“All this time, you knew about Bita?” The First Lady shot a chilly look at her husband who was seated next to her on a sofa in the west sitting hall outside their master bedroom.
The admiral, the president’s chief of staff, Director Worcester, and the Director of Homeland Security were also seated in various chairs around the room. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night, but both the Mannings were still dressed in the clothes they’d had on earlier in the day. The First Lady was clearly shaken by the events of the past several hours. “The woman was a double agent and yet you let her near our granddaughter.”
Griffin was equally as furious as the president’s wife. He was ready to jump out of his skin at the commander-in-chief for withholding such vital information. Especially since Bita had put Marin’s life in so much danger. Director Worcester shot him a quelling look from across the room when Griffin went to open his mouth to interject his two cents.
Clearly, he’d matured a bit because Griffin kept his thoughts to himself. But he couldn’t keep still. He continued to prowl behind the chair where Marin sat wrapped in a soft blanket, sipping a cup of tea the head housekeeper had provided her with earlier. Marin had been quiet and contemplative since the rescue, but he figured that was understandable after all she’d been through. The two of them hadn’t had an opportunity to be alone yet, either. She was putting on a brave front for the Mannings. The trauma would hit her soon, though. And he wanted to be the one to comfort her when it did. To do that, he’d need to get her away from her overprotective godmother. Unfortunately, neither of the Mannings seemed in a hurry to retire for the night.
“I would never put Arabelle in harm’s way.” President Manning patted his wife’s leg. His touch did nothing to erase the frosty expression on her face. The president sighed. “Bita was instructed in the security protocols. She followed them to the letter this morning. Other than that, Harriett, all I can say is that the issue is one of national security.”
“How is stealing artwork a national security issue?” the First Lady demanded.
With a beleaguered sigh, the president glanced over at his Secretary of Homeland Security. “George, tell her what you can. Please.”
The secretary clearly would rather do no such thing. But, after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, he sat forward in his chair, cleared his throat, and began speaking. “Mrs. Ranjbar is involved with a group of Iranian Nationalists who were deposed when the Shah was overthrown in the 1970s,” he explained. “Many of these individuals were among the wealthy elite. At the time of the revolution, they were forced to flee their homeland without any of their possessions. Some of those possessions are, understandably, quite valuable; not to mention, of great significance as family heirlooms.”
“But many of those items were eventually returned, weren’t they?” the First Lady asked.
“Not as many as you’d think. A lot of these items were traded on a very lucrative black market with the backers to the radical government keeping the proceeds of their sale,” the secretary continued. “Mrs. Ranjbar and her friends have been unofficially hunting for their lost items for decades. It’s believed that Yerik Salenko, the same man who kidnapped Chef Marin, worked for the group operating the black market at some point during the last decade. He claimed to know the whereabouts of many of the items Mrs. Ranjbar and her friends are seeking.”
Mrs. Manning looked at her husband incredulously. “And Bita was just going to track these hooligans down and demand her heirlooms?”
The president shrugged, smiling at his wife. “What can I say? I’m surrounded by formidable women.”
“I still don’t understand how Bita’s search is a threat to our country’s national security,” the First Lady grumbled.
“It was not so much Mrs. Ranjbar’s search, but her connection with Salenko. Mr. Salenko had close ties with many nefarious groups aside from the counterfeiters Agent Keller is investigating, and the operators of the black market. He worked for anyone who would pay. Most of his employers would just as soon see our country in turmoil. Unfortunately, his death puts us at a dead end with regard to locating these terror cells.” The secretary glared at Griffin.
Griffin met the man’s hard stare over the back of Marin’s head. “With all due respect, sir, if the choice between saving Marin or saving a cold-blooded killer came up again, I’d run the op the exact same way every time.”
“And we are all very grateful for your quick thinking, Agent Keller,” the president interjected. He shook his head at the secretary, essentially shutting down any additional conversation on the subject.
“Well, I don’t understand how you all could just let that man steal such beautiful artwork,” Marin finally spoke up. “Those pieces are just as priceless and irreplaceable as Bita’s friends’ heirlooms.”
The secretary smiled at Marin. “Then it will please you to know that the buyers of the stolen pieces all work in my agency.”
His words halted Griffin’s pacing. “That would have been nice to know days ago,” he said through his clenched jaw.
“I agree,” the president’s chief of staff said. “We’re lucky something didn’t go horribly wrong tonight because of lack of coordination.”
Their discussion was curtailed when Clark Manning escorted his mother-in-law, Bita, into the room. The woman’s shoulder was dressed with a heavy bandage. Only Bita could pull off looking regal wearing it. The men in the room stood at her arrival. The First Lady was clearly conflicted on how to greet the other woman. She finally stood as well, holding her arms open to embrace her son’s mother-in-law.
“Bita, you’re back. How are you feeling?” the First Lady asked.
“She’s lucky it was only a flesh wound,” Clark answered brusquely for his mother-in-law. “The bullet grazed her shoulder deep enough to require stitches and a round of antibiotics.” He gave the woman a stern look. “It could have been a lot worse. From now on, you’ll leave the espionage to those who are trained to do it. Agreed?”
Bita nodded dutifully, but not before Griffin saw her give the Secretary of Homeland Security a sly smile.
“Agent Morgan was released also,” Clark reported to the room. “Her wrist is fractured, but it fortunately won’t require any surgery.”
Griffin shamefully realized he’d been so focused on Marin, he hadn’t given Leslie’s condition a second thought since leaving the crime scene. He was pretty sure Adam had the situation covered, but he made a mental note to text his friend anyway.
“Chef Marin!” Bita cried, covering her mouth with both her hands when she spied Marin.
Marin stiffened as Bita advanced on her. Griffin quickly stepped in front of the older woman. Bita’s face was crestfallen when she realized he would not let her near Marin.
“I didn’t mean to hit her,” Bita said. “It was all part of an act. I had to make that crazy man think I was working with him.”
A sudden, blinding burst of rage surged through Griffin.This woman was responsible for the bruises on Marin’s face?It seemed he’d wrongly blamed Salenko for all of the injuries to Marin. With that man already dead, Griffin was looking for another punching bag to take his frustrations out on. He didn’t realize his hands were already clenched in fists until Marin covered his fingers with hers. Rising from her chair to stand beside him, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.