3. Vendetta

by Fern Michaels

  “Charles, that’s the nicest thing you ever said to us,” Nikki crowed.

  “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Alexis said.

  “You’re wonderful, Charles,” Yoko smiled. “Truly, truly, wonderful!”

  Eleven

  Jack Emery smacked his lips as he finished the last of his coffee. “I have to say, gentlemen, that was one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a long time. I guess we should be going since we didn’t come up with anything in Nik’s records. Seems to me she’s dividing her time between here and Pinewood. For a while she was living out there full-time. I think when nothing is going on, she stays here. When they’re doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing, she stays at Pinewood. To me, that means dirty work is afoot.”

  “That’s a brilliant deduction, Jack,” Mark said. “Now what?”

  “Now we sit back and wait to see what our new operative comes up with. He should have arrived at his post —” Jack looked at his watch — “twenty minutes ago. Three hours on, three off.”

  “We’re running out of guys who are willing to sit up in a tree, Jack. Look outside, it’s snowing like hell.”

  “You’re a fusspot, Mark. Those pine trees are the best shelter there is. The Indians used to cover themselves with pine boughs to keep warm. I think it’s the resin or something. If the guys wear the body warmers, they can do a three-hour stretch, no sweat. If it’s the money, don’t pay me and use my share for the stakeouts. You guys go on home and get ready for Thanksgiving. I’ll stay here to clean up and take a cab back to the apartment. Mark, see what you can come up with at the airport. See if any flight plans were filed for the Gulfstream. I don’t see any of the women, especially Myra, being away from Pinewood for Thanksgiving. Conway, rest up so you can relieve the guy who’s out there now. Call Garrity to replace you when you leave.”

  Jack poured himself the last of the coffee after Mark and Conway left. His shoulders slumped. Now that he was alone he didn’t have to pretend for the guys. He hated giving up, but it didn’t seem like he had any other options at the moment. If he had had ten more minutes at Pinewood, he was absolutely certain he would have found the proof he needed to make a case against the women. Ten more minutes. Then again, maybe Mark was right. What good was all the proof in the world if his ass was lounging in jail?

  Jack finished his coffee, got up and walked through the town house. He touched this and that, memories surfacing which he tried quickly to bury.

  If you can’t beat them, join them. Now where the hell did that thought come from? In the living room Jack sat down on the sofa where he and Nik had slept, cuddled, made love. They’d been so happy, so in love. That wasn’t to say they didn’t have spats from time to time; they did. The making up, the promises not to act like that again, had been glorious. He’d given her a ring. Why didn’t she return it? She wasn’t the kind of girl to keep it for spite or to hock. His spirits lifted a little. Maybe keeping it meant she hadn’t wiped him totally out of her life. Right, and pigs fly.

  He got up and walked around. He stopped at the mantel to look at the pictures. Barbara and Nik; Nik and Myra; Nik, Myra and Charles. Big pictures, little pictures, old pictures, recent pictures. There were none of him on the mantel. It didn’t matter, he still had the place of honor in her bedroom. If she hated him, Nik would have trashed the picture.

  In his heart he couldn’t fault Nikki for loving Myra. He loved his own mother just as much. The only difference was, his mother lived in another world due to her medical condition. Myra was still vital, still living in this world. Everything had changed between them when Barbara was killed by that diplomat’s son. A son with diplomatic immunity.

  Son of a bitch!

  The sun was nudging the horizon when the black car pulled up to the gates of Pinewood. Charles pressed in the code, reached up to the visor for the dog whistle, and blew two sharp blasts.

  The group took a minute to admire what nature had created overnight. The two-inch layer of snow clung to the trees and ground.

  “Norman Rockwell,” Nikki said. “Can our guest make it on his own, Charles?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll help him. If you don’t mind, carry in your own bags. You can leave mine and I’ll get it later. I see Kathryn is here. Julia should be arriving by mid-afternoon. I made arrangements for a car service to pick her up. Look lively, Mr. Jun,” Charles growled under his breath.

  The girls looked around as they flanked the couple heading toward the house. Chai did indeed look ancient as he tottered alongside Charles.

  On the second floor, Myra stirred beneath her nest of covers. She’d been so tired when she finally went to bed that she’d forgotten to close the draperies. Now a blinding whiteness assailed her from the wrap-around windows. She closed her eyes as she mentally counted her various aches and pains. The moment she heard Charles’s voice, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was still tying the belt around her robe as she ran down the hall to the staircase in her bare feet.

  “Charles, you’re home!” she trilled as her aching bones protested her quick movements. When she realized the voices were coming from the kitchen, she stopped a moment to smooth down her springy gray curls. “Oh, who cares what I look like so early in the morning,” she muttered as she pushed at the swinging door.

  Myra ran to Charles, hugged him tightly before she embraced each of the women. “I was so worried. You’re home, thank God. I thought…You should introduce me to your friend, Charles,” she said, noticing the old gentleman for the first time. Her eyes were full of questions. Finally, she couldn’t stand it a moment longer. “What went wrong? I knew it was impossible. I had such high hopes.”

  “Myra, dear, listen to me,” Charles said.

  “It’s all right, Charles. I’m not blaming you. We all knew it was an impossible mission. Another time,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Myra, allow me to present Gan Jun, also known as John Chai. Alexis fixed him up for security reasons. We didn’t fail, dear. Everything went off without a hitch. We were there, now we’re here. I’m taking our guest down to the tunnels. Is there anything you want to say before we leave?”

  Myra stared at the man who had taken Barbara’s life and that of her unborn child. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had a litany of things she wanted to say but none of them would make it to her tongue. Her eyes spewed hatred — hatred that didn’t register with John Chai. She shook her head, waving the two men off. Yoko helped her over to the table, where she sat down.

  “What should I have done, girls? I didn’t know what to do. It’s not like there’s some kind of protocol to follow. In my heart I think I thought you’d fail to bring him here. I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. Now that he’s here, in my very own house, I have to rethink…think…decide…I might need a little more time. He’s here in my house! He was just standing in front of me. Does he know why he’s here?”

  “He’s been doped up, Myra. All he knows, if he remembers, is that he’s in the United States. We didn’t tell him anything. We thought you would want to be the one to explain to him why he’s here and what we plan to do to him. Listen, if you all don’t mind, I need to get a few hours’ sleep,” Nikki said.

  “Run along, dear. You, too, Alexis. Yoko, are you staying over?”

  “Just long enough to get some sleep. I must return home to my husband, but I will come back.”

  Myra sat alone at the table as Isabelle set about making breakfast and coffee.

  “There must be something wrong with me, Isabelle. I should know what I’m feeling but I don’t. I should know what to do but I don’t. I had that one moment of pure hatred and then…and then it went away. For so long all I thought about was getting even with him, making him pay for what he’d done. Now that the time is actually here, I don’t know…I just don’t know.” Myra looked down at the toast Isabelle put in front of her. She could see it was just the way she liked it: warm, the butter melted, with a light layer of blackber
ry jam. She wondered if it would stick in her throat if she tried to eat it. She opted to sip at the coffee in her cup. “This is good, Isabelle. Thank you.”

  Isabelle nodded as she sat down across from Myra. “Where…where did Charles take that man, Myra?”

  “I’m assuming into the tunnels. There are one or two little rooms, cells actually, at the very end of the first tunnel. I used to hang bells where all the tunnels connected so Barbara and Nikki wouldn’t get lost. I was always close at hand. Charles shored them up over the years. For the life of me, I can’t remember why he did that. Maybe so Barbara and Nikki’s children could play there someday.

  “Anyway, the two cells have bars just like jails do. I used to say I’d like to see John Chai in one of those cells so he could rot and die there. I was so full of hate back then. I guess I still am.”

  Myra looked up to see Charles standing in the doorway. “Our guest is in residence, Myra. The drugs are starting to wear off so he’s going to be rather unhappy.” He picked up Myra’s toast and started to eat it. Isabelle handed him a cup of steaming coffee. Myra thought he looked more tired than she’d ever seen him.

  Normally Myra was never at a loss for words, but for some reason she felt like her mouth was stuffed with peanut butter. All she could think to say was, “Thank you, dear. I…I need to…Oh, Charles, I don’t know what I need to do. Just sit here for a while, I guess. Go to bed and get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up. Shoo,” she said, trying to be light-hearted.

  Charles leaned over to kiss Myra’s cheek. She reached up and patted his hand. She then pulled his hand closer and kissed it.

  She grappled for something to say after Charles left the room. “Did you place the grocery order, Isabelle? Maybe we should think about doing some cooking. Charles is going to be rather busy so I guess it will be up to us. I can’t believe tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Well, I certainly have a lot to be thankful for this year, don’t I?”

  Isabelle poured more coffee. She knew Myra was just talking to hear her own voice. She couldn’t help but wonder how she would act and feel when it was finally her time to right the wrong done to her. “I’m not much of a cook, Myra.”

  Myra offered up a wry smile. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not much of a cook, either. Like it’s a secret!” Both women laughed. “I think it’s time for me to shower and dress. Is there anything you want me to do, Isabelle?”

  “You go ahead, Myra. I have some laundry to fold. I need to feed Murphy, too. I do know how to make stuffing for the turkey. I can do that. It will mean less for us to do later. Or I can make muffins out of a box for when the others wake up.”

  “That sounds splendid, Isabelle. I just love Murphy. Make him a big hamburger. He deserves it. He really hates dog food. Sometimes I think he thinks he’s human,” Myra said vaguely before she left the kitchen.

  Investigator Conway adjusted the zoom lens on his camera, eyed his subjects, and pressed the button, not once, not twice, but three times. He was confident he’d gotten a clear shot of the old Asian man dressed in black who could barely walk. He clicked again and again as the women moved to withdraw their bags from the trunk. The minute the group was out of sight and in the house, he yanked his cellphone out of his pocket. His voice was excited as he related what he’d just done. “What do you want me to do, Mark? Listen, man, it’s cold as hell out here. These people don’t look like they’re going anywhere. If you want me to take the film to one of those one-hour places, I can do that. Then how about if I conduct surveillance out on the road? I think they’re snuggled in, man.”

  “Yeah, OK. Call me when you get the photos back. Either Jack or I will come out and pick them up. How old is old, Conway?”

  “He looked old to me. Older than my grandfather and he’s in his mid-seventies. He had little bits of long straggly hair, a stringy mustache that trailed down to his neck, and a goatee. He was stooped over pretty bad. He had trouble walking. Like maybe ninety. I don’t know, Mark. The big guy had to help him walk. He looked sick and frail to me. Can I go now?”

  “Sure, but stay in touch.”

  The women were busy in the kitchen, cooking and chatting, when Charles entered at midday. He looked rested and freshly shaven. He even smelled good. He eyed the disarray in the kitchen and winced.

  “It’s all right, Charles, the girls know what they’re doing. We’re making mince pies and a pumpkin one for you. From scratch, dear. Yoko will come back in the morning. Now, tell us, what should we do in regard to…to…that man.”

  “I want you all to stop what you’re doing, turn off the stove and come with me. It’s time for you to meet John Chai. We can introduce Julia to Mr. Chai later on when she gets here. It’s time, Myra.”

  Myra started to tremble as she rubbed at her arms, her face full of panic. “You…you won’t open the cell door, will you, Charles?”

  “No, Myra, I won’t open the cell door. By now, our guest should be completely lucid.” He reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He snatched a piece of stale bread from the counter before he led the parade to the living room. He counted down slowly, then pressed the hidden button in the rosette. One by one the women, all silent now, followed him down the steep steps to the tunnels instead of turning right to the opening that would have taken them to the war room.

  They walked for what seemed like a long time. Twice, Myra reached up to ring the old bells hanging overhead. Even though they were rusty, the sound was as clear and pure as the day she’d hung them up for the girls. Tears blurred her vision. Charles reached behind him to take her hand.

  The high beam on his flashlight cut a bright swath as Charles suddenly came to an abrupt stop. He turned off the flashlight. Attached to one of the beams he’d used to shore up this particular section of the tunnel was a high-voltage battery-operated lamp. The women crowded around to peer into the dark, dank cell. John Chai bounded over to the steel bars and kicked them. He cursed, first in English and then in Chinese. They all ignored him. “Ladies, allow me to introduce you to John Chai, also known as Gan Jun.” The man inside spit at them.

  Myra could feel herself shaking from head to toe. This was the moment she had thought would never come. The moment she had dreamed of. The moment which she’d promised her daughter would perhaps come someday, without truly believed it. She felt a light, feathery touch on her shoulder. Thinking it was one of the girls, she turned around. No one was standing near her, they’d all moved to the side to give her center stage.

  “You can handle this. There are no rules where he’s concerned. The bells sound the same. This is where he belongs. Take a deep breath. I’m right here next to you, Mom.”

  Twelve

  Jack Emery stared down at the pictures in his hands. Who the hell was this old guy? Why did Charles Martin, Nikki, the Asian woman and the black girl go to China? Did it take four people to bring back one old guy? Conway said the old guy could walk but with difficulty. None of the women — or Charles, for that matter — had a medical background.

  He held the pictures out to Mark. “What do you make of these?”

  Mark opened his desk drawer to pull out a magnifying glass. He held it over the pictures as he stared down at them. “Looks like some sick old guy to me. We’re talking old here, Jack. Maybe the people of Pinewood are a bunch of humanitarians and brought the old man here for some kind of medical treatment. That would be my guess. What’s your best guess?”

  Jack chewed on his lower lip. He knew that when he told Mark what his best guess was, Mark would throw up his hands in disgust and probably boot his ass all the way to the Georgia border. “I think this old guy,” he said, tapping the picture in his hand, “has something to do with the kid who killed Myra’s daughter. That’s what I think, Mark. I think those ladies went to China with Martin’s connections — and we know Martin has connections. I still have the scars to prove it. I think they snatched the old guy — maybe he’s the kid’s father or grandfather — in hopes of having them surrender the kid
. The kid — I don’t know why I keep calling him a kid, he’s in his late twenties or early thirties — can’t come back to the States. If he does, the authorities can go after him legally. We both know he’s never coming back here. At least not under his own power. I don’t care if you think I’m nuts or not. Those women at Pinewood are not humanitarians, trust me on that.”

  “Well, the guy in the picture is not Chai’s father. The guy’s father is a fat little toad of a man with a slicked-back hairdo. He’s in his fifties. I have pictures of him in my file. He’s not the grandfather either, because he’s dead. Chai has one sister who lives in Beijing, but she’s young, in her early twenties. There are, of course, hundreds of aunts, uncles, cousins. Think about it, Jack, why would they snatch some old guy and bring him here to…what?”

  “Ransom. The old guy for the young guy? Why not? They can’t get to the young guy any other way. Myra wants someone to pay for her daughter’s death. I don’t think either one of us can fault her for that. OK, having Conway out on the road isn’t going to do us any good. He needs to get back up in the tree. If he won’t or can’t do it, I will. I want to know the second that old geezer makes a move. If he leaves the house I want to know where the hell he goes and who’s taking him wherever he’s going.”

  “Shit, Jack, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I thought we were going to do dinner and take the day off.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that was the plan when we talked about it. Things changed, as you can see. Get hold of Conway and tell him to get his tail back in that tree. Line up Garrity and what’s-his-name. I’m thinking that crafty bunch of women are hoping Thanksgiving will throw us off. Trust me, they’re going to make a move. I feel it in my gut.”

  Mark eyed his friend. He was probably right. Jack did have uncanny instincts. He nodded. “Just so you know, buddy, this is going to seriously deplete our operating expenses.”