Pouncing on the bed, Bolin quickly jerked Bugayev over and cuffed him, much to the surprise of the other officers. “Call the others! I want this man taken in immediately and placed in isolation!” he nearly screamed. Bolin also grabbed a leather strap and shoved it into Bugayev’s mouth. “This son of a bitch might have a capsule. Get a doctor or dentist to search his mouth. He isn’t going to kill himself on my watch”
Bugayev struggled, but having been asleep, his reactions were not as fast as usual.
He started to kick desperately to try and get away, but all that did was call for another officer to bind his legs with a belt. Within minutes, Bugayev had a cloth bag placed over his head and he was carried out the back entrance to an awaiting van.
Bolin returned to the room. “Tear this place apart. There’s a wet shirt on the window. Get it. Remove the drains and all that. Also get someone to check the sewer line. I want to make sure he didn’t flush something down.”
“But that would be long gone from here,” said one of the officers.
“Not necessarily. This is the back of the building. It may still be somewhere near the basement. Have them tell everyone not to use the toilets for a while.” Bolin pointed to the shoes by the bed. “Take those and the sheets. I want everything tested in the lab for gunpowder residue. I also need someone to talk to the landlord. I want to know when he checked in and if they have noticed when he came and went. Check everything. This may be one of the most important cases we ever had,” he said to the people in the room.
Everyone went to work. Within an hour, teams of people were going in and out, taking samples from the sink, carpets, walls and every other surface. The big break came when they found a piece of torn box in one of the drawers of a dresser. It matched perfectly with a box of ammunition found beside the rifle. The second break came when they found shards of plastic glove stuck inside one of the drain pipes. Embedded in it were tiny grains of burned gunpowder which hadn’t washed out. When they found the same residue on Bugayev’s pants and shoes and on the rifle, it was an open and shut case.
Little Steve pulled away from his Mom and ran into his Daddy’s arms. Roger Hammond scooped his son up and then hugged his wife. Despite it being in a very crowded and busy Reagan National Airport, the moment seemed almost private as they met in the terminal baggage area. In a few minutes, the three of them had retrieved their luggage and had walked to Roger’s latest purchase, a 1965 Chevrolet Impala convertible. The car was red with a white top and interior. At first sight of it, Little Steve could only say, “Wow.”
Pulling away from the parking deck, Hammond pointed the car toward downtown DC. Patricia was talking, letting him know all the things that had been going on while Steve sat in his child seat staring at all the lights. As they passed the Washington Monument, he began to ask questions about what it was and what some of the other buildings were. Patricia was happily answering everything until Hammond made a right turn onto the White House grounds. He stopped at the gate where his friend, Jack, gave a wave. “This must be the Misses, he said with a grin.”
“Yep, and the one in the back is Steven James Hammond. I believe you are expecting us,” Hammond said happily.
“Yes sir, we’ve been looking for you. Glad to have you here for the holiday,” Jack said as he lowered the gate.
Hammond began to enter the grounds. “You didn’t tell me we were staying here,” Patricia said cautiously.
“Well, Steve insisted. Besides, I understand they have child proofed most of the house already. We couldn’t say no,” he said as they pulled up to the front of the house.
Patricia turned to Steve. “Young man, we are going to be in a very nice place. You need to remember to keep your hands off of things and mind your manners,” she scolded him.
Steve looked up at his mother. “Yes, Mommy. I promise,” he said. Both Patricia and Roger knew there would be no way for him to keep that promise.
A member of the staff came down and opened the door while another walked round to the driver’s side to park the car. Another took the bags from the trunk and, after waiting for Roger to get Steve out of his car seat, followed the family up to the door.
Janie O’Bannon welcomed the family at the door, giving both Roger and Patricia a big hug. She then turned to Steve. “Well! You are much bigger than I thought you would be. I have a special room set aside just for you,” she said while shaking his little hand.
“Mom told me not to touch anything,” he said.
Janie laughed. “You don’t need to worry too much. There have been boys like you in the White House before,” she said. “Now come on in to dinner. We held it until you got here,” she said.
Everyone walked through the entrance hall off the north portico, then turned right. Steve’s eyes opened wide at how grand and spacious everything looked. He could see into the blue room and red room as they walked along. “Look at the colors!” he exclaimed as they walked by. He got even more excited to see the giant chandelier in the state dining room before they turned right again into the family dining room. The pale yellow walls and ornate woodwork was breathtaking. Right beneath the crystal chandelier was a smaller round table with just seven chairs. One of the chairs had a booster seat in it.
They talked for a minute until Steve O’Bannon and their two children came into the room. He gave Patricia a big hug. “Patricia, I am so proud of you. I can’t believe all the good work you are doing back home,” he said.
“You were the one who told me to always look out for your people. Besides, I kind of got upset for a while,” she said. “Your remarks at the funeral were very kind. I don’t think the man deserved it, but then again, he didn’t deserve to get shot either,” she said.
“Yes, I agree. At least now things can get back to somewhat normal,” the President said. He turned to the young man standing beside his father. “Steven James Hammond. I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he said extending his hand.
Little Steve shook the President’s hand. “Are you the one who gave me your name?” he asked.
The President chuckled. “I am. I hope you like it,” he said.
“Yes, sir, it’s mine now,” Little Steve said.
The President and his wife laughed. “Well, tomorrow you may get to meet the guy who gave you the other name,” the President said.
“I don’t like that name as much,” Steve said. They all laughed at that one.
“Let’s eat,” said the President.
Little Steve crawled into his booster seat and an usher slid him into the table. A fine napkin was placed in his lap. Watching the others, he decided that in a place like this, one didn’t use a bib. He took great care to use his fork like he had been taught. In the end, there was almost no mess at all.
Later that evening, Little Steve went to bed in a big double bed with crisp sheets. It was directly across from his Mom and Dad. He lay and wondered at all the fine things in the house. He had never seen anything like it before, but he liked his trailer home better. It had bunk beds that were just his size. Tomorrow was a day they called Thanksgiving. He fell asleep wondering if he would like turkey.
The interrogation had already lasted over eight hours. Bugayev had been transported to the capital for interrogation just two hours before. Now, he was in an enclosed, stuffy, room with smoke from the detective’s cigarettes hanging in the air. Sitting at a small table, Bugayev seemed to sit calmly as five officers in the room grilled him. In the eight hours Bugayev had remained silent except to ask for water or to use the facilities. He had a smugness about him that had infuriated the officers.