Chapter Twenty-nine
With white knuckles, Candy gripped the railing in the small shaft in the kitchens. “World War III, sir?”
“That entire incident was FUBAR from the beginning,” he said. Candy grinned at his use of the military term: “fucked up beyond all recognition.”
The president continued. “Russia was getting ready to arrest their father on charges of espionage, spying for the U.S. I had Pommer immediately pick him up—”
“Wait,” Candy cut in, “you ordered Pommer?”
“Yes, that was my role in the fiasco. I was over Pommer at the time. We needed to get their father back to the U.S. to ensure his safety. Then, of all things, he was killed on the way to the intelligence building here in DC.” The president shook his head. “What a mess.”
“The file said a Russian spy may have been responsible for his death,” Candy said. “Is that true?”
“We believed so since no one else knew what was going on. Of course, we had to cover it up from the media or Russia would’ve started a bunch of shit with NATO and us harboring spies and who knows what else.”
“What about the boys and mom?” she asked.
“By the time things settled down enough to figure out what had happened, the family was no longer where they had lived in Russia. They were gone. We tried finding them, but we weren’t able to get inside help at the time with the situation.”
“So the boys think the U.S. government made their father come back and killed him or made him disappear forever,” she theorized.
“That’s what I’m taking from all this,” the president said. He shrugged. “It’s too bad, really. He was a nice guy and really loved his family. I wish we had been able to see what evidence Russia had to accuse him. He had to be innocent of any wrongdoing.”
Candy thought about what he said. If she had been in charge of that operation, she’d be ranting and raving about Russia’s interference with Americans living in their country. She’d throw their commie butts in prison and let them rot for wanting to hurt people in this country. Even now, she’d still be angry and hot over the deal. But the giant who could chew new assholes with one bite felt sorry about the situation.
Now she knew why the president was such a great leader. He cared for human life no matter who they were or what they did. He didn’t judge. Innocent until proven guilty. That was what she’d spent the last twenty years fighting for.
She noted how calmly the president was recalling the event. He didn’t bring in anger or physical violence. Like her father would’ve; like she would’ve. She never thought about a different way to react to negativity. Even in the military, she was taught to holler and yell to get attention. Maybe her way wasn’t the best way.
Not paying attention, Candy almost smacked into the president’s back. The group had come to a stop. “Are we there?” she asked. No one answered, but they all stepped into an old, musty basement-like room. After she exited, Josh got on his hands and knees, his face on the stair flooring.
“Where are we?” she asked.
The first lady’s face lit up. “We are in the subbasement.” She pointed to the door down the hall. “If I remember correctly, that’s the laundry room. And down the big hall, it’s mostly electrical and heating machines. I’ve only been down here once. Several passageways come through here also.”
“Secret passageways?” Candy asked.
The first lady nodded. “Mostly.”
Candy tapped her foot on the dingy white floor. She thought about what she’d learned in school history classes. This sounded dumb, but she’d ask anyway. “They had tile like this back in the 1800s?”
The woman laughed. Candy knew it was a stupid question, but she didn’t expect it to be funny. “I don’t mean to laugh at your question. But it is the exact same thing I asked when I toured the house.” The lady smiled at her. “Great minds think alike.” She reached out a hand. “I’m Monica. We haven’t had the chance to meet properly.”
Candy shook her hand. “Sergeant Major Candace Obermier, ma’am. Good to meet you.” The woman’s smile turned to a frown. What? Had she done something wrong?
“With my husband,” the first lady said, “it’s fine for you to be sergeant, but with me, you’re Candace.”
After an initial shock at such friendliness, Candy relaxed. “Ma’am, please call me Candy.”
“And you call me Monica, not ma’am.” Both ladies smiled at each other. “And the answer to your tile question is no. The original house didn’t have basements. In the late 1940s, Truman discovered the wooden beams supporting the house and floors were about to completely fail. Most everything was original from 1814 at that time.”
“Oh,” Candy said. “I thought the White House was built around 1776 when we took our independence.”
“The original was 1790s,” Monica said.
“Original?” Candy replied. “It’s been rebuilt?”
“Twice, actually.”
Damn, she was feeling stupid as shit now. Did she sleep through this in school? Monica smiled. “I’m a schoolteacher. Well, was until I became the first lady. I teach American history. Learning it once, like you, I wouldn’t expect anything to stick past the test; there’s so much. But me, I don’t even need a textbook anymore.”
That made Candy feel better. She was sure she’d known all this stuff at one time, like twenty years ago. “So how old is everything here?” Candy asked.
“The first build was 1790s. In 1814, the British burned down most of Washington DC, including the inside of this house.”
“All of it?” Candy couldn’t believe the White House had burned down.
“The walls stood since they were brick, but the inside was gutted.”
“So nothing from before that time exists. All the documents and letters from the presidents were destroyed? All that history lost.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Everything of James Madison and earlier is gone. When people say they have authentic things from that time period, you can almost bet it’s fake. Unless it was brought in after the fire and put here.”
“What happened the second time it was rebuilt?” she asked, now curious about the history on which her feet rested. Who had stood and walked where she had, hundreds of years ago?
“Rumor has it that President Truman was sitting in his tub, which happened to be on the second floor above the State Dining Room where the Daughters of the American Revolution were having dinner.
“Supposedly, the tub almost fell through the ceiling and onto their table. Truman was so embarrassed by the near catastrophe, he had the entire structure inspected. Turns out he was living in a death trap, practically.”
“Wow,” Candy commented. “The same frame since 1814? Grew strong trees back then,” Candy said.
“Can you imagine?” Monica gushed. “All floors could’ve collapsed on whoever was here.” She shook her head slowly, concern evident on her face. She cared, too. “Anyway, Truman had the place gutted and they dug the basements then. This tile is from the 1950s.”
If Candy ever had a friend, she’d want her to be like Monica. Sure, Candy socialized with other females, but in the military, having a close friend wasn’t the best idea. Like she’d said before: Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed for them.
That got Candy’s imagination going. She replied, “I bet they added secret rooms and hidden passages.”
Monica smiled. “Yes, they did. Several of them. And at the end of each term, the outgoing lady has to be sure the incoming lady commits them to memory.”
“Couldn’t you write them down and keep a list in a safe?” Candy asked. That seemed logical.
Monica laughed again. “I asked the same question. Then got a lecture like I hadn’t had since grade school. No way are we to keep anything written, or hints, or clues.”
Candy saw the purpose, but still . . . “Couldn’t a passage be forgotten?”
“My thoughts exactly, but I see the purpose of it. Safety for my husband.” Candy watched Monica turn to her husband, put an arm around the back of his waist, and slide under his arm. From there, she kissed his check and asked, “What are we waiting on?”
An explosion came from far away, but still the ground shook and dust fell from the ceiling. Candy had let her guard down too much. With no danger directly in front of them, there wasn’t as much immediacy to get away. She was back and wouldn’t be forgetful again of her responsibility.
A loud crack startled her, whipping her head around to look at Josh and his foot currently sticking through the floor. “What the hell are you doing?” Candy asked.
Josh pulled out his foot and leaned over the hole he’d made. “It only looks like the bottom is here. The steps continue lower.”
“Lower?” Monica said. “There isn’t a blueprint for anything lower than this floor. I’ve looked. This is it.”