Truth or Dare

by Fern Michaels

  “This is as good a place as any,” Jack said, “especially since it’s already a mess.”

  “We do not know anything. We can’t help you. We came here in good faith to a luncheon to help the countess’s cause with children,” Ryland bleated.

  “Bullshit!” Jack said as he rifled through the folder Charles had handed him on the way out. “See this picture! It’s your boss, Senor Beteo Mezaluma. He’s on his way to the death circuit. Your army is all tied up outside, waiting for the authorities to come for them. You tell us what we want to know, and you can walk out of here.” He looked over at Harry and said, “Get Abner back in here!”

  Harry stepped to the door and bellowed for Abner, who stopped in midsprint and returned to the house. “What?”

  “Show these two gentlemen all those fancy bank accounts they used to have.”

  Abner happily obliged. “What you are seeing on this screen means you are broke. You have no money anywhere in the world, just as Senor Mezaluma has no money. We have it all! Billions. With a b. Take as long as you want to study what you see on the screen.”

  “Things are looking pretty bleak for you right now, guys, ” Jack said. “Just about as bleak as what Abner just told you about your old boss, who is no one’s boss any longer, and his financial situation and future prospects in life. Would you like to place bets on how long he lasts on the death circuit?” Jack said.

  “No more designer suits, no more silk underwear or gourmet food, no more six hundred–dollar hairstyles, no more manicures and pedicures, no more fine wine and first-class travel. The only place you will be traveling to is on a bus to a federal prison, where you will be wearing an orange jumpsuit with no underwear, cardboard sandals, and your hair will be in a ponytail. No reading material, and certainly, there will be no classical music. Well, maybe some rap now and then. Now make nice and tell my colleague what he needs to hear,” Harry said.

  Jack held up his hand. “Remember, I will ask only once. What is the name of the ship that sailed with the last load of children? When did it leave, and what is its destination? And, of course, the date of arrival. We know you two are the ones who coordinate all the travel transfer of the kids.”

  Ryland blustered, “You obviously have us mixed up with two other people.”

  Jack looked at Harry. “I’m taking that as a no, they aren’t interested in helping us. What’s your take?”

  “I agree,” Harry snarled.

  “Okay. We know you’re lying, so . . .” Jack turned to Abner and told him to leave because what was about to go down wasn’t fit for his eyes or ears. Abner didn’t need to be told twice. He ran as if the hounds of hell were on his trail.

  “As I was saying, you, Ryland, love to listen to classical music. Actually, I was told you live for music when you aren’t engaged in coordinating the abduction of helpless children. Now that’s a fact. Roland, I’m told you live to read. Ryland, we’re going to make sure you never hear the sound of music again because we’re going to rupture your eardrums. Harry, do his right ear.”

  “Done!” Harry said. Ryland roared in pain.

  “You’re up, Roland. You will never read another word.” Before Roland could take a breath, Jack dug out one of his eyeballs. Jack could feel Cyrus’s warm breath on his leg. He was panting heavily.

  “No!” Roland screeched. Jack stuffed the eyeball into the palm of his hand. “I suppose you could stick it back in, but it won’t work.”

  “What’s the name of the ship, the destination, the arrival time, and how many children on board?”

  “For God’s sake, tell him or I will,” Roland screeched.

  “The Golden Angel. It sailed out of Charleston, South Carolina, bound for . . . for Saudi Arabia. There are 240 children on board.”

  Harry did what he had to do just as Jack did what he had to do.

  Afterward, they walked out of Annie’s foyer, leaving one man with no eyeballs and a man deaf as a stone. Jack called over his shoulder, “I’d stay put if I were you. Someone will come for you. Or not.”

  * * *

  The short ride back to Pinewood was made in total silence.

  The huge coffee urn was on, but no one seemed interested. No one seemed interested in talking, either.

  “Jack, you need . . . what . . . to go upstairs and take a shower. You’re covered in blood,” Maggie said.

  Jack nodded and headed for the back staircase. Cyrus stayed behind, to everyone’s surprise. He took up his position by the sink.

  “Where is Mr. Snowden?” Dennis asked.

  “I don’t know, son,” Charles said.

  “We have to call . . . someone to . . . come for those . . . creatures.”

  “Yes, we need to do that. And we will. Just as soon as we get ourselves all situated. We need to wait for Jack.”

  Ted walked over to the coffeepot, poured coffee into cups, then handed them out.

  When Jack returned to the kitchen, he reached out for the cup of coffee Ted handed him.

  “The boys and I need to return to the dojo,” Jack said. “They can’t be within a mile of here when the authorities show up.” Charles nodded as he watched the Triad remove all their ninja apparel. “We’ll take it all with us.”

  The Triad made the rounds, shaking hands and bowing. Ky spoke for the others. “While the mission was a success, we . . . we lost a valiant warrior. When we return to China, we will designate a shrine in her name. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

  The Triad walked over to Cyrus, who stood at attention. “Warrior Cyrus, you have our deepest admiration and thanks for taking the lead on our mission. We will also designate a shrine in your name on our return home.”

  Cyrus yipped and held out his paw to be shaken.

  “That’s pretty strong stuff, Cyrus,” Jack said. “Dr. Pappas is going to turn himself inside out when we report in next time.” Cyrus barked happily.

  “I guess we need to clear out, too,” Ted said.

  “Yes. Once I call this in to the name we sent the ledgers to, every alphabet agency in the District will be out here, and they will find their way here to Pinewood, and to you, too, Jack, if those inhuman sons of bitches can describe you to them, so you also need to leave.

  “This way, when the authorities show up, it’s business as usual. Let them prove otherwise. You sure now that you policed the area, and nothing was left behind to tie us or the Triad into what went down at Annie’s farm?”

  “We’re sure,” Jack said.

  “Abner will stay behind here with us,” Charles said. “We need him to bounce the call to Mr. Casselli off a satellite.”

  Fergus made fresh coffee while Abner worked his phone and computer in tandem. “Okay, Phil, make it happen,” he said to the person on the other end of the open line. He handed the phone to Charles.

  “Mr. Casselli, Allison Bannon asked me to call you should she get in harm’s way. I’m doing just that. She said to tell you she left something for you at Countess de Silva’s country estate. The countess, by the way, is out of the country at present. She said you would be able to put two and two together. It is also my sad duty to tell you that Agent Bannon was shot and killed a short while ago.” Charles listened, then said, “It’s not important who I am or what my name is. Ms. Bannon said you were one of the few good guys left and to speak with no one but you, which is what I am doing.”

  Abner ran his finger across his throat to show that Charles had to cut the call or it would be traced. “Good-bye, Mr. Casselli.”

  Fergus waited until Abner left before he poured fresh coffee for himself and Charles. “I feel terrible, Charles.”

  “I know.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Nothing. Would you like to play a game of chess?”

  “Might as well.”

  With things back to normal and the house quiet, Lady took up her position by the kitchen door, her pups alongside her after Charles locked the door.

  Just another day at Pinewood.

&nb
sp; * * *

  The mourners were few in number, just the gang and one man standing off to the side under a tree. A light, misty rain was falling. There were two dozen chairs set up under the blue canopy. But they weren’t all filled. The gang had taken a vote as to what kind of ceremony would be proper. In the end, they decided to forgo a funeral home and a service, opting instead for a nondenominational minister, who said the proper words for the benefit of the three small children sitting in the front row at the grave site.

  The service was somber and short.

  Maggie eyed the Springfield casket. Polished bronze. Top of the line. She looked over at Jack, who simply stared ahead. She wondered what he was seeing, if anything. More than likely he was remembering Allison Bannon and his promise to her that nothing was going to happen. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the minister finished his eulogy. One by one, the mourners walked past the casket and laid a white rose on top.

  Maggie looked over at the kids, who appeared dazed. She remembered someone’s saying that they were full of Benadyrl. To keep them calm. After the service, they were being transported to Las Vegas, where Lizzie would take over. She made a mental note to call Lizzie. Like Jack, she had made a promise to Allison.

  Maggie and Ted were the last to leave the grave site. “Hold on, Ted. I want to talk to that man over there.” Before Ted could stop her, Maggie sprinted to where a very tall, kind-looking man stood. “Maggie Spritzer. I’m a reporter for the Post,” she said, holding out her hand. “I think you might be Luka Casselli. Am I right?” The man nodded. “Allison said you were an honorable man. She trusted you. She confided in me.”

  “Your point?” the big man said.

  “Who paid for this funeral? That’s a pretty pricey casket. You issued an STK on her, and yet I didn’t see anything in any paper except our own about what she did for your agency.”

  “I refused to issue the STK. I quit on the spot. I paid for this funeral out of my retirement fund. Any more questions?”

  “Not a question. A statement. I damn well hate you and your people.”

  “Totally understandable,” the man said, walking away. After taking two steps, he turned around and said, “Everything isn’t always black or white, miss. Please remember that. Perhaps someday we can talk about this.”

  “C’mon, Maggie, let’s go home,” Ted said.

  “I don’t want to go home. Let’s go get something to eat. I want to come back here after . . . after they . . . lower the casket into the ground.”

  “Why? Do you think someone is going to run off with the casket?”

  “No. I just want to see it finished.”

  “Then let’s just wait in the car. I’m not hungry.”

  “That works for me,” Maggie said, heading for the car.

  An hour later, Allison Bannon’s grave was filled in. The workers and their equipment had been loaded onto a pickup truck. The awning and folding chairs went into another truck, with a tarp over them. Other than the fresh earthy mound of dirt that would eventually sink, it looked like there never had been a funeral.

  Maggie ran as fast as she could through the rain with Ted following close behind. She dropped to her knees in the soft earth at the base of the headstone. She traced the carved letters of Allison’s name with her index finger. “This is not her real birth date. The death date is correct. Mother of Carrie, Emily, and Andy. That’s correct, too. It doesn’t say wife. And do you see what these two letters are at the base of the stone? A.T. What does that mean to you, Ted?”

  “I don’t have the faintest clue. I suppose you do. We’re getting soaked here, so spit it out, and let’s go home.”

  “A.T, Ted. A.T means Agnes Twitt. Allison Bannon isn’t buried here. I thought there was something funny about that Springfield casket. Allison Bannon is alive somewhere, and I betcha Avery Snowden is behind it all. He spirited her away. No one was supposed to know. No one. Even Jack, who is taking the blame for her death.”

  Ted’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he stared at the initials A.T. “Are you sure?”

  “Damn straight I’m sure. Why else would that guy Casselli show up here? To make us all think this is for real. I bet he helped Snowden spirit her away. I know I’m right. I just know it.”

  Ted knew it, too. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her back to the car.

  “Do you think they fixed her pearls, Ted? You know, they were askew. ‘Askew,’ who uses words like that nowadays? Why didn’t I say ‘crooked’ or use some word other than ‘askew’?” Maggie babbled.

  “Let’s go get a steak and a cold pitcher of beer. We can toast Agnes since no one else is here to do it. Does that sound like a plan?”

  “Okay. Let’s get drunk, Ted, and call an Uber to take us home, where we can do other things.”

  “Now that is the best and nicest thing you have said all day. I. Am. Your. Man.”

  * * *

  The private airport in Orlando was quiet, with no planes taking off or arriving. There was only Ky Moon’s Gulfstream, which was being readied for takeoff.

  Boxes and colorful shopping bags littered the tarmac as the Triad approached the plane. The portable stairway was already in place, and the pilot and copilot were on board for the long trip back to China.

  Seven days had passed since their arrival, and as with all good things, they had to end at some point. The Triad jibber jabbered on about how they had reverted to the age of ten and been kids again. Ky turned to the young woman standing next to Momo. “Thank you for sharing your children with us to enjoy this magical place. You were a wonderful tour guide, Allison.”

  “I had as much fun as you did. We still have some hours left before you drop me off in Boise, Idaho, to start my new life. I’m a pretty wicked chess player. It’s I who should be thanking you.”

  “Ladies first,” Ling said, motioning to the stairs. Allison Bannon scampered up the steps like a sleek panther. She stood in the open doorway, her gaze searching for a certain face. When she saw it, she shot off a stiff salute.

  The man who was the recipient of the stiff salute offered up one in return.

  “Have a good life, Tea Pope. You’ve earned it.”

  Epilogue

  Months later

  Cyrus let loose with a loud bark, then another. The mail had just been dropped through the mail slot on the front door. “I hear it, Cyrus,” Jack said, getting up from his chair at the conference room table. “I’ll get it; you welcome our guests.”

  Today was the day the gang was having their Christmas luncheon. It was early in the month, but they had all voted for this day because this year, finally, they were getting to take a vacation. It had taken months of planning between the girls and themselves, but finally they had managed to come up with a viable two-week period that was perfect for everyone.

  “I cannot wait to get to the islands,” Maggie said, her teeth chattering. “I’ve been looking forward to this since October. What’s for lunch?”

  “It was delivered right before the mail. Something for everyone: Chinese, Italian, ribs, veggies, and cheesecake. We have beer, wine, and soda, and, of course, coffee,” Jack said. “Before we dig in, we need to thank Dennis for the Christmas tree he set up and all the decorations we’ve been privy to these past few weeks. He also volunteered to take it all down before we leave, so a round of applause to our youngest and richest colleague, Dennis!” Jack said.

  The gang hooted, hollered, whistled, and stamped their feet, to Dennis’s delight.

  Maggie proceeded to hand out plates and silverware along with napkins. Ted poured the drinks.

  “Anything in the mail besides bills?” Abner asked.

  “I don’t know, let me look. Are you expecting something?” Jack asked.

  “No. But we don’t usually get bulky yellow packages like the one you just got,” Abner responded.

  Jack frowned. It was true. He should have noticed that, but his thoughts were on his and Nikki’s trip to Paris.

  Jack ripped o
pen the envelope. “Whoa! What have we here!”

  “What? What? What?” the gang chorused.

  “It’s from Tea Pope. No return address, and the stamp is so blurred I can’t see where it was sent from.”

  “Well, what is it?” Maggie demanded.

  “Pictures! The kids. Boy, they’ve grown in eight months. Allison looks happier than a pig in a mud slide. Look at the little guy. The back of the picture says the cat he’s holding is Baby Boo, but Baby Boo turned out to be Baby Booette, and they now have six kittens that Andy takes care of. Emily has two rabbits, and she named them Maggie and Dennis. Carrie has two springer spaniels named Jack and Harry.”

  “They look so happy,” Maggie said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when Jack read the short note, which the kids had signed, along with Tea.

  Abner was the last at the table to handle the pictures, which he returned to the mailing envelope. “I do have a question, guys. Don’t go getting uppity at the term guys, Maggie. You are one of the guys, and you know it. Phil wants to know what you guys want him to do with all that money he squirreled away for all of us.”

  “To be decided,” Charles said. “We did do what Allison wanted us to do with Lizzie’s help, which is to help in the war to save and work for missing and exploited children. We donated every cent. It won’t eliminate what’s going on, but it will put a serious dent in the operation. A new hydra will rear up sooner rather than later. That’s when we can delve into all that other money and make it work.

  “Lizzie told me that, on Allison’s instructions, she sent a bucket load of money to Luka Casselli. Anonymously, of course. She told him where it came from, and he didn’t have a bit of trouble accepting it. He’s retired on some island that has no phones and no electricity. He lives with candles and propane. Fishes for his food, has a garden, and has learned how to cook,” Charles said.

  “Who should we toast?” Fergus asked as he poured champagne into funny-looking paper cups.

  “I know! I know!” Maggie squealed.