Plain Jane

by Fern Michaels

  Fifteen minutes later, the president’s chief of staff escorted nine people, four men and five women, into the Oval Office. Martine was already wearing a lightweight jacket, her guests carrying either coats or jackets over their arms.

  The formal greeting over, the president looked at the curious faces as they wondered what this unorthodox summons out of the blue was all about. She smiled. “I thought a nice brisk walk in the fresh air would do wonders for us all. Then, when we come back in, we’ll all have lunch.” She almost laughed aloud at the startled expressions she was seeing. “Follow me, please.”

  As they walked along, the president began to rethink her plans yet again. Maybe this little meeting outside wasn’t such a good idea after all. How could she talk to nine people unless she rounded them all up in a circle and stood in the middle. Cleo, sensing her dilemma, headed to the president’s own personal gazebo, which was lined with benches and contained a round wooden table. Weather permitting, she often had her meals served out there. She patted the big dog’s head as she stood aside to usher her guests into the gazebo. How did this magnificent dog know instinctively what she was thinking and wanting? She wondered if she would ever figure it out.

  The president’s thoughts wandered for a few moments as she tried to figure out why she hadn’t told Gus Sullivan she’d agreed to mate Cleo next week. Did she forget on purpose? Or did she feel she’d overstepped her bounds and should never have done it without Gus’s permission? Regardless, it wasn’t going to work. The vet said that Cleo, in his opinion, was too old to have pups. So there was no need even to bring the subject up. If it wasn’t good for Cleo, then it wasn’t good for Martine either.

  Some one coughed, feet were shuffling. Her guests were getting antsy.

  In a very unladylike, unpresidential move, the president perched on the table and looked around at her guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming to this meeting that never took place. What we are going to discuss here today never happened either. To show you how serious I am about this, I am going to ask you to put your hands on this little Bible that I carry with me at all times. It was given to me when I was seven years old by my mother. It belonged to her and to her mother. As you can see, it is tattered and well-worn, to the point that some of the pages are loose and held together with tape and a rubber band. I cherish this above all else in my life.

  “Having said that, I now want you each to place a hand on my Bible and swear to me, the president of the United States, that not one word of what is spoken here will ever pass your lips. Anyone who can’t see her or his way to doing this is free to leave.”

  No one moved to leave. One by one, hands reached out to touch the small, tattered, white Bible.

  Twenty-seven minutes into the meeting, much of it heated, all of it loud and angry at times, the assembled guests finally agreed to the president’s demands to form a new agency among the many others in Alphabet City.

  “Taxpayers will not be funding this agency. There will be neither a temporary nor a permanent address for this agency on record anywhere because this agency does not exist. The new agency is to have carte blanche. It will report directly to me. And I want to personally assure all of you that the Post, which has been the White House’s nemesis, is on board with all of this. By four o’clock this afternoon I want the twelve special gold shields that I believe are in your care, Director Yantzy, on my desk. Do we understand each other, Director Yantzy?”

  The director of the FBI nodded. “There are only eleven shields, Madam President. One went missing. There is no proof, well, actually there is proof, but we thought as a matter of discretion, not to make an issue of it. The Post would have gone nuclear with that information if it got out the way they threatened to make it public. Jack Emery and that thug, Harry Wong, confiscated it from our agent.”

  The president looked Yantzy in the eye, and said, “I heard about your agent, who beat reporter Ted Robinson within an inch of his life, and Mr. Emery and Mr. Wong felt duty-bound to protect their colleague. Harry Wong is not a thug. Bear that in mind, Director. Seems like a fair trade to me, the gold shield for Mr. Robinson’s missing spleen. You will have all eleven shields on my desk by four o’ clock this afternoon. And make arrangements to have the twelfth one made up.”

  “Why?” the National Security Advisor asked.

  “Do you want the long or the short version, Mr. NSA?”

  The National Security Advisor looked sheepish. “The short version, Madam President.”

  Martine Connor slipped off her perch and went to stand behind him. She clamped her hands hard on his shoulders, Cleo at her side, looked around at the group as she said so quietly the others had to strain to hear the words, “Because when the FBI, the CIA, and the entire Secret Service—not to mention the DOJ—on their own couldn’t find the head of the Secret Service when he was kidnapped, I had to ask seven very talented ladies, also known as the Vigilantes, to step in and do your damn job for you. Which, by the way, they succeeded in doing with absolutely no fanfare and no publicity. No one but me, my chief of staff, and all of you here know about it. Not one word leaked out. I also ask you to recall, Mr. National Security Advisor, what happened to your predecessor, Karl Woodley, when he went up against the Vigilantes. Unless you’re totally stupid, I think you will all agree that we would rather have the Vigilantes working for us than against us.

  “I want to see a show of hands.”

  Cleo stood on her hind legs and let loose with a bloodcurdling bark.

  Nine hands instantly shot upward.

  Cleo let loose with a more subdued bark.

  “I think our business here is finished and we should adjourn for lunch.”

  The president then did something else that was totally unprecedented and oh so unpresidential. She looked down at Cleo, and said, “I’ll race you!”

  The huge dog sprinted off with the president hot on her heels. At the door to the Oval Office, she stopped, gasping for breath. “Are you ever going to let me win?”

  A sharp bark said absolutely not.

  “Would you look at those slugs back there!” Cleo barked again. The president swore the huge dog was laughing at her and the circumstances. “I think we did good, Cleo. I really do.”

  Cleo barked, then her favorite trick: She lay down, rolled over, then leaped to her feet and waited. The president handed over a treat before she walked sedately into the White House, where she stood waiting for her guests, all of whom wore sour expressions.

  Just another day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

  1

  It was an ugly, cold November day, with rain sluicing down in torrents. It wasn’t just the ugliness of the day, Jack Emery thought, it was everything going haywire at the dojo, where he and Bert Navarro were trying to keep things going while Harry Wong trained for the martial-arts trials that would, if he was successful, capture the gold medal in the field of martial arts.

  It wasn’t that he and Bert weren’t capable of handling and training the classes that flowed into the dojo, compliments of the FBI and the CIA and a few other lettered agencies. They were. That they were exhausted at the end of the day was true. It was also true that there had been no complaints apart from a little whining now and then. Once in a while there was even a compliment tossed their way by the agents’ superiors.

  All in all, both he and Bert were content with their performance and handling of the dojo, along with twice as many classes as Harry had before he went into training mode. Money by way of government flowed into the dojo like clockwork. Chunks of money. Lots of money. The United States government loved Harry Wong.

  And on top of all that, his married life was now rock solid, as was Bert’s relationship with Kathryn. Win! Win!

  Jack felt Bert’s presence before he clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Crappy day out there. Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon either. Since Georgetown floods with rains like these, you might want to bunk in with me tonight or hang out here.
Your call. But first we have to Clorox these mats and clean up the training room. Jesus, there’s nothing worse than a hundred men’s sweat swirling around.”

  When Jack continued to stare out the window at the driving rain without responding, Bert poked him in the arm.

  “Earth to Jack! What’s wrong?”

  Jack whirled around, his tone fierce when he said, “you know damn well what’s wrong, Bert. Didn’t you see Yoko’s face when she came home at lunchtime? How much longer are we going to stand still for this? And don’t tell me you don’t know what this is? It’s been three months, Bert! Three months!” he said, his tone beyond fierce.

  Bert yanked at Jack’s arm and pulled him over to a slatted bench. “Listen, Jack, Harry . . . Harry will not appreciate us sticking his nose into his business. We both know that. Yoko . . . well, don’t you think Yoko would at the very least talk to us, ask for our help?”

  “It’s not their way, Bert, you know that. I’ve done a lot of thinking on this, just as you have, and I can’t think of a way to do a sneaky intervention. Harry would see right through anything we tried. Unless we hog-tie him and make him listen.”

  Bert’s eyes almost popped out of his head at Jack’s suggestion. “Hog-tie Harry! That’s never going to happen. What planet are you living on, Jack?”

  “Okay, okay. So we drug him by putting something in that shitty green tea he drinks. That way we can hog-tie him. With steel cables.”

  Bert actually pondered Jack’s suggestion for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I think we’re going about this all wrong. Let’s try going through Yoko first. She should be home soon. She can’t be blind to what’s going on. Hell, she knows Harry better than anyone, and she just might have some ideas. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “I’m willing to try anything right now. He’s already wasted three months. What’s really weird is he has not come into the workout rooms once since he started his training.”

  “That’s because he trusts us, Jack. He knows he can depend on us, so why waste time railing at us when there’s nothing to rail at. Harry’s Harry. We should both be proud that he has that much confidence in us.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I miss that cranky son of a bitch! Watching him through the windows isn’t doing it for me. I can’t even imagine what Yoko is going through.”

  “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up, and by that time Yoko should be home. Let’s agree that we both talk to her. Not that we’re ganging up on her, but she might pay more attention to what we’re going to say if we both say it.”

  “Okay. I’ll do the blue and red rooms, you do the yellow and green ones.” The colors of the rooms referred to the level of the class the agents were taking. The brown and black rooms had yet to be used because the students hadn’t progressed to that level of achievement.

  An hour later, with the smell of Clorox overpowering even with the A/C going full blast to drive out the fumes, Jack and Harry stood outside the back door under the overhang. Jack fired up a cigarette and waited for Bert to chastise him, and when he didn’t, Jack just tossed the cigarette into the soaking bushes.

  “I hate the smell of Clorox,” Bert mumbled.

  “Yeah, it does stink,” Jack mumbled in return. He fired up another cigarette just to have something to do.

  “How do you think she’ll take it? Her meaning Yoko.”

  “I know who you mean. Who the hell knows? She isn’t spending much time here, that’s for sure. Last night was our late night, and by the time we cleaned up at nine thirty, she still wasn’t here. Plant nurseries close at six as a rule, especially in the winter months. We are in the winter months.”

  “Yeah. I noticed that, too.”

  “So, things are going good with you and Kathryn?”

  “Yeah, pretty good. We might even get married someday. She said that. Someday might never happen, but I’m hopeful. We had this . . . really really good talk. I understand her better now than I ever did. I don’t push anymore. I even came to understand how she likes going on the road. And here is something even stranger that you might find hard to believe, but I now know and realize there is a part of her life that she will never really share with me. I’m okay with it now. Sometimes, Jack, you have to actually hear the words to make them penetrate. So, in summary, Kathryn and I are okay. Things good with you and Nikki?”

  “Yeah, they are. Once Jellicoe was out of our lives, it was like someone waved a magic wand, and we got back to where we were before all that bullshit went down. The firm is doing great. Of course, she’s rarely home before nine or ten most weeknights. Weekends, and when she does manage to et home early, she makes dinner, and we just do what married couples do, hang out, get comfortable with each other. I only wish the press of work would ease up some. I’m looking forward to after Thanksgiving, when things usually get quieter until after New Year’s I know this sounds corny, but I feel blessed. Do you ever feel that way, Bert?”

  “Every damn day! I really like this life. Every so often I think about the FBI and how I loved being the director, but I do not miss the politics of it at all. I just keep telling myself that we’re the good guys, and now I believe it a hundred percent.”

  “Wonder what happened to that deal the president presented to the girls in Vegas at Kathryn’s birthday party? The girls were talking about it last weekend out at the farm.”

  Bert barked a laugh. At least Jack thought it was a laugh. “Annie said the president was fine-tuning the offer, whatever that means. By the way, I hear Thanksgiving this year is going to be at Annie’s new house. Kathryn told me last night that it’s all done now except for some minor things. She called it a punch list. New furniture is being delivered, and they’re hanging drapes, all that kind of stuff. Twelve bedrooms in that farmhouse! Annie had the girls each pick a room, then decorate it so when we all stay overnight, it will be like home.”

  “That’s Annie for you. Where the hell is Yoko?”

  “Speaking of the lady of the manor, I do believe I hear the sound of her chariot approaching.”

  “Thank God! I’m freezing my ass off out here. You know what, I think I will bunk with you tonight. I’ll text Nikki now and tell her. We can pick up some Chinese or Italian. I’ll buy.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Bert said as he watched Yoko park the car and run through the rain.

  “Is something wrong?” Yoko asked as she hit the overhang and started to wipe her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Yeah, Yoko, something is wrong,” Jack said. “We need to talk. Do you want to talk in your apartment upstairs or in one of the classrooms?”

  “Let’s go upstairs, so I can make some hot tea. It’s cold and damp. Aren’t you freezing out here?”

  “We are, but we were waiting for you, and the smell of Clorox was especially strong today.”

  “I understand. Come along. It won’t take long to make the tea, and yes, Jack, I know you only like Lipton. I keep some just for you. Bert?”

  “I’ll go with the Lipton, too.”

  Yoko made a sound that could have been laughter. Bert looked at Jack and rolled his eyes as they followed the tiny woman through the dojo to the stairs that led to her and Harry’s apartment on the second floor.

  Within ten minutes, the tea was ready, and the three of them were seated at a tiled kitchen table. “Talk to me,” Yoko said after the tea was served.

  Jack took the lead. “Listen to me, Yoko. We, Bert and I, wouldn’t be Harry’s friends if we didn’t . . . what I mean is . . . Harry is like a brother to both of us, you know that. It’s not working for him, surely you can see that. That . . . that guy in there, his so-called Master, has to be at least 150 old. He sleeps through Harry’s training. Harry is training himself. He is still at the same level he was when he started three months ago. He has not gained one bit of ground. There’s no way he can be ready or even hope to win at the trials if he doesn’t switch gears. Can’t he get a new Master or something ?”

  “Mast
er Choy is 103 years of age. He is full of wisdom as all the ancients are,” Yoko said softly. “It would be disrespectful for Harry to say otherwise.”

  “With all due respect, Yoko, what good is he to Harry if he sleeps all day. Didn’t you hear me? Harry is essentially training himself, and he is not advancing beyond his own level? Can’t you do something? If you can’t or won’t, will you tell us what to do.” “Harry is my husband. I cannot interfere. It must be Harry’s decision. I can tell you this: He is not sleeping He has lost weight, and he is not eating properly. All I can do is be supportive of his endeavors.”

  Bert’s eyebrows shot upward. “Even if it means he will go to the trials and lose face? There must be something we can do?”

  “How much are you paying that Master?” Jack snarled.

  “A fortune,” Yoko said sadly. “We have had to tap into our nest egg. It is a complicated monetary situation, one neither of you would understand. I have been staying late at the nursery and doing most of the work myself to cut back on expenses. “We pay all the expenses for the dojo out of the nursery profits. My money is dwindling.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Yoko. Those old ways don’t work here in the United States. You pay for something, you expect a return on that money. The guy just sleeps. Two days ago, I turned the surveillance cameras on and the old guy did not move a muscle for seven hours. And he damn well snores.”

  “What do you want me to do, Jack?” Tears sparkled in Yoko’s eyes.

  “I want you to fire the son of a bitch. Bert and I will train Harry. We’re qualified.”

  “You aren’t a Master, Jack, and neither is Bert. One must have a Master to go to the exhibition. It does not matter how qualified you are. And it won’t look good for Harry if his Master quits in the middle or bows out for whatever reason.”

  “So what you’re saying is we’re between a rock and a hard place?” Jack fumed. Yoko nodded.

  “No, no, no, that doesn’t work for me,” Bert snapped. “I refuse to accept that. I say we try to talk to Harry. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go to Plan B.”