Truth or Dare

by Fern Michaels

  Allison wondered if once she left the area and hit the open highway any of the burner phones would come to life. Highly doubtful was her opinion. Maybe once she arrived in Washington, the cell towers might be up and working. Everything right now was a crapshoot. Everything.

  With nothing to occupy her mind except the open road in front of her, Allison let her mind wander back three years to the day Luka had called her team into his sterile offices and stared them down. He’d started off with a compliment mostly directed at her, and said, “This mission I’m sending you on is so top secret that until this moment only one other person knew about it. And now you five will also know. That makes seven in total. The only other person beside myself is the director. If there are any mistakes, any screwups, they’re on your heads.”

  Allison liked Luka. More than that, she respected him. He eyeballed her as he outlined why he’d called her team into his offices, which no one was ever invited into. All meetings were in bug-swept, soundproof, bulletproof rooms. Why this meeting was being held in this spartan office was a mystery to her. Knowing Luka, she realized that by the time they walked out the door, she’d have her answer. Then again, knowing Luka, maybe not.

  Luka got right to the point the moment everyone was seated. “I am assuming that there is no one in this room who doesn’t know or has never heard of the international playboys Ryland and Roland Karas? Am I correct?” Luka, a bear of a man weighing 250 with a beard almost down to his neck and a ponytail tied in back, nodded in pleasure when they all agreed that he was correct.

  “Good! So you all know who I’m talking about. Take a look at the screen because this is what the brothers look like as of two days ago. Burn that image into your brains.” He clicked a remote in his hand. “Now look at these pictures. These are their closest protectors. That would mean to you retired Seals, Deltas, Mossad. . . the best of the best recruited at a great cost to them. If you like the word mercenary, substitute it if you choose.

  “The brothers are never alone. Never. It wouldn’t be a lie to say they have an army within a few feet of them. Ordinary people you’d never take for who they really are. We have it on excellent intel that the Karas brothers are behind the child-trafficking ring that’s escalated abductions to epic proportions during the past year. Every alphabet agency in Washington has tried to get the proof we need to reel them in. They are so well connected, there is no accountability. It’s only been whispered about on the dark side of the Net. We literally cannot touch them. We have had three different people we promised the world to if they would tell us what they know from the dark side. They did help us, and now they’re all dead. This is the part that really hurts. They were under our protection. We promised them a life, a good life, if they’d help us, and still the brothers or their people got to them, which doesn’t say much for us or our agency or the FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. We worked together on a joint mission, and we blew it. We goddamn blew it,” he snarled.

  “And after all that, you think . . . what . . . the five of us can do what you and the others couldn’t do?” Allison asked incredulously.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I think. Back then, when the idea of this joint task force was being discussed, I had serious doubts. Not only did I have them, but I voiced them. All to no avail. Too many people, too many agencies, too many chances for mistakes and leaks. That’s what happened. Somewhere along the way, someone said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing by mistake, or else someone took a bribe and is now on some island surrounded by beautiful women and living the life of a king.

  “I’m not asking you and your team to take this mission on. I’m telling you it’s yours. See those boxes in the corner? Those are the files on the Karas brothers from the time they hit the international scene twenty-some years ago. Remember, they are the darlings of the jet set. They donate millions and millions to worthy causes. They champion everything that even smells like a good cause. No one wants that well to dry up. Even our own president thinks the sun rises and sets on the brothers. Did you know they’ve been to the White House for two dinners? It’s been rumored that the queen might knight them for all their philanthropic generosity. Are you all getting the picture here?”

  “Where are they now?” Allison asked.

  “An hour ago, they were taking a gondola ride in Venice. We know that thanks to our satellites. I’m going to leave you and your team here in my office to read up on the brothers. I’ll send in some lunch and coffee in a bit. By the close of business today, I want to hear a plan from all of you. Whatever you want or need, it’s yours. Allison is your team leader. You do what she says when she says it. Her orders are absolute, and she answers only to me. Now, get to work!”

  Allison was shaken from her thoughts when she saw a roadblock a half mile up the road. Her stomach crunched into a knot. She slowed down, glad she’d shoved her bag of burner phones under the car seat. The little portable radio on top of the map, along with the small purse she figured someone like Doris Brown would carry, were spread out on the passenger seat. Nothing wrong with that or out of the ordinary. Nothing to arouse suspicion.

  Allison popped a piece of gum in her mouth and started to chew. She didn’t know why, but she thought Doris Brown would be a gum chewer. She crept along, her stomach churning as she listened to the person on the radio spout the same thing he’d been saying for the past hour. Nothing new.

  And then it was her turn. She lowered the window and waited.

  “Ma’am, can we see some identification?”

  “Sure. Can I ask why? Did something happen? As you can see, I’m traveling alone. I wish I had a dog,” she said wistfully. She handed over her credentials.

  “Why are you going to Washington, D.C., ma’am?”

  “Two reasons really. One, I’ve never been there, and I’ve always wanted to see the cherry blossoms, and the other reason is I’m thinking of moving to Virginia to take a job in a library there. I have an interview tomorrow. Is there a convict on the loose or something?” she asked in a jittery voice.

  The officer handed back her credentials and waved her on without responding to her question, which was more than okay with Allison. She moved the SUV slowly, watching out of the corner of her eye to see if anyone was paying attention to her. No one was. She swept past the police cruisers and accelerated. “Good job, Doris Brown,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s just hope the rest of the trip goes as smoothly.”

  The SUV ate up mile after mile as Allison cruised down the road. Two hours passed before she saw a huge sign that said gas, lodging, and food were five miles ahead. Maybe she could gather some information in the restaurant. Travelers did love to talk.

  Allison gassed up and paid in cash at the lodge, then went inside and sat down at the counter next to an elderly couple who said they were headed to Florida after a stop in Virginia to see their grandson. They were pleasant and talkative, bemoaning the loss of Facebook. “That’s how we stay in touch with our kids and grandkids. We’re on it every day,” the woman, who said her name was Esther, said. “This is Stan, my husband.”

  “Doris Brown,” Allison said by way of introduction. “So is there anything new? Does anyone know what happened?” Allison asked as she scanned the menu in front of her.

  Stan looked across at her, and said, “Everything just stopped working. Even our cell phones. Every so often, one bar shows up, and by the time you hit the number you want to call, it’s dead again. It’s the Russians, sure as hell,” he said, authority ringing in his voice.

  Allison ordered two eggs over easy, extra-crisp bacon, and home fries. No matter the time of day, she could eat breakfast and preferred it to any other meal of the day. The coffee was good, strong, just the way she liked it. She’d get two more to go when she left.

  “And did you hear about what’s going on in Washington, D.C., with that countess going to war?” Stan asked.

  Not wanting to listen to a recap of the morning headlines, Allison nodded. “It’s a good thing. Child tr
afficking is a terrible thing. I hope it works.”

  Stan got up, offered his arm to Esther to let her hop off her stool, and they headed to the cashier to pay their bill. Allison welcomed the silence. Now she could listen to what the local commentator was saying, which, as per usual, was nothing new. Still, she listened as her food arrived, and she started to eat. Her ears perked up when she heard a truck driver speaking with the waitress. “Three roadblocks! Do you believe that? Puts me forty-five minutes behind schedule.”

  “Why?” the waitress asked as she poured coffee for the truck driver.

  “Some agent from the CIA cut and ran with government secrets locked in her head, and they want her dead or alive,” the truck driver said dramatically. “No offense to you, little lady, but that’s what happens when you have a woman doing a man’s job. Secret agents are supposed to be men like Jason Bourne or James Bond. I wonder if she’s as smart as he is.”

  The waitress looked at the driver for a second, then filled his coffee cup so full it splashed out and over the counter to run down his leg. He yelped and cursed. The waitress winked at Allison as the man made a hasty exit for the men’s room.

  “He deserved it.” Allison giggled.

  “I hope they don’t catch her. I bet some man did something to her, and she’s going to get the blame for it because she’s a woman, and that’s why she’s on the run, to exonerate herself. Maybe when those vigilante women hear about her case, they’ll help her out. Now, wouldn’t that be something?”

  Allison’s head bobbed up and down, as she agreed that it would indeed be something. “You know, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” Allison said as she crunched down on her stick of bacon. She did love bacon. Actually she loved food. Period.

  “Anything else, hon, before I ring you up?”

  “Two coffees to go and a slice of that cherry pie.”

  “You got it. Where you headed?”

  “Virginia. For a job interview, with a stop in D.C. to see the cherry blossoms, if there are any left.”

  “Well, drive safely.” The waitress walked away to fill two Styrofoam cups for Allison’s coffee. Allison watched as she wrapped the slice of pie carefully and then tucked a plastic fork in the bag. For no other reason than she liked the waitress, Allison left her a fifty-dollar bill as a tip. She grinned at the waitress, who was bug eyed; grabbed her food; and left.

  Tooling down the road, she wondered if she’d made a mistake in leaving the fifty-dollar tip. The waitress would remember her now. She was probably right now chatting up her coworkers and showing off the fifty-dollar bill. A person going on a job interview would not leave that kind of tip. Allison Bannon, I hope you didn’t just make a mistake. Well, if she had, it was too late to rectify it.

  Three hundred and eighty miles to go.

  * * *

  Ted looked at Maggie, and said, “Do you think we should head back to the District? That guy on the TV who is losing his voice for saying the same thing over and over again just said people are calling in saying their phone systems crashed. The Post was on his last go-round.”

  “No. There’s nothing we can do there. I want to be here to hear what the CIA says to Abner on the return call. That’s where the real story is.”

  Abner looked down at his phone when it pinged. “Here we go!”

  “Abner Tookus here,” he drawled.

  Abner’s old boss, the man whose name he didn’t know or want to know, said, “I’m asking you to be reasonable here, Mr. Tookus. I’m talking to you in the interests of national security. We can’t trust just anybody willy-nilly. We’re the CIA!”

  “How funny is that? You trusted me when I worked for you. I have all your secrets stored in my head and . . . other places. So, like I said before, cut the bullshit and let’s get down to business. You give me that line of ‘We don’t know what you’re talking about—we never heard of the Karas brothers,’ and I’m hanging up, so don’t play dumb here. And don’t threaten me, either. When I walked out of your doors, I told you what I would do if you retaliated against me. I stress I. So what do you have for me? I have no clue what my source will do, so bear that in mind.”

  The second voice spoke. The director of the CIA, Tookus surmised. “We can’t give you something we don’t have, young man. And your source, whoever that may be, is barking up the wrong tree.”

  Abner looked at the gang and shrugged, his eyes asking the question he was ready to ask. The gang nodded.

  “So then you guys are saying you didn’t assign Allison Bannon and her team, which includes her husband, who just happens to be a traitor, to track down the Karas brothers.

  “And I guess you’re also saying the Bannon children weren’t kidnapped, either. Is that what you’re telling me? You’ve been tracking the brothers for over three years with no luck. That means you must have an extensive file, and my source wants it.

  “Just so we’re clear on this, Mr. Director. The entire Internet is down across the country. Me coming out to Langley would serve no purpose. I can’t fix your Internet. No one can. You have a roomful of brainiacs who probably told you the same thing, but for some reason, you don’t believe your own people. You only have one option as far as I can tell. My source is waiting. I should tell you he has a short fuse and zero patience.

  “Now if you guys were really serious about reeling in the Karas brothers, you would be falling all over yourselves to cooperate. But here is what I see your immediate problem is. You’re only allowed to operate on foreign soil, and Allison Bannon is here in the good old U.S. of A., meaning you all are doing something illegal. I’m thinking I should be talking to the FBI instead of you lunkheads. I bet they’ll be more than happy to help my . . . source.”

  “Now see here, Tookus—”

  “Stuff it, Mr. Director. Give me a time and a place for the handover. You get back the Internet. Win-win. If you choose not to play ball—and you have sixty seconds to make up your mind—this line goes down, and I’m on the way to the FBI.”

  “All right, all right, you son of a bitch. Be warned, you’re going on the list.”

  “To that countess’s shindig! Man, I so want to go to that! Are you saying you can arrange it? Wow! Double wow!” Abner laughed. He stopped laughing and said, “Where?”

  “How do we know your source will come through?”

  “Because I said so. I have an idea. Bundle up all those files and have them delivered to the Starbucks on Constitution Avenue. One driver. That’s it. Bring them in the back of a pickup truck with a tarp over them. A messenger who is totally innocent and knows nothing about what is going on will be waiting for you to transfer them to another vehicle. He drives away. Your people drive away. We’ll be watching, so don’t try any tricks. Do we have a deal?”

  “We need time,” the director said.

  “You don’t have time. You have ninety minutes. You’d better get cracking if you want to meet the deadline.” Abner broke the connection and looked around. Dennis looked like he was going to explode.

  “Come along, young man. I’m going to show you where the farm truck is. It has a few kinks you need to be aware of. Do not speed on your way. You do know where the Starbucks is, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I. Do.”

  “After the transfer, you head straight for the BOLO Building. Cyrus is going to go with you if Jack okays it.” Jack nodded. Cyrus was already at the door, his tail swishing so fast it felt like a breeze was whipping through the old kitchen.

  When the kitchen door closed behind Charles and Dennis, Abner frowned. “I don’t trust those guys at the CIA.”

  “What? You worked for them for three years!” Ted said.

  “Yeah, and that’s why I don’t trust them. I know what they do, what they’re capable of. They’ll come through. It’s what they’ll do afterward that concerns me. But once the handover happens, we need to create a diversion of some kind so the kid can make a clean getaway.”

  “We just call in to the locals and say there is a sighting o
f Allison Bannon, their rogue agent, in the area of Starbucks. All hell will break loose, and the kid takes it on the lam, with us watching for tails,” Jack said breezily.

  “We need to leave right now,” Charles said when he entered the kitchen. “Like right now. We need to get there ahead of young Dennis. That old truck won’t go over forty-five miles an hour, so it’s safe to say we’ll beat him into town.”

  Five minutes later, a parade of cars roared through the open gates and out to the highway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dennis parked the old farm truck in the Starbucks parking lot and turned off the engine. He opened the door and swung his legs out just as Cyrus let himself out and walked over to take up his position near Dennis. Dennis stroked the animal’s head as he talked to the dog, who appeared to be listening intently. “I know this hunk of junk looks terrible, but it has a new engine. Charles told me the truck was willed to him by an old war buddy who emigrated to Minnesota when their cover was blown while serving under Her Majesty. Charles flew to Minnesota for the funeral and was presented with the truck by his colleague’s children afterward. He treasures it. He also put in seat belts. It has new tires. It’s just the shell that is an eyesore. One eyesore people will remember, like the dudes we’re meeting up with. You following all this, Cyrus?” Dennis asked nervously.

  Cyrus yipped to signal his answer in the affirmative.

  “Charles doesn’t think they’ll follow us back to the farm. Why would they—all they have to do is run the license plate, which is still registered in Minnesota. Charles is really smart to have thought that far ahead back then. Every year, he has faithfully renewed it. Ah, I hear Harry and your master. You know the rule. You stay here and don’t give up anything like running to greet Jack. Yeah, yeah, I know he talked to you before he left, but you’re a dog, Cyrus!” Cyrus bared his teeth in a vicious snarl. “Stop trying to scare me. I got your schtick a long time ago. And you obey orders. Okay, there they go. Look sharp, Cyrus! I know you live to bite someone’s ass, and it might happen, so stay alert.” Cyrus quivered from head to toe in wild anticipation of the possibility signaled by the reporter’s words actually happening.