Free Oak and Dagger by Dorothy St. James Page A

right.
    â€œI’m sure you misunderstood,” Thatch said.
    I itched to stay and find out what the two men were talking about. I also wanted to find out how the Turbekistan envoy could possibly be connected with Frida’s death, but I was clearly not welcome.
    I shuffled out of the stairwell and down the corridor. My head throbbed from worry and hunger and questions, lots and lots of questions.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    â€œAre you ready?” Jack inquired, falling in step beside me as I passed through the enclosed breezeway connecting the East Wing to the main residence.
    â€œReady for what?” I asked. The only thing I felt ready to do was collapse on the floor below me.
    â€œI promised to take you to Gordon.” He handed me his coat. “It’s still pouring out there.”
    Jack drove to George Washington University Hospital.
    â€œWhat do you know about Turbekistan?” I asked him as he steered his rusty old Jeep onto the ramp for George Washington University Hospital’s parking garage.
    â€œIt’s a country in Eastern Europe.”
    â€œThanks for the geography lesson, but that’s not what I was asking for.” I told Jack about the conversation I’d overheard in the stairwell as he steered into a parking space.
    Jack went still when I mentioned Lev Aziz’s name. “You know about the envoy’s visit?”
    â€œDoesn’t everybody? Do you have any idea why Aziz would want to talk with me?”
    â€œI’m sure you misunderstood.” Jack’s shoulders tightened. This was clearly a conversation he wasn’t comfortable having.
    â€œWhat if I didn’t? What if Aziz wants to be reassured the water line break was an accident and not sabotage?”
    Jack flinched whenever I said the envoy’s name. “I’m sure that’s not it. Who told you about Aziz?”
    â€œSomeone in the West Wing told Gordon when he was getting grilled by the staff. Why?”
    â€œBecause the meeting with Turbekistan is classified. Top-secret classified. Those big mouths in the West Wing shouldn’t be talking about it.
We
shouldn’t be talking about it.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI’m serious, Casey. Forget you heard anything. Forget I said anything, okay?”
    â€œBut what if I can help? Or what if this Aziz fellow is somehow connected to the thefts of my schematics and Frida’s research and”—I swallowed around a lump in my throat—“what if he knows what happened to Frida and Gordon? What if Frida and Gordon saw something they shouldn’t have? Something that involved these secret talks? Aziz wouldn’t have been so skittish after the irrigation line break if he didn’t think he was in danger.”
    â€œWhoa.” He threw up his hands. “Those are several huge logic jumps you just made there, Casey.”
    â€œAre they? How can you be so sure?”
    â€œListen to me, there isn’t a connection. Aziz has a reputation for being paranoid. Extremely paranoid. Anything he says is suspect.” He opened the Jeep’s door and got out. “And that’s all I can say on that matter.”
    Not one to give up so easily, I told Jack the rest of the story about the stolen schematics and the missing research from Frida’s office as we walked through the garage to the hospital. I hoped this new information would convince him to change his mind, and he’d tell me more about the President’s secret meetings with Turbekistan and who might want to sabotage them.
    Jack listened. Nodded sympathetically. But remained stubbornly silent on the matter.
    My attention turned from Turbekistan’s untapped oil and back to Gordon’s health as I sidestepped out of the hospital’s large revolving front door. I started to type a text message to Lorenzo to let him know where I was, what I was doing. Unlike the tech-savvy West Wing interns, I hadn’t yet