The Fallen: A Derek Stillwater Thriller by Mark Terry Read Free Book Online Page A

enough. As he passed through the tunnel into the Cheyenne Center, he noted two Secret Service agents working in the ceiling area just inside the security doors. There was a dolly loaded with a crate marked Secret Service. One of the agents stood at the base of a folding ladder. He wore the dark slacks, dark windbreaker, and rubber-soled shoes of the service. His face was angular and bony, complexion swarthy, hair dark. He looked Hispanic, maybe even Native American. His dark eyes locked on Derek.
    Derek prepared to be stopped again, but the agent just nodded him past. He glanced up at the other agent, but he stood on the top of the ladder, his upper body hidden within a hatchway to the service areas that ran between the basement ceiling and the first floor subfloor. It was afour-foot-high crawl space of dusty, grimy girders, conduits, valves, wiring, and circuits.
    As Derek turned the corner, he glanced back at the two agents. Something inside his head set off a vague alarm, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was just that he didn’t know what they were doing in the crawl space. It had been swept thoroughly in the previous days, and he had even led some of the Secret Service agents around some of the nooks and crannies of the facilities, though it was always hard to tell if they were paying attention. The Secret Service tended to set their own agenda.
    Riding up to the main floor, he pondered what it had been about the guy that bothered him, but couldn’t put a finger on it. He was used to relying on his gut instincts, but the truth was, he was never meant to work undercover. He had parents and a brother, family. He had a life that he liked, living on a cabin cruiser on Chesapeake Bay, kayaking, working. Undercover, he spent all his time worrying. Paranoia was like a tattoo, once it imprinted on your skin it was almost impossible to erase.
    Maria Sanchez walked past the kitchen toward the banquet hall carrying a box of cloth napkins. “Hey, amante. Miss me already?”
    Derek grinned. “You bet.”
    “Ah, a tease. What you been doing?”
    “Fixing the women’s toilet. You?”
    “Making the place pretty, of course.” Maria made a face. “Of course, William is running around like his hair is on fire. The ice sculpture is melting in the freezer, and a couple of the ranges aren’t working. He’s loco grande.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    “Oh, you poor boy,” she said. “Better watch out. William’s a screamer.”
    “I can handle it. See you later.”
    With a laugh she said, “Promises, promises,” and sashayed into the banquet hall.
    It wasn’t hard to find William O’Grady. All you had to do was follow the snarling voice. O’Grady was as wide as he was tall, about five feet six, in chef’s whites. His sweaty, curly hair clung to his round scalp, his complexion as red as a setting sun. Hands on hips, he was screaming at a cook about the way she was cutting carrots for the salads.
    “Are you mad? Julienned! They have to be julienned! That means like matchsticks! Sliced! Not these— these chunks! Who the hell do youthink you’re preparing food for? Bugs Bunny? We’re serving the most powerful people on the planet! Slice the damned carrots thin!”
    O’Grady spun to glare at Derek. “Who the fuck are you?”
    “Maintenance. I understand you’ve—”
    “Oh, so now you decide to show up! This kitchen is a goddamned disaster area!”
    Derek didn’t think so. It was huge, gleaming stainless steel, dozens of ranges and ovens and work areas. Chef O’Grady had a white-coated staff of well over a dozen to berate, belittle, and bark at, with plenty of room to maneuver. The air smelled delicious— roast chicken, baked fish, succulent beef. Derek understood the initial menu included prime rib and mahimahi and garlic mashed potatoes. He had slim hopes that he’d get to sample some of it in the kitchen during dinner. Steam filled the air, making the area feel like a sauna. The air conditioning couldn’t