Hail to the Chef

Twisting, Gav pushed his arm deep into the cabinet’s recesses, his fingers working along objects I could picture even though I couldn’t see. “Careful,” I breathed, clouding my face mask.

“Hang on,” he said to himself.

Very slowly, Gav eased backward, his hands cradling the familiar, ugly clock.

“That’s it!” I said.

Other bomb squad technicians rushed forward and gently removed the clock from Gav’s hands, placing it into a thick, insulated box. With a nod of acknowledgment, they hurried out.

The moment they were gone, I pulled the helmet off. So did Gav.

“What now?” I asked.

He shot me a skeptical look. “Haven’t you had enough?”

WITH THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE DESTROYED, the official opening celebration abandoned, the First Lady relocated from the bunker to the residence, and reporters trampling over one another to try to get the scoop, it was a wild day, even by White House standards.

Not for the first time did I find myself the center of attention of a bunch of serious-faced males. This time we were back in the Red Room, and I was walking five men-all agents and security perso

Though Gav was present, he didn’t participate. He stood back as I fielded questions from the group, explaining what I could about floating neutrals. “I don’t know how to test for them,” I began, “and I don’t even know if one was present…”

“There was.” The voice came from the back of the room, and I was surprised to see Curly Sheridan escorted in by two more agents. He looked as grumpy as ever, but to my surprise, he wasn’t handcuffed, or in any way restrained.

I took an instinctive step back.

“It’s okay,” one of the agents said. “This is the guy who disabled the voltage problem.”

I didn’t understand.

“Damn Ma

“The floating neutral?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like Ma

He didn’t admit that he should have listened to me earlier, but regret radiated off him like waves of heat. And that was good enough for me.

“They took off,” said Gav from the back of the room. “We’re picking them up now for questioning.”

“Yi-im,” I said suddenly.

“We’re after him, too.”

CHAPTER 24

MARCEL WAS STILL MOURNING HIS LOST GINGERBREAD house the next day. “There are not even photos of it other than those I took myself,” he said. “All the photographers waited until the lighting ceremony.” He heaved a great sigh. “So much work. All lost.”

We stood in the kitchen, having just finished preparing breakfast for the president and First Lady. Other than the fact that the upstairs was still being processed as a crime scene, life was back to normal. After the excitement yesterday, the president had come home to be with his wife. Tom had come back last night, too-in fact he’d picked me up inside the grounds, sparing me having to run the gauntlet of reporters that swarmed the place. Thank goodness. I’d needed to vent and he was only too willing to listen.

“There are plenty of pictures of Ollie in today’s paper,” Cyan said, pushing the front page across the countertop.

I’d seen them. Crisp color pictures of me sitting under a table amid gingerbread detritus graced the first page, under the headline “That’s the Way the Cookie Crumbles.” I turned away, groaning. “Can’t we just forget yesterday ever happened?”

“The ace executive chef does it again,” Bucky said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Olivia Paras, always in the middle of everything.”

“Back off, Buckaroo,” Cyan said. “She saved your life. All of ours, probably.”

His mouth puckered and he glanced at Cyan, before turning to me. “I guess I never thanked you, did I?” He lifted his chin. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” I said, wanting to keep the mood light. “All in a day’s work.”

“You sound like James Bond,” Cyan said. “Or… Jane Bond!”

Agda’s eyes lit up, as she joined in on the banter. “Maybe she spy!”

Rafe nodded. “A Russian spy!”

“Russians are out,” I said, laughing. “They’re not the bad guys anymore.”

Bucky wasn’t being particularly unpleasant, but his words had more of a bite than anyone else’s when he asked, “I still don’t get it. How do you always get in the middle of all the intrigue around here?”

“Bad luck, I guess.”

Gav leaned in the doorway. “Or good luck, depending on how you want to look at it.” He greeted the staff and reminded them that even though recent events had thrown the schedule off, security classes would resume the next day. To me, he said, “Do you have a minute?”

I followed him to the China Room, thinking sadly about Marcel’s weeks of pla

Gav closed the door and motioned for me to sit in one of the upholstered chairs. “There will be a press conference later this morning.”

“I’m not going to have to say anything, am I?”

He sat across from me, shaking his head, elbows on his knees as he studied the floor. The stress of the job obviously took its toll. He seemed to have aged since I’d met him. “No. In fact we’d prefer that you say nothing.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

He sat back. “You probably know it all anyway.”

“I don’t. Really. I’ve just been guessing. Trying to fill in the blanks.”

One eye narrowed. “I told you I believed in your instincts. And I’m glad you trusted your gut.” Leaning forward again, but this time staring at me, he continued. “I’ll tell you what I can. Fair enough?”

I nodded.

“The Blanchard gingerbread men were outfitted with a sophisticated type of explosive,” he said slowly. “We haven’t seen much of this stuff because it’s so new. It’s very malleable.” He pantomimed, rubbing his thumbs and forefingers together. “Just like C-4, but this stuff is so advanced, they were able to use it as decoration on the cookies and not have anyone notice. Plus, it’s stable enough for transport. Powerful stuff. Had it been ignited by a straight 120 volt, it would’ve been bad.” He stared at me. “Very bad. It probably would have taken out everyone within ten feet of the explosion.”

I didn’t know if he was exaggerating to make me feel better, but I actually felt a little bit worse. Shivering, I tried hard not to imagine what might have happened if Mrs. Campbell had flipped that switch.

Gav must have read my mind because he added, “With the additional surge from the floating neutral, those three gingerbread men would have taken out the back half of the White House.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“And Blanchard arranged everything? But how and why? And what about Sean?”

Gav held up a hand. “Slow down. We’ve got Blanchard in custody. Your electrician Ma

“But it was Blanchard behind it all?”

“Not according to Blanchard. He’s trying to point the finger at his overzealous assistant.”

“Bindy?”

Gav nodded. “Said she came up with all this on her own.”

“No way.”

With a shrug, Gav continued. “Blanchard claims he knew nothing about any of this. He’s ru