Cyrus barked. At last, a plan.
It took some doing, but they finally got the three kids into the back of the truck. All three were crying now as they clung to one another. Cyrus never took his eyes off them, even for a second.
Espinosa turned on the engine, then called the team. He ended each call with, I’m forty minutes out. I repeat, this is a dire emergency. After he ended the last call, to Abner Tookus, he put the truck in gear and headed down the road.
Chapter Two
Sir Charles Martin smacked his hands together before he scooped out a blend of his special rub for the prime rib he was preparing for his and Ferg’s dinner. He was so looking forward to eating it hours from now and sharing it with Fergus, who was keeping himself busy shelling fresh peas from the garden. “I don’t know about you, Ferg, but I’m starting to feel like we’re bachelors again. I see more of you these days than I do of my wife. That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he added hastily.
“I hear you, mate. Anytime you have enough of me, just let me know, and I’ll head on down the road to rattle around alone in that big farmhouse. Is it my imagination, or are the girls busier than we are? They just finished a mission, they graced us with their presence, and then three days later they were gone again. Ah, don’t pay any attention to me, I just hate not having anything to do. Sometimes, I talk to myself just to hear my own voice.”
“Well, the garden is flourishing under your care. The dogs are loving that we’re here all day and giving them our attention. I’m thinking if there are any leftovers from dinner I’d fix us a shepherd’s pie for tomorrow’s lunch. What do you think, Ferg?”
“I think that means an extra hour on the treadmill.”
“There is that,” Charles agreed as he washed and dried his hands. His special encrypted phone took that moment to buzz like an angry bee. An incoming text. A second later, Fergus’s phone gave off three cheery notes. Both men looked at one another. Lady reared up and looked at both men.
“It would appear that our services are required at the BOLO Building. Take note, Ferg, of the word dire.”
Fergus was already covering the bowl of emerald green peas he had just shelled and putting them in the refrigerator. He held the door open so Charles could slide the roasting pan holding the prime rib onto the big shelf.
Preparing dinner early in the morning was something Charles liked to do so that when nothing else was pending he could putz around with his memoirs, the very ones he knew he would never publish.
Quick as a wink, the kitchen was cleaned, the coffeepot was turned off, and the aprons were hung on the door of the pantry. “Ten minutes to change our shirts, grab our gear, and call Marcus to come sit the dogs. Hustle, Ferg.”
Twelve minutes later, Charles backed the Land Rover from its parking space and whizzed through the open gates.
“Feels good to know we’re needed, doesn’t it, Ferg?”
“I have to admit I do like the adrenaline rush. I hope everyone can make it.”
“You know the first rule, Fergus—we drop whatever we’re doing, and no matter where we are we show up. No one to date has broken that rule.”
In the District, Maggie had just hung her backpack over the back of her chair when her cell phone chirped to life. She looked down just as Ted Robinson fished his own chirping phone out of his pocket.
“Oh, boy, here we go! Hey, Caruso, you’re up!” he yelled across the room. “You get the congressman and his social-climbing life. Do a good job.” He was rewarded with a loud moan.
“Dire! Did you see that, Ted?” Maggie whispered, her eyes wide in anticipation of what “dire” meant. “Do you think it has something to do with Cyrus? Oh, God, if something happened to that dog, Jack will go nuclear.”
“Not Cyrus. See the last few words. Cyrus is fine.”
“I missed that. Okay, okay, let’s go. Are we taking the van or your car?”
“Caruso needs the van. We’ll take my car. Did Dennis check in this morning?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him. He likes to go to Dings before coming to work. If he’s there, he’s right across the street from the BOLO, so he’ll beat us there. What are you waiting for, Ted?” Maggie called out on her way to the elevator.
Ted scrambled to his feet. “I’m trying to come to terms with the word dire,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t know Espinosa even knew the word. What the hell . . .”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Maggie said, punching the button of the elevator that would take them to the lower-level parking basement. “I’m excited. It’s been a while since we had a case. The girls are busy as all get out. They’re off right now, but it was so hush hush they wouldn’t even tell me. Do you believe that?” she asked, outrage ringing in her voice.
Ted did believe it, but he wouldn’t admit it for all the tea in China. “Have you heard from Abner lately? I called him yesterday and asked him to meet for lunch, but he said he was up to his eyeballs in something to do with some black ops and cybercrime at the CIA. That stuff is all Greek to me anyway. He said he could make lunch tomorrow. Want to join us?”
“Sure, why not. But only if we are not otherwise engaged. Remember the word dire, Ted.” Ted nodded to show he understood as he slipped behind the wheel of his BMW. His thoughts turned to Dennis and wondering whether if he was at Dings he would bring some bagels to the meeting. Ted had been in such a rush this morning that he hadn’t had time to eat his usual bowl of Cheerios.
As a matter of fact, Dennis West was at Dings, sitting outside at his favorite bistro table and scarfing down a bacon, cheese, and egg sandwich on a bagel. This was his favorite time of day, early morning, his favorite breakfast, and he got to spend some time doing one of his favorite things, people watching. Today was going to be run of the mill, so he was in no hurry to head for the Post. For some reason, news was sparse in the summer months. Despite the pleasure he took in watching people, what he really liked was action; he thrived on it. What he liked even more was being in the middle of said action.
Dennis finished his coffee and was about to head back inside for a refill when his phone announced an incoming text. He read it, blinked, then read it again. Holy crap! Action was about to go down, and here he was, sitting just across the street. If he left now, he’d be the first one to hit the BOLO Building. Or . . . he could refill his coffee and order a dozen bagels to take with him the moment he saw the first member of the team arrive. Yeah, yeah, he decided, that’s what I’ll do.
A dire emergency meeting. From Joe Espinosa. Of all people. Cyrus was fine. What did that mean? He got up and headed inside, where he got his coffee refill and a dozen bagels in a sack that had handles on it. “Throw in some strawberry cream cheese and butter,” he instructed, knowing how much Abner loved strawberry cream cheese.
At the same moment that Dennis was thinking about Abner Tookus inside Dings, that very person was about to enter a secure conference room at the CIA, also known as The Farm. Years earlier, he’d been recruited by the head man, whose real name he still did not know. Nor did he care. He had agreed to “help” for an outrageous sum of money with several other caveats. He could wear whatever he wanted, he could work whenever he wanted, and he answered to no one save himself and the man with no real name. The last condition was necessary so that he could quit or walk away at any time and his departure would not come with any reprisals. Should there be a reprisal, even the hint of one, Abner let it be known that he and his secret band of hackers would cripple the infamous agency.
So far, everything had worked just fine.
So far.
* * *
Abner, dressed in his paint-stained jeans with holes in the knees and high-top Keds with ragged shoelaces, stood in direct contrast to the men in Hugo Boss and Brooks Brothers suits sitting around the table. He stood in the open doorway, his gaze sweeping the room.
Today, Abner was wearing a bright red T-shirt that said, “EAT GRASS,” and in smaller letters, “YOU’LL LIVE LONGER.” He had no idea
if eating grass would let a person live longer or not. He’d purchased the shirt off a street vendor for fifty cents, knowing he had gotten one hell of a bargain. He wore a watch that was as big as a mini alarm clock that did everything but tell time. Abner loved it because people stared at it wondering what it was. Every so often, it gave off a few earsplitting notes to the “Star Spangled Banner.” Abner, you see, had a wicked sense of humor.
Abner turned the knob on the door and breezed through, waving airily at all the buttoned-up suits sitting at a highly polished egg-shaped conference table. His boss, whose name he still didn’t know or want to know, was behind him.
Abner figured the empty chair was for him. He plopped down, looked around at the occupants, and said, “Hit me.” Confusion took over.
Abner sighed. “Tell me how I can help you. Why are we here? What is it you want from me? Is there a spokesperson here, or am I supposed to guess what this is all about? Who are you, anyway?”
“I don’t like your flip attitude, young man, nor your mode of dress,” a jowly, bald-headed man said. “This is the CIA! We’re authorized to be here and to ask questions.” Abner raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
A man at the far end of the table, a man who could have passed for the jowly bald-headed man’s twin, shouted, “We’d like to see a report of some kind to justify the exorbitant amount of money this agency is paying you. You aren’t even on the books. And we want to know exactly what it is you do.”
“If I’m not on the books, that means I don’t exist. That would mean I’m a ghost. So what are we doing here? I could be a volunteer, for all you know.” Abner looked around at the well-fed, extremely well-dressed men with their gold Rolexes. If there was one thing he hated more than broccoli and people who harmed animals, it was men like the ones he was looking at.
“We don’t need a snow job, young man. And you would be wise to curb your tongue,” a skinny, stringy man with bulging eyes said. “My esteemed colleague asked you a perfectly legitimate question, so please answer it in a civil manner.”
“You need to take that up with someone else. What I do here is confidential, and only one other set of eyes sees it.” Abner leaned forward, hands folded on the shiny table, the small alarm-clock watch scratching the smooth surface. The sound was loud in the room. “Do any of you sitting at this table know anything about cybercrime other than what you read or see on the news? Are any of you aware of the dark side of the Internet, the underbelly of it? That’s where I live and dwell to keep your asses safe as well as the asses of your assets out in the field.” The shocked expressions gave Abner his answer. “Do you know what malware is? If I told you my computer was air-gapped, would you know what it meant? Or how about algorithms? Do you know what they are? Broadband?” In his eyes, these men were just a bunch of stuffed suits impressed with their own incompetence.
“Now see here, young fella . . .” a bewhiskered, white-haired gentleman started to bluster.
This is going nowhere fast, Abner thought. “Listen up, dudes, and try this on for size. Tonight, when I go home, all I have to do is log onto my computer, press a few keys, and I can wipe out your identities. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be shopping at Goodwill and standing in line at a soup kitchen. I can do that. Just ask the gentleman standing behind me.”
Abner was about to clarify his little speech when his cell phone, which was on vibrate, buzzed in the pocket of his ragged jeans. He pulled it out, looked at the text message, and stood up. “Meeting’s over, boys. I gotta go!”
Abner’s boss snapped to attention. “Wait! You can’t leave now! This meeting has been on the books for months. You can’t just walk out of here with no explanation.”
“Yes, I can. Watch me walk out the door. Read my contract! The one that doesn’t exist. I’m a ghost, remember?”
The clamor in the room rose to a full crescendo as Abner pushed back his chair.
“But . . . when will you be back?” his boss asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe soon. Maybe never,” Abner called over his shoulder.
“You’re fired!” someone shouted from the conference room.
Abner stopped for a second. “Now you’re sounding like Donald Trump. Try this on for size. I. Quit! See you at Goodwill. By the way, that’s where I bought the jeans I’m wearing.”
As he walked through the doorway, Abner muttered to himself, “Sometimes I just crack myself up.”
Man, did that feel good, Abner thought as he raced out of the building and down a long walkway that took him to where his SUV was parked. Dire. “Dire” meant serious. Deadly serious when it came from Joe Espinosa.
The clock on the dashboard said it was 8:20.
* * *
The last person to receive Espinosa’s text was Jack Emery, who was sitting in the dental chair in Bruno Sabatini’s office undergoing a root canal. Actually, it was his second treatment, which, to Dr. Sabatini’s dismay, Jack had already postponed twice.
His mouth wide open, Jack was ripe for his good friend’s tirade about missed appointments, gum disease, toothless people, and a whole host of other horrible things that were going to go wrong because Jack kept postponing his dental appointments.
Long years of familiarity allowed both men to talk “guy talk” when no one else was around. Other times, Jack showed respect to the doctor and vice versa.
“I love it when I have you at my mercy and you can’t do a damn thing. If there was a way for me to strap you into this chair, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I have a good mind to yank this damn tooth right out of your mouth. Like right now, Jack.”
Jack gurgled something that sounded like, I’ll kick your ass all the way to the Canadian border if you do that.
Undeterred by the garbled threat, Dr. Sabatini turned to the counter for something he needed. Jack’s encrypted cell phone took that moment to vibrate in his pocket. Who would call him here? Everyone knew Dr. Sabatini didn’t abide phones in his office and was known for snatching them up and putting them under lock and key. Many a patient had learned the hard way that even begging didn’t help. Rules were rules.
The moment Dr. Sabatini turned back toward him, Jack was reading Espinosa’s text. Dire. But Cyrus was all right. What the hell. Dr. Sabatini made a move to grab the phone.
Jack, a murderous expression on his face, stiff-armed the dentist. “Listen, Bruno, let’s cut the shit here,” Jack said in a voice Dr. Sabatini had never heard before. “I have an emergency. Do something to the tooth and do it quick. I have to leave. I’ll come back tomorrow, I swear.” He ripped at the paper collar around his neck and waited for whatever magic potion Sabatini was going to put on the tooth, then the cap.
“Done.”
“Listen, Bruno . . .”
“Go! I get it, Jack. What I just did for you is temporary. Get back here tomorrow, or you are going to be in a world of pain. Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah. See you.”
In the waiting room, Harry looked up from a dog-eared copy of Field and Stream. Why he was even looking at it he had no idea since he didn’t fish or hunt. Jack rushed right by him. “Did you get the text?”
“No. The sign said to turn off all phones. You know me, I always obey the rules. What text?”
“From Espinosa. We’re to meet at the BOLO Building. He said it was dire. Dire, Harry. It’s not Cyrus—he said he’s fine. Some kind of dire emergency.”
Harry was Jack’s transportation this day, which meant he’d driven him on his Ducati. He unlocked it, settled himself, then waited for Jack to do the same. Then he drove, hell-bent for leather, low over the handlebars, Jack’s arms wrapped around his waist.
Seventeen minutes later, none the worse for wear, Harry slowed and approached the massive iron gates that controlled entry to the alley behind the BOLO Building. He slid off, hung up his helmet, and waited for Jack, who was staring down the alley at something. Harry looked to see what was so interesting. “Is that . . . ?”
“Sure as hell looks like it to
me,” Jack mumbled, aware that his mouth was now throbbing.
“But how . . . ?”
“Retina scanner,” was Jack’s response.
Harry bent close, let the scanner see his eye, stepped back to wait for the hydraulics to open the door. He blinked, then blinked again at what he was seeing. Julie Wyatt and Cooper stared back at him and Jack. Cooper barked a greeting.
“How did you get in here?” Jack asked.
“Cooper let us in,” Julie said in a brittle voice. “He woke me up at two o’clock this morning. He didn’t bark or touch me or anything like that. I just woke up, and he was sitting by my bed. I think his warm breath is what woke me. He was packed and ready to go, his gear by the door. I . . . I was going to get dressed, but he was having none of that, and he herded me to the door. I didn’t even brush my teeth, for God’s sake. He wanted to leave right then, that minute. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still in my pajamas and slippers. I drove all night. He knew exactly what to do when we got here. We were the first ones here. Others are back in the offices and kitchens. I think all your friends are here except Joseph and your dog.”
She was breathless when she finished her spiel, her dark brown eyes full of fear. “Something around here is wrong, and he needs to be here. Did you hear me?” she cried shrilly. “Needs is the key word. Oh, God, I am never going to understand this dog. I love him, but I don’t understand him.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She swiped at them.
Jack looked at Harry.
Harry looked at Jack.
Both men stared at Julie Wyatt, who was still dressed in her pajamas and slippers and was wringing her hands, her bed hair all tousled. Her eyes were getting wilder by the moment.
Truth or Dare Page 2
