Nikki pulled the airline van alongside the ambulance and waited for Harry and two of his people to get out and walk over to where she was waiting.
The transfer was slick, fast, and efficient. As far as Nikki could tell, no one was paying the least bit of attention to any of them.
Paula Woodley was wringing her hands. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Nikki. Sometimes I just get so bitter and look at all the empty years to come staring at me, and I just lose it. If there’s anything I can do, just call me.”
Nikki patted her hand, remembering what the woman had been through at her sick husband’s hands. “We didn’t get caught, so that’s a plus. I’ll call you. Be careful, Paula.”
The women waited until the ambulance was out of sight before they all relaxed.
“Now what?” the ever-impatient Annie asked.
“We sit here and wait for further instructions,” Nikki said.
Maggie Spritzer looked at the gaggle of people who made the Post run effectively as they waited for her to say something. Once she had been one of them. Now, in her new glorified position, she could see the envy and the animosity in some of their faces. She risked a glance at Ted, who was in the second row, towering over everyone else even though he was sitting down.
Maggie read off the notes in her hand. She’d worked all night on this little speech. Finally, she decided the hell with it, and said whatever popped into her head, which was pretty much, “Do your job and you won’t have time to resent me. If you don’t like your assignments, tell someone who cares. That means do not come whining to me, or you’ll be outside this building so fast your head will spin off your shoulders.”
“This is your ninety-day trial period. My own as well. I was told by the powers that be that if we don’t cut it, we’re all out. I urge each of you to think about your family, your 401k, your health insurance, and your expense account if you have one. If we all work together, we can make this paper stand out like a beacon. To that end, I want all of you to get me whatever you can on Martine Connor. I want mentions every day in this paper. I want op-ed pieces that show her in a good light. The new owners of this paper are behind her one hundred percent. That’s it for now. Go on, get out of here and get to work. Ted, I need to talk to you.”
Ted Robinson remained seated, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to find something witty or even charming to say, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He waited.
Maggie sensed her ex-lover’s discomfort and reveled in it. Not that she was exactly a woman scorned, but she was damn close to it. She felt nervous standing in front of him, knowing she had the power to fire him if she wanted to. Not that she would ever be that unprofessional. She corrected the thought. Maybe she would be that unprofessional under the right circumstances.
“Ted, did you just hear what I said about Martine Connor and the new owners of this paper?”
Ted nodded. His tongue was still glued to the roof of his mouth. He tried to bring up some spit from under his tongue, but it wasn’t working.
“Okay, because I believe you are the best reporter in the business, I am turning Connor over to you. I want you to be on her 24/7. You will be the go-to guy if any of your colleagues come up with something. I want every word to be glowing. I want to see Connor in the White House, and so do the new owners. The first time you step off the track and start that vigilante crap, your ass is out of here. As far as you’re concerned, those women no longer exist. Are you still with me?”
Ted nodded again.
“I want you to pick Pam Lock’s brain. Then I want you to play her off against the GOP’s guy, what’s his name? Yeah, yeah, Baron Russell, that’s it. I think there’s something funny going on where those two are concerned. Call it my gut instinct or a woman’s intuition, whatever feels right to you. Figure it out for me, Teddy.”
Teddy? The only time Maggie had ever called him Teddy was in the throes of passion. He blinked. He nodded again.
“One more thing, Teddy. The first time I call you on your cell for whatever reason, and you don’t answer, will be the last time I call you. I know how slick you are, so don’t say you weren’t forewarned.”
He got it then. Maggie was being sarcastic. He thought about the lyrics to that old song they both liked so much. Maggie was definitely back in town. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, either to tell her to go to hell or to make some smart-ass remark or maybe even say something endearing. He finally got his tongue unstuck enough to say, “Okay, boss.” He thought she looked upset that he wasn’t going to give her a fight. He untangled his long legs and stood up. As he walked out of the conference room, he turned, and said, “Mickey and Minnie miss you. They sleep on an old shirt you left in the hamper.”
Maggie stared at Ted’s retreating back. Whatever she thought he was going to say, that definitely wasn’t it. A lump the size of a golf ball formed in her throat. She sat for a long time, thinking about the way it had been when she and Ted were together. They were some of the happiest times of her life. But he’d gone and ruined it. She wanted to cry so bad she had to bite down on her lower lip.
Maggie knew she had to snap out of her mood, or she’d start wailing like a banshee. It was almost time to leave to meet Jack Emery for lunch. He’d specifically asked her to get to the restaurant early if she could because he had only ninety minutes for lunch and had to be back in court in plenty of time.
Liam Sullivan, her old boss, never left the building for lunch. Well, she wasn’t Liam Sullivan, and she was going to go out to lunch every single day, even if it was just to walk around the block or grab a hot dog from a street vendor.
Maggie shuffled off to her private bathroom to repair her makeup and comb her hair. When she exited the room, she called ahead for the car service made available to the new EIC. She liked the perk. She liked everything about her new job. Well, almost everything. She sighed as she walked to the elevator. As she was riding down, she wondered what she should order for lunch. Should she go heavy and not have to worry about a good dinner and just have a sandwich later in the evening? Eating on the paper’s expense account would save a lot of money on her food bill, since she loved to eat. Or should she go light so she wasn’t sluggish all afternoon? She finally decided she’d make up her mind when she opened the menu. Doggy bags were good.
Just as Maggie was stepping into the town car waiting for her at the curb, across town Jack Emery was opening the door for Judge Cornelia Easter, who had reached it seconds before he did. They entered together and sat down together, even though that wasn’t the plan. Screw the plan, Jack thought. At the moment his thoughts were on Nikki sitting in a van at Tysons Corner.
Gabe’s Café wasn’t exactly a café. At one time it had been a diner. Then it was turned into a café and later a family bistro if there was such a thing. To Jack it would always be Gabe’s Café even though it was currently called Gabriel’s. The food was good and plentiful, with always enough left over to fill a good-size doggy bag. Nikki had always called Gabe’s fare stick-to-your-ribs food, but she loved it. He knew what was on the menu the moment he opened the door. Gabe’s specialty; bratwurst, sauerkraut, and some kind of dumplings. Homemade black bread with fresh-churned butter and a side order of mashed potatoes for anyone who didn’t want the dumplings. Most people took both, including him. No one was ever able to eat a whole slice of Chocolate Thunder Cake, which Gabe made himself. It always went into the doggy bag in a separate container for late-night sugar treats.
The judge sat down first and looked at Jack. “Is this wise, meeting like this and eating together?” She looked up at the waiter, and said, “I’ll have a double bourbon on the rocks.”
Jack ordered a mineral water. “I’m not even sure why we’re meeting. I think Maggie has something for us, or else she wants us to do something for her. Lean in closer, Your Honor, so I can tell you what just happened.” Nellie leaned closer to the table, and he filled her in. He finished up by saying, “The girls are sitting in
the parking lot at Tysons Corner waiting for orders. This is not going according to plan, or at least what I was told was the plan.”
“It never does,” Nellie said as she tossed down her bourbon.
Back on Benton Street in Kalorama, Erin Powell watched the Woodley house. She was mad enough to chew nails and spit rust. She should have hauled Lizzie Fox’s ass down to the Hoover Building just for the fun of it. God, how she hated that woman, with her smirking, know-it-all attitude. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Fox would call the director, and she’d probably be out on the curb on her rear end by the end of the day. Maybe.
Where the hell were the guys with the warrants and the subpoenas? How long did it take a judge to sign off on one or the other? There was probable cause. What the hell more would he need?
Erin stared at the house until her eyes watered. Her gut told her something was wrong, but she didn’t know what it was. On impulse, she got out of the car and marched up to the door. She rang the bell, then hit the knocker just in case the Woodleys had the television on and couldn’t hear her.
She hadn’t expected Paula Woodley to be such a spitfire. Paula had stood next to Erin’s car and reamed her up one side and down the other. And while she was doing that, what the hell was Lizzie Fox doing inside the house? All alone.
Erin held her finger on the bell and listened to it peal inside. She gave the door knocker a couple more whacks. Nothing happened. She pressed her ear to the door and couldn’t hear anything. It didn’t sound like the TV was on. Why would they turn it off since that seemed to be the only thing Mr. Woodley could do other than sit in a chair? Probably his only enjoyment, if you could call it that, came from the huge plasma screen.
Erin looked up and down the street. It was a nice neighborhood, with lots of trees and pretty homes. The whole time she’d sat in her car she’d seen only one other, a rickety bucket of rust, driven by two pimply youths and Lizzie’s Porsche. She corrected the thought. She’d seen three vehicles. The kids, Lizzie, and the van. An airline van of some kind. She wished now she’d paid attention to the logo on the side. Definitely some kind of airline, she remembered that much.
It hit her then like a freight train. The Woodley house was empty. She’d bet a day’s pay on it. And they’d made their getaway in the white van with the red lettering. They must have gone out the backyard and across the neighbor’s lawn. There was no doubt in her mind that Lizzie Fox had engineered the whole thing. Paula Woodley was just a distraction. “Bitch!” she seethed. Whose garage did that van come from?
Her cell phone was in her hand a second later, and she barked an order. “I want another warrant for 11063 Benton. No, I don’t know who lives there. Make it a Jane Doe. I want it five minutes ago.” Erin was so angry she threw the cell phone at her own government-issued car. She watched in dismay as the cover flew off the phone and sailed across the street, the batteries running down the slight incline.
That was one less worry. Director Cummings no longer had a way to reach her in the field.
Chapter 18
Nikki nibbled on her lower lip as her gaze swept the parking lot. They had to get out of here, and the sooner the better. She was contemplating putting the van in gear when a dark SUV pulled alongside and two hulking men got out and walked around to the driver’s side of the van. One of the men motioned for Nikki to lower the window, but she didn’t comply until he mouthed the words, “Charles sent me.” She quickly lowered the window. “What?”
He handed a slip of paper through the open window, then backed away to help his partner. They quickly removed the airline logo and slapped on new, larger colorful signs on both side panels that said the van belonged to Martucci’s Produce. The license plate was removed and a Virginia plate installed. The burly man jacked the screwdriver into his pocket, offered a thumbs-up, and both men climbed into the SUV.
“Where are we going?” Myra asked Nikki.
“To Alexandria. Old Town. Charles said he hasn’t been able to reach Kathryn and Isabelle. He wants us to keep trying. He wants them out of there…like right now. I have to pay attention to the traffic, so someone call them. Yoko, call Harry and ask him to track Jack down.”
“What happened, dear?” Myra asked.
Nikki shrugged. “If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say Erin Powell figured it out. She probably remembered there was no traffic on the street except for this van. Ergo, that’s why the Woodley house is vacant. Five will get you ten they’re breaking down the door to both houses as we speak.”
“But why does Charles want Kathryn and Isabelle to leave? They just got there. No one knows about them. That was the plan. I don’t understand,” Alexis fretted.
“That was before Erin Powell got wise to us,” Nikki said as she waited impatiently for the traffic light to turn green. “A lot seems to be happening suddenly. All that the local news is talking about concerns the new ownership of the Post. I wish I could remember what it is that I’m missing. If I could just remember…”
“It will come to you, dear,” Myra said soothingly. “Don’t force it.”
“Easy for you to say, Myra. We’re going to get ambushed. If I could only remember…”
Myra sighed. “Perhaps we should play that word game I used to play with you and Barbara when you were children. I would say a word and you say whatever comes into your mind. Shall we try, dear?”
“Why not? I can talk and drive. I don’t think it’s a thing or a place but more a person. Something a person said.”
They went at it then, the Sisters throwing out names and places, then they doubled up with a name and a place. Nothing happened until Nikki slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection in Old Town. It was when Yoko said two names, Bert Navarro and Elias Cummings in succession that Nikki stomped on the gas pedal. “That’s it! That’s it, Yoko! I love you!
“I remember now. Sometimes I am so stupid I can’t stand myself. What’s been bugging me is what Charles told us about how Bert was assigned to the task force. And what called it to my attention was when Jack told me that Bert had called him for something or other and was complaining about Cummings assigning him to Erin Powell. Bert was really ticked off. He thought it was a comedown from being Cummings’s number one.
“Then Bert said that he should have figured out something was going on when Cummings went to the White House without him, without even telling him that a meeting there was scheduled. He said anytime a visit to the White House is on the schedule, they get a notice beforehand, and there are always two people at the meeting. You know how sneaky the administration can be.
“And Charles, you’ll remember, revealed that Bert only found out about the meeting by accident and soon after he asked Cummings about it, he was transferred to the task force.”
“But what does it mean, Nikki?” Annie asked.
“I’m not sure, but I think if we all let our imaginations run wild, we can figure it out. We’re women, we’re supposed to be smart, so let’s figure it out. First, though, let me get my bearings here. Everyone, keep thinking but hold your thoughts until we get inside wherever it is we’re going.”
Their destination turned out to be what Charles called a “safe house,” where operatives in the spook business could hole up until it was safe and time to move on. Safe houses were on no one’s radar and came sparsely furnished with packaged staples and hygiene bags in the bathrooms. Safety, not comfort, was what anyone locating to a safe house required.
Nikki pulled the van off the dirt road and onto a gravel driveway at 207 Beaumonde Road. She cut the engine, and they all trooped out of the van to look around at their new digs.
They were in the country, with only one other house on the road, and it appeared to be vacant. The safe house itself looked decent enough, with a fireplace jutting out high and wide on the side of the house. Even without an education in architecture, it was easy to figure out that the house was a preassembled log cabin.
“The key is supposed to be over the ledge. I’ll go in and
open the garage. Alexis, drive the van in when I open the garage door,” Nikki said.
“Turn the heat up,” Myra said, a few minutes later as they walked into the refrigerator-like atmosphere of the log cabin. “There is heat, isn’t there?”
Her tone was so anxious, Nikki looked around until she saw a thermostat on the wall next to a small kitchen. She cranked it up to 80 degrees before opening the garage door for Alexis.
The inside of the cabin was pretty much like the outside, plain, with no personal touches of any kind. There were no pictures on the walls, nothing on the wide mantel. The kitchen had two pots and an assortment of disposable dishes and cutlery. The cabinets held canned goods and assorted crackers, and there was one bag of cookies. There was nothing in the refrigerator except bottles of water. There was a linen closet that held towels, soaps, and toothbrushes, all prepackaged.
Alexis looked around. “This is depressing. I hope we aren’t going to be here too long. We’ll be overcrowded once Kathryn and Isabelle get here.”
Never one to let something simmer if she could bring it to a boil, Annie sat down cross-legged on the floor and motioned for the others to join her. “Put us out of our misery, Nikki, and tell us what you think this business might mean.”
“Maybe we should wait for Kathryn and Isabelle,” Yoko said, “so we don’t have to go through this all again.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Annie snapped. “We can always give them a summary. It’s not like they need to hear all the ifs, ands, and buts.”
It was Nikki’s cue to speak. “Okay, okay. Let’s ask ourselves why would Director Cummings suddenly start up a new task force to find us? We know why, but why right now? And why Erin Powell? Because we were friends once upon a time? If you want my opinion, that’s pretty suspicious in and of itself. Why assign Bert to Erin, where he could assume she would make him her number one, and why not take him to the White House or tell him what took place? Bert is or was Cummings’s number one. Perhaps the director’s thinking is along the lines of Erin’s, and he, too, thinks Bert is the mole. I’m saying perhaps. Now, why did the director go to the White House? Bert said the request to go to the White House always comes through in writing first so all involved can clear their schedules. Unless this was a covert meeting and no one was supposed to know about it, not even Bert, would be my guess. As Bert said, he found out only by accident.
11. Collateral Damage Page 16
