“Oh jeez, are you saying you guys are messing with the . . . oh jeez,” Dennis twitted. “That’s really, like, you know, breaking some serious laws. NASA?”
Harry turned and, with one look at the young reporter, reduced him to pure misery. “No one is forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do, kid. You can leave now if you want to, no hard feelings. Where is all this coming from all of a sudden?”
Dennis squared his shoulders and eyeballed Harry. “I panicked for a moment, okay? My bad. It won’t happen again. If we need the satellite, then we need it. I’m good, Harry.”
Harry clapped Dennis on the shoulder and grinned. Harry never grinned. Dennis lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Listen, people, I need to say something,” Maggie said. “I’m going to backpedal here on a suggestion I made about arranging a contest for the kids or whatever we were going to call it in the hopes that would bring the Karas brothers to us since we can’t seem to get to them. It’s too risky. Especially for the children.”
“Psychologist Leo Buscaglia said the person who risks nothing does nothing,” Charles announced in a tone of voice that reminded many of Sundays spent in church.
“Yeah, well, tell Leo I’m not buying into that little ditty,” Maggie said, her voice sounding sour. “I found, I think, a better way. And . . . I even sent Annie a text, and she okayed it. So there!”
“Well, in that case . . .” Charles started to say, until Maggie held up her hand for silence on his part.
“We—I guess that comes down to me—I am going to write an open invitation for the morning issue of the Post tomorrow. Location to be determined. Which means I have to get on it ASAP. A black tie dinner event to raise money for missing and exploited children. Annie promised ten million dollars to kick it off. And she promised to match, dollar for dollar, what we raise. Here is my plan. I am going to publish a list of every famous person I can come up with, right down to the president and vice president. I’m going to say the list of people is the tentative invitation list. Not that we’re actually going to send out the invitations. But, as Annie pointed out, if it looks like it will fly, then we should actually do it. Movie stars, politicians, socialites. Everyone will be buzzing and talking and asking if they got their invitation, and, of course, the answer will be no, which will generate all kinds of interest. We’ll use social media every way we can. Abner can take care of that. Of course, the Karas brothers will be on the list. How could they pass up something like that? Countess Anna de Silva, who I am sure has a net worth much much greater than they do. We always worry at the paper about being sued. Annie said if we do it this way, there is no problem. I suspect she knows what she’s talking about and is right. I’m also sure she has her lawyers on it as we speak. She’ll let me know if I’m going off the rails. So, until something else happens here, can you all help me come up with the list of the most important people in the country? Or the world. Start on your lists, people. Remember now, we’re just saying they might be on the list to be invited. There’s a big difference between being on a possible list and actually being invited.”
“Pure genius,” Jack said, reaching for a yellow pad. “I assume we want a mix of old and new for all ages.”
“Hmmmm, yes,” Maggie said as she started tapping out the article she planned to write for the morning edition.
“Above the fold?” Ted queried.
“Absolutely! Since Annie owns the paper, where else would you expect to see something about her throwing a party for charity?”
Dennis jumped up and down, waving his arms. “I have a great headline if you don’t already have one.”
“I don’t, not yet. Share.”
“ARE YOU ON THE LIST?”
Maggie’s eyes popped wide. “Damn, Dennis, you’re good! We’ll run with that. Thanks. Now get to work on the ‘supposed’ list.”
Ted started to laugh and couldn’t stop.
“What’s so funny?” Harry demanded.
“By noon tomorrow, the paper’s phone system will have crashed. I guess it isn’t all that funny. For some reason, I suddenly got this mental picture of everyone in Washington dialing into the Post to ask if they’re on the list. You know, all those people who love to be seen and love to get mentioned on Page Six.”
“Do you want me to run with the same banner on the Net?” Abner asked.
“Yep,” Maggie retorted. “Everywhere you can think of. Make sure you post some pictures of Annie in full regalia, wearing her tiara. How long is that going to take? Are you planning on doing it as a tease or a full-out statement?”
“Both,” Abner responded, his fingers flying over the keys. “What’s your feeling on my getting in touch with Phil and my . . . colleagues for some added help? I was also thinking of having Phil go to the dark side and start a campaign. If he does that, it will be a wildfire.”
Before Maggie could respond, Jack said, “Just do it!”
“Well then, okayyyyyy!” Abner said, getting into the spirit of things. “Oh, by the way, do you want us to crash the Internet with the news?”
The war room went totally silent as everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at Abner.
“Can you do that?” Dennis asked, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.
Abner stared at the young reporter. “Seriously, Dennis, did you just say what I think you said?” At the look of chagrin on Dennis’s face, Abner laughed. “So, should I take that as a yes or a no?”
“Do it!” Jack barked again. “That should make the Karas brothers or their people sit up and take notice. Do it in . . . what? Two hours from now. Does that work for everyone? Or should we wait until the Post comes out in the morning? I opt for morning if my vote counts.”
Everyone agreed that it worked for them.
“How long do you want it to stay down?” Abner grinned.
“Long enough so that it’s all people are talking about. I say talking because that’s the only way people will have to communicate. How about six hours?” Jack asked.
“Your wish is my command. Phil is going to go over the moon. So will my fellow colleagues. We talk all the time about doing it just to see what would happen. Guess we’ll finally get an answer.”
Charles cleared his throat. “There is a risk according to—”
“Please, Charles, forget Leo Buscaglia and his ditties. We’re doing it. Period,” Fergus said, opting to contribute for the first time.
Dennis was about to make a comment about all of them going to some federal pen and they wouldn’t have to worry about communicating with anyone but thought better of it when he caught Harry looking at him. He offered up a sickly smile and went back to his list to add Taylor Swift and Beyoncé, whom he loved and adored.
“Showtime!” Abner said, raising his hands and flexing his fingers.
Dennis felt his insides gather into a tight knot. He knew he wouldn’t do well in prison. Then his spine stiffened, and he squared his shoulders. He really needed to stop being such a wuss. He really did.
Chapter Ten
Allison Bannon rolled over in the comfortable bed, instantly awake and knowing exactly where she was. She even knew the time by some quirk of fate. She always knew the time, Give or take a few minutes, no matter where she was or what she was doing.
What she also knew was she didn’t have to get out of bed this exact second. In fact, she could roll over and go back to sleep if she wanted to. But she wouldn’t do that. She had things to do, plans to make. Now that she knew her children were in safe hands, there was no reason to rush to find them. With every law-enforcement agency hot on her trail, she needed to be extra careful. Extra, extra careful.
Still, she stretched luxuriously, enjoying the feel of the soft sheets, the light blanket, and the down pillows. Luxury. At least it was luxury to her. She thought about the hard, lumpy mattress she had slept on just days ago before she cut and ran. She let her mind roam to all the foul, ugly places she’d slept in over the years, her husband, whom she had once
loved, at her side. Not anymore.
She was alone now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked alone. There had always been Steven and the team. The team. The team who had her back the way she had their back. Like brothers and sisters. They had all knowingly and willingly trusted their very lives to one another. And it worked. It worked because she had handpicked and trained her team. Steven just happened to be her first partner and her husband.
If she’d made any mistakes along the way, Steven was the mistake. But if she admitted to that, she wouldn’t have her children, the children she loved more than life itself.
Now the only one she could count on was herself. She had no backup. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she told herself. She had Harry Wong and his friends. And she had Lizzie Fox.
Right now, though, she needed to think about what Steven was telling their section chief and handler, Luka, and the other nameless, faceless people they worked for. Steven was her husband, he knew her better than anyone. He would tell them everything he knew to make sure he came out smelling like the proverbial rose. More importantly, he would be trying to cut a deal that would benefit him. But Luka was no fool. He’d see through Steven in a second. That meant she had to transform herself into the opposite of what Luka and the others would expect.
She was Doris Brown now, with an excellent set of forged identity papers. She even had a car registered to Doris Brown, and all her creds were backdated. She felt reasonably secure in that regard thanks to Lizzie Fox.
Allison swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a few moments, wondering if she should make the bed or not. Would she ever come back here, or was this her port in the storm that she’d never see again? She decided to make the bed.
In the bathroom, which was pretty and charming, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was no beauty. Once, maybe. The years had taken a toll on her. No time for facials, fancy creams, plucked eyebrows. Her hair was a disaster, mostly cut and trimmed by herself. Now it was long, in a ponytail. She’d correct all that momentarily with a new haircut and some hair dye. She’d go pixie short, and Doris Brown would become a strawberry blonde just like the picture on her passport and driver’s license.
Under the sink was a full makeup kit complete with latex she would apply to smooth out her face. She could widen her nostrils, square off her chin, redefine her eyebrows, and plump up her cheeks. She could add ten pounds to her 110-pound frame simply by adding some extra padding around her middle. Glasses with plain glass in them would complete Doris Brown’s identity. Tea Pope, aka a dozen different aliases, would cease to exist.
Shower or not to shower? She’d taken three yesterday when she’d arrived. When she’d finally climbed into bed, she still felt dirty. Definitely take a shower. She soaped up and stood under the hot water until it ran cold.
Allison spent the next few minutes trying to decide whether she should work on her hair first or have some coffee. Good coffee, not the swill she was used to drinking on the run. Years of drinking sludge that passed for coffee was something she didn’t want to think about anymore. There was so much she didn’t want to think about but knew she had to. But not just yet. First, she needed to get rid of the squirrelly stuff whirling around in her head. That meant the agency, her husband, and her team.
Steven first. Steven was on her shoulders, no one else. Not her team, although now when she thought back to the last three encounters, when they all thought they had the Karas brothers’ people cornered, it had all culminated in a dead end. Zack Henry had almost come to blows with Steven the second time it happened, but she’d broken it up because she hadn’t wanted to hear one of her team members saying her husband had sold them out. Even though, to be honest about it, she had thought the same thing herself, she refused to consciously believe that her husband would sell out the team.
Allison stared off into space. It was the first time she’d noticed the wallpaper in the kitchen. Big yellow sunflowers. So pretty. If Steven sold them out, he had to have inside information. The question was, how and where did he get that information? How did he make contact? He was never out of her sight or away from her side. Did he do it for money or did he do it to plow her under? Probably both. She wished she could turn the clock back and not have intervened when Zack and Steven almost came to blows. He was her husband. That was the bottom line. She’d been a stupid fool. That was on her, too.
As she sipped her coffee, she realized that she needed to be completely honest with herself now. The marriage was over after Andy was born. She knew that the minute Steven stared down at his infant son. She’d seen nothing in his eyes or his expression. He hadn’t wanted to hold the infant, either. Five years of staying married after his birth. For what? And while the marriage was sexless, neither one had made a move to dissolve it. Why? Because the team would get split up. That was her side of it. Steven’s side, if he had a side, was . . . she had to admit she didn’t know what his motivation was.
What she did know was Steven hated being her second in command. He wanted his own team, but Luka had told her in private that that would never happen because Steven was a hothead and resented authority. And now Steven was spilling his guts to Luka. Half would be lies, she knew that. Hopefully, Luka would call in the rest of the team and listen to what they had to say. Luka was no fool. Simon Spinelli, aka Steven Bannon, was a traitor. That was the bottom line. Her husband, her children’s father, was a traitor. How was she ever going to live with that? How?
Allison got up to refill her coffee cup. She loved that whoever it was who cleaned the cottage had provided real cream and real sugar for her coffee. She knew she’d drink the entire pot and probably make another one before she took on the day.
Allison stared at the laptop in the middle of the table, where she’d left it last night, then over at the small television on the kitchen counter. The laptop was new. She’d trashed the old one on her way here, tossing it into a Dumpster at a Burger King but not before she’d dismantled it and crushed the guts to shreds. No point in giving the hunters an edge. She’d programmed the new one last night, along with her latest stash of burner phones, paying cash at a Target store. The Doris Brown ATM card had worked perfectly. She had a bundle of money now. She was good to go electronically.
The laptop could wait. Allison decided she’d delayed the inevitable long enough and needed to know what was going on newswise before she left here. She turned on the small TV and gasped as she saw a picture of herself that was less than flattering. She blinked, then blinked again as she struggled with what she was hearing. She bit down on her lower lip so she wouldn’t cry. She was none of those things the news anchor was saying. And then, thankfully, her picture was gone, and Luka appeared, all solemn and stiff and begging her to call him, to give herself up. Like that was really going to happen. She waited another minute to see if there would be any mention of Steven or her team. There wasn’t. She pressed the MUTE button on the remote and settled back in her chair, the chilling words of a nationwide manhunt ricocheting around and around inside her head.
Allison wondered if Lizzie Fox and Harry Wong would rescind their offer of help once they heard the news. She eyed the pile of burner phones. Should she call or not? No. Better to stick with her original plan. She continued to stare at the silent TV, reading the commentator’s lips. And then a regal picture of an older woman dressed by some fabulous person and wearing a tiara appeared on the screen with a caption running underneath. Allison turned up the sound as she read. War! Countess Anna de Silva, one of the richest women in the entire world, was declaring war on the people who kidnapped and exploited children by throwing a black tie event that she would kick off with $10 million.
“Well, well, well, how do you like them apples?” Allison muttered under her breath. Her gut told her this was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill party. No, no, this was part of . . . of . . . something. Something that had to do with her, Allison Bannon. And with Lizzie and Harry Wong. Lizzie had alluded to the people Harry was ha
nging with these days. The good thing here was, her gut was never wrong. Never.
Suddenly, Allison felt like a lightning bolt had ripped through her entire body. She could donate, anonymously all that money she’d found in the woods years ago. Instead of giving it over to some governmental agency, she could donate it. She took a second to wonder if the countess would really match it dollar for dollar.
Allison got up, disconnected the coffeemaker, then rinsed her cup. Time to get this show on the road. She headed for the bathroom, where she went to work on her hair. Slice, chop, shear, chop some more. Done. The last time her hair had been this length was when she was one year old. She hardly recognized herself. She gathered up all the hair and flushed it three times. She cleaned up the rest of the long strands with wet tissue and flushed them. She mixed the hair dye, and within minutes, her head was covered in a thick cream. She sat down on the edge of the tub and let her thoughts go to her children and how wonderful it was going to be to see them. She hoped her new appearance wouldn’t scare them.
When the thirty minutes required for the dye to set were up, instead of rinsing off the color in the sink, she hopped in the shower again. Mrs. Clean herself. She giggled. As she washed the dye out of her hair, she thought about the money she was going to donate. All clean-laundered money. She almost burst out laughing as she imagined the look on the Karas brothers’ faces when they heard how much money the countess raised to fight for the kids. Bastards. “If it’s the last thing I do, and if I die doing it, I’m going to find you and kill you with my bare hands,” she muttered before she stepped out of the shower. “Bastards!”
Truth or Dare Page 12
