere about the EOO, if she cared to read it.

Thomas looked at her intently, then averted her gaze. “That must have been rough.”

“I guess…at times, anyway. I’ve never spent too much time dwelling on what could or should have been.”

“You’ve never wondered what it would have been like to have a family?”

“Sure, but I can’t say I’ve ever missed it,” Shield replied. “It’s hard to long for something you’ve never experienced.”

Thomas stared out the window toward the Washington Monument in the distance for a long while, seemingly lost in thought. In Shield’s experience, people often felt sorry for you when you told them you were adopted, but Thomas instead looked hurt. “So, I assume you’ve never felt the need to look for them,” the president finally said.

“Never. All I know is I was born and adopted in Melbourne, Australia.”

The president raised an eyebrow. “An Aussie?”

“In blood, yes, but an Italian at heart.”

“How was it growing up in an organization?”

“It’s funny how that varies from kid to kid. Some love it, make friends and enjoy the constant playing and schooling and find it a home, and others…don’t.”

“And how about you?”

“I was one of those who didn’t. I’ve never liked noise, and boy, there was a lot of that.”

“Yes.” Thomas sounded wistful. “I mean, kids seem to love screaming. My sister’s kids do, anyway.”

“Not me, and I was never very social. Spent a lot time on my own and out of other people’s way. Kids welcomed me when I sought them out, but they never went out of their way to track me down. I think they found me a bit odd. Most adopted kids crave acceptance. I just looked forward to getting out and on with my life. I wanted to find my place in the world, not a family.”

“Did you?”

“I did,” Shield replied. “When I found Italy.”

Thomas sighed. “It must be wonderful to know where you belong.”

“You sound like you don’t, when you appear to have everything.”

“Appear being the key word.”

“It’s definitely not easy being you.”

Thomas shook her head almost imperceptibly and let out a small laugh devoid of humor. “You have no idea.”

“I don’t even want to imagine having to live your life.”

“This life, the one before. Trust me, you don’t want to imagine either.”

Rich political families could definitely come with drawbacks. Cold, ambitious parents more interested in grooming successors than in loving their child. But no one could have forced Thomas to become president. You needed to want and fight for that position wholeheartedly in order to obtain it, especially if you were the first female to hold the highest office in the world. But she couldn’t argue that it came with a lot of sacrifices and potential dirty work. “I guess no one is ever really prepared for what’s expected in your position, no matter how much they groom you for it.”

The president looked away. “You can say that again. Sometimes I wish I had made different choices, but…” Thomas massaged her temples. “Well, what choice did I really have?”

“What is it you want?” Shield asked.

“I should say I want my life back, but I don’t. I…I just want to live. For once, I want to be free of everything, including myself…who I was before all this.”

Shield didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. If she hated anything, it was superficial sentiments and conventional comfort speeches. She wasn’t about to tell Thomas her life wasn’t so bad, because it clearly was, and who was Shield to tell her otherwise? She also wasn’t about to tell Thomas things could get better because Shield couldn’t know that, either. If she was right and the president had gotten to the point of having to fake an attack and get five people killed in the process, chances were things could only get a lot worse.

Judging from her panic attacks and almost tangible fear, Thomas had clearly been persuaded to do something she didn’t want. Her statements tonight seemed to confirm that supposition. Shield was almost positive the president had to be convinced to go along with whatever was happening, because one sentiment was missing from her demeanor: guilt. But who could have so much power over the president of the United States?

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Shield picked up the bottle of Il Grigio Angelo. “Would you do me the honor of trying my wine?” she asked Thomas. “Since I’m sure you’re an excellent critic, your opinion is important to me.”

“I don’t know that I’m an expert and by no means a connoisseur.”

Shield found it hard to believe that the president hadn’t had her share of good wine, coming from a prominent family and considering all the formal dinners she’d no doubt attended as a senator. She was probably just downplaying her privileged background and being careful not to give the impression of a chief executive who enjoyed alcohol. “But you enjoy a glass now and then?”

“Very much.”

“Will you try some?”

“I’d love to.”

Shield uncorked the bottle and poured for the president.

“How about you?” Thomas asked.

“I’m on duty.”

“I won’t tell, and I’m sure just one won’t compromise your ability to protect me.”

Shield smiled. “It won’t. But aside from that, we only have one wineglass and I’d rather not ask for another. It would draw attention, and I don’t want that.”

“Very well.” Thomas lifted the goblet. “Cheers, then.” She took a sip.

Odd, Shield thought. The president, because of her position, had to have been trained in the basics of wine. Yet Thomas had skipped swirling, sniffing, and allowing the burgundy liquid to permeate her palate before she swallowed. Maybe wine wasn’t her thing, after all. Shield was disappointed. She didn’t know why, but she wanted Thomas to like it. “What do you think?”

“It’s heavenly.” Thomas leaned back in the armchair with the goblet. “Truly delicious.”

“Do you generally enjoy wine?”

“I know this will sound very wrong, but I really don’t know much about it.”

Shield laughed. “I can tell.”

Thomas looked chagrined. “Uh-oh. That bad, huh?”

“May I?” Shield looked at the glass.

Thomas handed it over and Shield held it up to the setting sun. “This is a merlot.”

“Okay.”

“Can you describe the color?”

“Red.”

“Red wine is produced from grapes that are not only red, but purple and blue as well. The many different varietals of red wine give it names like dark red, light red, almost black, maroon, deep violet, and burgundy. If you look at it again, how would you describe it?”

Thomas looked from her to the wine. She stared at it for a while and pursed her lips. “Maroon, almost black.”

“Very good.” Shield lifted the wineglass and swirled it. “Aerating the wine like this introduces more air molecules into it, which can capture the aroma molecules and carry them up to the nose. More dominant aromatics that arise after swirling can overwhelm some subtle ones, so most professional tasters will sniff the wine briefly first before swirling. The closer the nose is to the wine, even right inside the glass, the greater the chances of capturing aromatics. A series of short, quick sniffs versus one long inhale will also maximize the likelihood of detecting aromatics. The human nose starts to fatigue after around six seconds, and so a pause may be necessary between sniffs.” She stopped swirling and placed the goblet under Thomas’s nose.

The president took successive brief sniffs.

Fast learner, Shield thought. “What do you smell?”

“Fruit, but not sweet. Earth, and…smoke?”

“Excellent. Inferior merlots can smell like vinegar.”

“This definitely doesn’t smell like vinegar.”

“I know.” Shield didn’t want to sound arrogant, but she prided herself on the quality of her wine.

“How would you describe it?” Thomas asked.

“A full-bodied and complex ruby, with a soft sweetness and velvety aftertaste. Hints of wild cherry and blackberry, finessed with a slight cocoa tone and undercurrents reminiscent of the rich, smoky soil of Tuscany.”

Thomas sighed. “That’s beautiful. So…romantic.”

“And now, finally, is the time to taste.”

Thomas lifted the glass to her mouth, never taking her eyes off Shield’s, as if waiting for her permission.

“Before you…” Shield stopped.

“Yes?”

They were staring at each other and Shield couldn’t look away. The president looked more relaxed at that moment than Shield had ever seen her—softer, somehow, and more…real, not the figurehead politician, but a warm and inviting woman. Again, Shield was struck by how beautiful Thomas was when she was stripped of her perfect media-friendly hairdo and flawless makeup. She’d evidently showered after her workday before changing into the comfortable-looking long-sleeved blue T-shirt and designer sweatpants she now wore; her fresh-scrubbed face and slightly flyaway, short brown hair gave her an enticing approachability. But the vulnerability in Elizabeth Thomas’s dark eyes really drew her in and made her forget momentarily what she’d been about to say.

Shield also couldn’t remember when she’d decided it was proper to stare at Thomas’s kissable mouth. What was she doing? This woman was the American president and was also apparently involved in some scheme.

“May I…” Thomas’s hoarse voice brought her back.

“Yes…if you know how.”

Thomas paused a long moment before replying in a soft voice, “Teach me.”

Shield shivered involuntarily at the words. Damn it, this was insane. Was she actually flirting with Thomas? And more insanely, was the president actually flirting back? “Take a small sip and keep it on your tongue. Give it a chance to mix with your saliva. It decreases the acidity and enhances the flavor.”

“How long?”

“You’ll know.”

Thomas slowly brought the glass to her lips and, her eyes still fixed on Shield’s, took a small sip. The setting sun had created a green hue in the president’s deep-brown eyes, and her lips shone from the maroon liquid. Thomas closed her eyes to swallow and let out a small groan.

Shield’s whole body reacted to the sound, every muscle tensing involuntarily, and she had to stop herself from moaning as well.

“Your wine is…delicious.” Thomas’s voice was barely audible.

Unable to trust her own voice, Shield smiled and looked out the open doors to the balcony.

The situation was becoming more unprofessional by the second. Flirting on the job, and never mind with Thomas, was against her every taught and self-imposed code of ethics. Shield cleared her voice before she spoke.

“I…” they said simultaneously.

Shield gestured for Thomas to go first.

“I was going to say, I think it’s time I turned in,” the president said.

Shield immediately stood. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Indeed. What were you about to say?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Oh?”

“Do you really not remember me?” Shield asked. “Or is there a reason you won’t acknowledge having met me?”

“Remember you from…?”

“Greece. The summit. I know you saw me, because you looked right at me and nodded.”

“The global-warming summit? I…I don’t, I’m sorry.”

Shield felt oddly disappointed she’d not made more of an impression. “It’s okay. I was just curious.”

The president got up and faced her. They were less than a foot apart. “Thank you for the wine and the lesson.”

Shield took a step back and looked away. “It was my pleasure, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Thomas headed out and Shield followed silently a pace behind. She opened the door for the president and Thomas stepped into the foyer.

As she opened the door to her bedroom, with her back turned, the president said, “Good night, Kennedy.”

“Sleep well, Elizabeth.”