Chapter 4: Drama Magnet

January, 1994

The White House is both larger and smaller than it looks on t. v. and the movies. The rooms, if you see them with a clear eye, aren't really that big compared to some of the McMansions rich people buy or have built today. Which makes sense when you realize the building is over two hundred years old. Rooms were smaller back then because small rooms are easier to keep warm in cold winter months with wood burning heating systems.

But one rarely sees the White House with clear eyes. There is a simple and classical grandeur to the building that makes it larger than it really is. Yes, the banquet halls and dining rooms can seat scores of people, but I have been to mansions in England and Scotland that could seat many hundreds, some over a thousand. There is an intimacy and exclusivity to being invited to such small, state functions that those grand fund-raisers and political banquets and state dinners in England lacked.

And so, when Eoin and the rest of us arrived, I felt the massive power that emanated from the White House but I also felt the intimacy of the event. I could have, had I been of a mind to, met and talked to just about everybody at the dinner that night. Alas, even had I wanted to, that was not how my evening was going to go.

Security quickly let us through, though I could feel the eyes of several of the Secret Service agents follow me with narrowed eyes. The ones who knew to look for dangerous people coming within reach of their protectee and I clanged loudly on their radars. I was sure I would be closely watched all evening. We walked through the halls of the White House and I tried not to be a country hick, but it was hard. It is a beautiful building with lots of old and gorgeous artwork scattered about. The only thing that saved me from making us look bad was that there were no weapons hanging from the walls. I completely geeked out in several of the old mansions and castles I had been required to go to as Dame Alice, Lord Spencer's niece. One look at the old swords and shields and flags and assorted battle regalia and I was a goner. Thankfully the United States isn't that old and they don't make a habit of throwing weapons up on the wall as decoration. Americans are more utilitarian about their weapons than that and seem to be of the mind that letting everyone know you are armed gives away the element of surprise.

There was a very short time to mingle but the tense nature of the gathering kept the three parties huddled together in their separate areas. The Russians were clustered around the bar swilling vodka about as fast as they thought they could get away with while the Americans clustered around the small dais upon which sat the string ensemble that was filling the air with soothing classical music to no avail. We Brits were kind of scattered in clusters of our own making between the two. Eoin had disappeared with Ambrose as soon as we were let into the anteroom of the banquet hall.

After a half hour of tense, almost silent "mingling" we found out why. There was a fanfare of "Hail to the Chief" and President Bill Clinton, Eoin, and Russian Foreign Minister Andrey Kozyrev stepped out into the room, pausing for the obligatory photo before proceeding up to the main table. This was apparently the signal for everyone else to find their seats. I found myself at the same table as Sir James, the American Ambassador to Russia and his wife, the Russian Ambassador to the United States and his aide. After establishing that only Sir James and the American Ambassador spoke Russian, a stilted conversation was held in English, with the Russian aide sitting glumly silent.

The chit-chat went on for about ten minutes before the first course arrived and the dinner conversation was a little better. I learned that the American Ambassador was also the former Ambassador to East Germany and an avid soccer fan. He and I debated the merits of various clubs in Germany, England, and Italy with his wife and Sir James talking about ballet with the Russian Ambassador. All through the meal, the Russian aide simply sat and stared at me, guzzling the vodka as quickly as possible.

After the meal, with everyone a little buzzed from the alcohol they all drank with dinner, those who had to leave left and the rest mingled. It was about ten p.m. and I was bouncing from one minor official to the next, trying to winnow my way through them to bump into Pavel Ustinov. I really wanted to get a feel for him.

"You won't find who you are looking for, my dear," a smooth baritone flavored with the barest hint of Germany said from behind me as I was scanning for my next target. I turned to find myself looking at a tall gentleman with very pale skin, light gray eyes, ash blonde hair, and a handsomely rugged face. He looked like the dressed up, German version of the Marlboro Man. His charcoal gray suit was finely tailored and the dove gray tie over the white silk shirt made his eyes glow. His feet were encased in fine black leather shoes handmade in Italy, shining in the light of the room from a good polish. There was a large ruby on his left ring finger and an emerald and diamond ring on his right ring finger. An impressively large, golden, and jewel-encrusted watch wrapped around his wrist. Overall, everything screamed wealthy interested third party to the discussions that would convene tomorrow. And while that might be true, he was also a Vampire. "Mr. Ustinov left early. Most likely to avoid running into you. My name is Rafael von Feldberg and I believe we have a mutual acquaintance from Bavaria."

"Scheiße! Warum hier sind Sie?" I hissed, my eyes darting around to make sure we were not overheard.

"Let's stick to English, my dear," he said with a smile, his handsome face lighting with amusement. "I am sure you hear the German in my voice, but most people think I was born here and I would like to keep it that way. And as I said, a mutual friend heard you would be in my area and he thought it would be to both our benefit if we meet early and on neutral ground. Since the Russian Ambassador owes me a favor, I thought the middle of a state dinner at the White House was probably the place I would least likely find a stake in my chest."

I glowered at him for a second before clearing my face. The bastard was right. The only weapon Ambrose thought I would be able to get by the Secret Service was an asp disguised as a lipstick. While I could beat the Vampire into unconsciousness with it, the collapsible baton was made of a hard, non-magnetic alloy covered in a lead-lined shielding. The closest thing to a lethal weapon I had access to was maybe a chair leg. And if things went that far south tonight, we were all dead.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I whispered, smiling as a waiter drifted by with glasses of wine. "Did Lars send you?"

He laughed loud enough that we got looks, as if everyone were wondering what someone so young could have said to make him laugh so boisterously at such a serious event. He shook his head, his eyes telegraphing that he was aware we were getting stares. "No, no. Young Lars Johannes Dieter Magnus couldn't send me anywhere, my dear," he said in a voice that barely carried to my ears, never mind out audience.

"Young?" I echoed blankly.

"Mister Magnus is a bit younger than I am. He, to my frustration, is the more powerful, but age does have its benefits. Among them independence," he informed me with a lurking smile. "Lars merely informed me that you would be 'in the neighborhood' for a while and advised me to make your acquaintance before we wound up having a misunderstanding."

I scowled at him with my eyes, the rest of my face still blank. "You mean he told you to do what he did and assure we were neutral to each other before I started putting stakes through you and your people," was my flat reply.

He shook his head, the smile reappearing. "Not neutral. He is not sure what you would do with a neutral. According to him, you only have two categories for people you meet: Friend or Foe," he explained with a hint of arrogant disdain for my provincialism. "It is rather American, which is unusual for an Australian heiress and British knight. Well, the Australians are almost the Southern Hemisphere's Americans, so it is not that strange. The British, however, have turned politics into an art form. They can do business with anyone, even enemies, so long as they get their side of the bargain. Hence the reason your uncle is here tonight."

"So who exactly is Rafael von Feldberg? And why does he care about making friends with a seventeen year old college student?" I asked, my hands itching for the hilt of a weapon. Negotiations always go better when you have a weapon in hand. I guess that philosophy was the American in me.

He bowed his head slightly. "I am Master of the United States' East Coast. I usually stay in New York, to keep an eye on my rivals and allies. This gathering, however, was too much to resist. I couldn't think of anywhere else we could meet that would guarantee our mutual nonaggression while we talked."

I snorted, in as ladylike a fashion as I could manage. "So what is it you are proposing? A nonaggression treaty between us whilst I am in America?"

"If that is what I can get, then that I would gladly take," he replied, his tone hinting he would like something more out of our relationship. And it didn't have to do with sex, like I always felt Lars was hinting at. For some reason, that horny old bastard wanted me bad since we met when I was twelve! Rafael held out his arm and we drifted over to a vacant corner for more privacy. "I was hoping for something a little more mutually beneficial than that. Especially since you will be here and I will be mostly in New York. There are groups that wander through on a semi-regular basis that, for one reason or another, I have not eliminated. They are generally violent, generally predatory to humans, and have very little redeeming value. They come through, usually once or twice a year, kill a few dozen humans, kidnap a few dozen more, and wander out again. I am constrained from doing anything about it because of the nature of our politics in New York. They have powerful benefactors and clients that I must live with.

"A Warrior of the Faith, however, can do with them as they will. You will most likely hear about them from your monk friends, anyway, as the righteous do what little they can to whittle such groups of 'monsters' down," he told me, his tone drippingly facetious. His eyes kept roaming the room, stopping every once in a while on my face. "You will find that most of us Vampires are rather civilized about such things. We have our human slaves, but most of them come to us willingly. There are a few who are rather more vicious, but they usually start out that way as humans. I will shed no tears were you to clean this town up a little while you are here, my dear. There are some rather foul creatures roaming around this city, some of whom have real power in your world. I would be very cautious how hard you hit some of the 'monsters' here, however, because some of them have links very high up in the government. But ones such as those I mentioned merely have other 'monsters' to ask after them should they disappear, or even turn up dead."

I am sure my eyes were dead as I looked up at him, a predatory smile curving my lips. "So, what you are really proposing is that I work for you while I am here," I said coldly, glad my back was to the room. "Clean up your trash and keep your hands clean?"

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "My dear, your hands are going to be getting dirty anyway. Why not take what little help I can give you to make what you would already be doing a little bit easier? Do not answer tonight. I am sure we can manage to stay out of each other's way while you are here, so the neutrality part of our arrangement will be all but sealed. Take this," he said, pulling out a billfold and flourishing a card not unlike the one Lars gave me before I left West Germany. On it was merely a number, (212) 555-4568, in silver print. "Call this number after you think about my offer. Maybe even run my name by your religious friends. Then, when you have pondered the sensibility of the arrangement I suggested, call me. Ah, I see my monopolizing you has been noticed. It was ... interesting meeting you, my dear. You are not what I expected when Lars told me about you. I was expecting someone about a foot taller with many more curves than you possess. But then again, Lars always did like the dangerous ones. Perhaps that is the attraction. For I do see death in those gorgeous eyes of yours. You look at me as if you were a surgeon viewing a cancer that must be removed. And you enjoy your job. Hopefully we will never meet when you are working, my dear. I would hate to see a relationship with our potential end that abruptly. I bid you a good night."

He deftly moved away before Ambrose and Eoin could plot intercept courses, walking straight for the doors. "Who the hell was that?" Ambrose demanded in an urgent whisper.

"Would believe the head of the local Vampires?" I replied with a tense grin. "He apparently flew in from New York when he heard from Lars that I would be in the neighborhood for a while."

Eoin looked over his shoulder at the doors before turning an exasperated look on me. "You, my dear, are a magnet for trouble! This is the bloody White House! How could you possibly find a Vampire in the White House?" he asked rhetorically.

"Weeell, according to Mr. Rafael von Feldberg, it might be easier than you would imagine," I retorted grimly. "From what he told me, I should be careful what monsters I slay whilst here because some of them are connected to some pretty powerful humans in this town."

Ambrose snorted with a look as grim as my tone. "That doesn't surprise me. Some people who go into politics would get into bed with just about anyone to get what they want," he said sagely. "There is a reason Eoin is only a part-time politician and has such a good reputation. You don't have long, successful careers in politics without accumulating skeletons. Some people in this town have entire cemeteries' worth in theirs."

I thought about that for a couple of seconds before shaking my head. "Never mind. I am going to ignore the Vampire for tonight. Tomorrow I will call Karl and see what he has to say and see if there is anyone local I can talk to about all of this before calling back Mr. von Feldberg."

Eoin's eyes remained worried but a wicked grin slid onto his face. "Good, then you can come meet a few people who have been asking after you tonight," he said with juvenile enjoyment of my agonized groan. He looped his arm through mine before I could escape and began tugging me across the room towards a knot of finely dressed old people. "Some have heard of your reputation already. Others have simply heard the stories about Belfast and want to meet a genuine heroine. There is even one gentleman from Yale who heard about your growing legend at Oxford. He is apparently a fan of yours."

What followed should have been covered in some treaty between civilized people somewhere. The Geneva Convention, something. I am pretty sure it fell under the Eighth Amendment to the U. S. Constitution but Eoin had diplomatic immunity to U. S. laws. By the time the evening was over, I reeeeally wanted to kick him. Hard.

The next day I woke up paranoid. I dressed in nice but loose clothing, strapping on the weapons as I went. The last things to go on were steel-toed combat boots in matte black over the baggy dark gray pants and a long, leather, not-quite-trench-coat, the black leather jacket covering the rose silk shirt and gray cotton button-up shirt. The jacket was surprisingly warm, water-proofed, and fell past my ass, nearly to my knees. I dressed as quietly as possible because my roommates were sleeping off last night's dinner party.

Walking out of our suite, I nearly had a heart attack as I jumped back and quickly closed the door. Down the hall, knocking on Eoin's suite door, were Lillian, Janine, Mickey and Jacob. Thankfully they all were either looking at the door or talking to each other, though Jacob's head did start to crane around Mickey when they heard my door open.

I ran to the phone and called Ambrose's number, knowing he would be awake. He barely got out his, "Lord Spencer's quarters," when I hissed, "Answer Eoin's fucking door! I was nearly seen by my cousin and his soon-to-be in-laws!"

"Alice?"

"Who the bloody hell else would it be?" I demanded sarcastically. "Now get Eoin to answer the door and then tell whomever you are sending with me this morning to meet me out front of the hotel. I need to get clear of here before Jacob or Mickey or Lillian ask to meet me for the umpteenth time."

"Ja, mein Kapitan! Anything else, m'lady?" he asked just as sarcastically before hanging up.

I stood with my ear to the door, listening as Eoin's door finally opened to the sound of my adopted uncle's sleep roughen voice saying, "Sorry, my dears, the White House dinner ran long last night. Most of the Americans and more than one Russian seemed to want to talk all night and drink as much expensive liquor as possible."

There was appreciative laughter before I heard Jacob say, "Was that your niece's door I saw open down the hall?"

Eoin laughed. "Probably, but it was more likely one of the ladies she shares the apartment with, or rather the young woman's entertainment from last night trying to escape unnoticed. If I recall Alice's itinerary for today correctly, she was planning to head to the university rather early."

"Her detail is already gone, sir, so I have to assume she-" I heard Ambrose say before the door closed.

"I suppose it would be both impolite and pointless to inquire as to what the bloody hell you are doing," a voice said sleepily, startling me enough to send my hand under my jacket and grip a knife before I recognized it was Amy Ndebe. The tall, beautiful, very dark-skinned woman stood in the sitting room with a quizzical expression on her flawless face and a burning curiosity in her striking light gray eyes. She was still wearing the cream silk night gown that looked as if someone had poured latex paint over her curvaceous body, dripping all the way to her ankles. She was an odd mix of demurely modest and sexy.

And she was waiting for an answer. I smiled wanly and shook my head. "Uncle Eoin's ex, his daughter, her sister, and future brother-in-law were out there," I said with a shrug. "They have been inquiring after me since they got here. I am sure they are lovely people, but I don't wish to be gawked at and asked a million questions about Belfast. People back home are just starting to forget about it. I actually met someone on the plane who didn't recognize me or my name!"

Amy snorted and walked into the kitchen. "They haven't forgotten, Dame Alice, they have merely had time to recover their good manners," she retorted with a hint of colonial disdain at her fellow Brits' propriety. "Spend a little more time outside of Chelsea and Oxford and you will get more wide eyes and fawning amazement. What you did shan't be soon forgotten! Especially since it has come to certain people's attention that you make a habit out of that sort of heroism.

"As for the person who didn't recognized you, I would bet a hundred quid that was Sir High and Mighty Bamford," she said with a frown of distaste. She shook her head as she went about making tea. "Tea? Running out were you? Cyril Bamford is as priggish a sot as ever I met. If you aren't worth a few hundred million pounds, or come from parents who are, then he doesn't pay much attention. All we little people are good for is a bit of a tumble and seeing to the drudgery. I daresay he probably tried to put you in your place and you probably set him right on his proverbial arse, as you are wont to do, from what I hear."

I grinned and shrugged. "Actually, it was Sir James that straightened him out," I corrected her, remembering Bamford's sudden shocked dismay. "I would love to continue this conversation, but I am actually running late. See you later."

Cautiously peering into the empty hall, I made my getaway. As I rode down in the elevator, I pondered Amy's quip. "Especially since it has come to certain people's attention that you make a habit out of that sort of heroism." Certain people. I would have to find out just who those people were. I definitely did not like the sound of that.

Walking out of Watergate South, I headed towards the front of the hotel. As I approached, Edgar got out of a black Land Rover with diplomatic DC plates and tinted windows. He opened the back door with a grin and a "Good morning, Dame Alice."

I growled, "If you say so," as I slid into the roomy back seat of the SUV.

Edgar's grin widened. He slid into the driver's seat and looked at me through the rearview mirror. "Ambrose said you were going to Georgetown again?" The lilt in his voice made a question out of the statement.

"Not quite yet," I replied with a grimace. "Drive us out to that place we had lunch in Alexandria. I recall them having a breakfast menu. I need to eat and I need to make a couple of calls I don't want traced back to Georgetown or Foggy Bottom."

The Reddington was a bed-and-breakfast/diner that served a slightly upscale clientele that wanted to be close to Washington but avoid the priciness and crowding that comes with being so close to the center of power in America. The Reddington was a three-story Civil War-era plantation house that was razed by Grant's army, rebuilt, and then sold when the owners decided they no longer wanted to be farmers without the convenience of slavery. The house continued as the residence of farmers for another half century as the land around it was slowly sold off before it was finally sold with a three-acre plot to someone wanting to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast a little after the turn of the century. The land around it was turned into an ambitious garden that helped stock the kitchen with fresh produce and herbs. The Reddington was everything you would expect from a plantation-era mansion, right down to the white marble, columned portico.

The foyer is where the check-in desk was. Behind that were two grand staircases curving around the circular room to meet on the second floor. The rest of the first floor had its walls torn down to create a sprawling dining room and an expansive kitchen hidden behind a long, dark wood bar. John went in before I could even get out of the car. Edgar stayed with me until he returned and then drove off to find a parking space in the tiny lot the Reddington had for diners who were not guests.

"Ah, Miss Spencer! Welcome back!" the concierge exclaimed happily. He was a thirty-something man of stout build sliding towards portliness. His honey brown eyes were warm and he smiled an honest smile as he came out from behind the desk to shake my hand. He had a round, moonish face dominated by a prominent beak of a nose and a bad comb-over barely hiding his premature balding. And for the life of me I couldn't remember his name. "Your uncle is not gracing us with his presence today as well?"