9. Hokus Pokus

by Fern Michaels

  Charles eyed the cable car. Unlike the mountain back in Spain, where if one were part mountain lion, one might be able to climb the mountain, this mountain could not be accessed by foot. And he knew for a fact that Havapopulas had the entire mountain booby-trapped. One either arrived by helicopter or by cable car. Safety-wise, this mountain was more secure, safer than the one back in Spain.

  His eyes were still twitching. He needed to think about his immediate problem instead of his surroundings. The moment his eyes stopped twitching, Charles whistled for the two dogs, who were busy sniffing every bush in sight, and headed back to Kollar Havapopulas’s command center.

  Charles stopped at the bottom of the steps to look up at the 3,000-square-foot log cabin that had been Kollar’s home for over ten years. State of the art. Rustically beautiful as well as comfortable. He looked to the left to see the huge satellite dishes that were camouflaged from the air. As Kollar said, even the CIA, the FBI and the White House didn’t have anything near what was on this mountain, thanks to the billionaire industrialists that employed Havapopulas. The best part, though, was that the mountain was owned outright by Kollar and his father, Spiros, which was the reason why he and the women could reside here until such time as both he and Kollar deemed it time to move on.

  Charles took a mighty breath and then exhaled as he approached Kollar’s computer where dozens of emails waited to be read. He scanned them quickly and then pressed a button. The emails printed out faster than bullets. Twice his fist shot in the air at what he was reading. A moment later, his special phone was activated. Call after call was made at the speed of light. More emails flooded his screen and then printed out.

  “All righttttt!” He looked down at the dogs, who were lying at his feet. “We’re in business, boys.” Murphy rose to his feet as he offered his paw to Charles, a sign that he understood what the big man was saying. Not to be outdone, Grady waved his tail and offered up his paw, too. Charles laughed, a rollicking sound of hilarity as he went back to his computer, his fingers flying over the keys.

  Ted Robinson woke slowly, his eyelids fluttering. He knew instantly where he was and what had transpired. He let his gaze swing around the workout room in Harry Wong’s dojo. He saw two skinny little guys with a thousand pounds of horsepower in their feet and hands playing a game with tiles. Only a fool would think he could take on either one of the men and he was no fool. What to do? Maybe if he pretended to be sick he could get away when they tried to help him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was smart enough to know he had no options. Pure and simple he was a prisoner. His brain clicked into high gear. Did they take the cell phone that was in his pocket? No, he could feel it pressing against his leg. If there was some way to get it out of his pocket maybe he could click it on and press in 911. Would his captors then whisk him away or would they put him to sleep again? He simply didn’t know.

  He had to get out of here and he had to do it fast. Maybe there was a way to trick them. The two one-hundred-ten-pound men might be physical powerhouses but they looked to him like they were lacking in the brain-power department. How could he do it? How could he trick them? His mind churned backward to his previous thought of pretending to be sick. He lay perfectly still even though he’d developed an itch in his leg. He wanted to scratch it so bad he thought he would scream out his frustration any second.

  Two minutes passed, and then three. He could see the green numbers on his oversized watch. When five minutes passed, he rolled over and started to cough. Then he stuck his finger down his throat and gagged. Alarmed, the two martial experts stood and looked down at him. They jabbered between themselves and then at him. Ted rolled over the other way so they could see his face. They pointed to him and continued to jabber. He retched again, this time spewing forth the results of his earlier meal. One of the men ran toward what Ted assumed was a washroom while the other man bent lower to peer at him. Ted raised his head slightly and then with all the force in his body he slammed his head up into the man’s groin. The little man emitted a howl of pain as he doubled over and dropped to the floor. A heartbeat later Ted was at the door that he slammed open and then he was running for his life. He looked over his shoulder once and lost his momentum but as far as he could see no one was following him.

  Winded, Ted staggered out to the curb and hailed the first cab coming his way before he realized his backpack was back at the dojo. Son of a bitch! Now what was he supposed to do? Everything of any importance was in that damn bag, even his laptop with all his notes, his thoughts and the sappy letters he’d written to Maggie but didn’t have the guts to send. Shit, shit, shit!

  “Driver, drop me off at the Post, will you?” Thank God his wallet—with his money, his ATM card and his credit cards—was still in his back pocket.

  Ted leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. Would his boss Liam Sullivan believe him when he told him he’d been abducted on Jack Emery’s orders? Probably not. If he told Sullivan what he suspected, he was giving up what he thought of as a possible scoop on the vigilantes. He remembered only too well how Sullivan had chastised him for seeing vigilantes everywhere he looked. Sullivan had ended up by telling him he was obsessed and to get a life. Nah, he was keeping Sullivan out of the loop and going solo on his obsession.

  “Driver, I changed my mind, take me home.” Ted rattled off his address and then leaned back again and closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until the driver barked out their arrival.

  Ted paid the driver and then took the steps three at a time to get to the lobby of the building he lived in. He rode the elevator to his floor, got out, looked around and then entered his apartment. Mickey and Minnie ran to the door. “Nope, it’s just me, guys. Maggie isn’t here.” Mickey hissed and backed off. Minnie stalked him, nipping at his pants leg. He dumped some dry cat food into a bowl. Both cats looked up at him as though to say, “We’re not eating that crap, where’s the salmon Maggie always feeds us?” “So starve already,” Ted muttered as he stomped his way into the spare bedroom he used as an office.

  Ted clicked on the computer and while it booted up he raced out to the kitchen for a beer. He chugged from the bottle as he made his way back to his office. For the most part everything on his laptop was on this computer or the one at the Post. He transferred everything to a memory stick and then hid the stick in the toe of one of his smelly sneakers. Then he deleted everything on the computer.

  The beer bottle was empty so he went back to the kitchen for a second one. He then decided to Google the G-String Girls. He printed out reams of information from a PR firm who, he decided, had nothing better to do in life but document every little tidbit on the red-hot women. Did he really care what brand of toothpaste the one named Mandy used? Did he give a good rat’s ass what size feet the one named Kelly had? Was his life incomplete because he didn’t know how many piercings the one named Cindy had? No, he did not care. Not one damn bit. He did sit up a little straighter when he saw that all of the G-String Girls had tattoos on their ankles. Aha, Claudia had a strawberry mark on the inside of her left thigh. Yesirree, the world really needed to know that.

  The moment the computer finished printing, Ted stacked the papers into a neat pile. He’d used almost a ream of paper. Five hundred sheets to a ream. No one was that important.

  The heavy reading ahead of him, Ted fortified himself with a third beer and a bag of stale chips that he scarfed down before he got to his desk.

  Three hours later, Ted bolted off his chair and headed for the kitchen again. His throat was dry, parched, actually, from reading all about the G-String Girls, and his eyes were gritty from reading but now he had information he could use. He looked down at his watch. He’d lost track of time but Jack Emery never slept, or so he said, and who gave a shit if he woke him up or not. He’d ring his damn phone till the district attorney couldn’t stand to hear it ring. Before he could change his mind, he punched in Emery’s number. As the cell on the other end rang, Ted plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs, kicked off his
shoes and propped his feet up on the table. If only Maggie could see him now. She’d give him a swat that would knock him off the chair and then Clorox the table.

  Nine rings later, Ted knew Emery either had the phone off or he’d seen his name on the little screen. Ted redialed as he swigged from the bottle in his hand.

  An hour later with no response, Ted dialed Harry Wong’s number. He didn’t answer, either. Next he dialed Maggie’s number. She didn’t answer, either. Batting zip, Ted decided to scramble some eggs when his stomach started to growl. He kept calling each of the three phones as he whipped and stirred. Finally, frustrated, he reached for the portable phone, dialed Emery’s number again and then kept hitting redial when there was no answer. He cleaned his plate and dumped the dishes in the sink. He was walking away when he remembered Maggie wouldn’t be doing the dishes. He retraced his steps, the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and washed his dishes.

  Ted was tugging at his clothes to get ready for bed when he heard Jack Emery’s angry voice. Ted stopped and leaned up against the wall, a smirk on his face. So it was true, persistence really did pay off, but then he already knew that.

  “Well, hi there, Jack. Just wanted you to know I got away from those goons. I’m filing a police report on you, you son of a bitch. Goes to show how smart you and your goons are. I just wanted to give you a call to tell you I figured it all out. I know what’s going on. I know it all.”

  “Congratulations! You must have me confused with someone you think cares about your deductive skills. Stop calling me, you asshole.”

  Ted lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Hey, asshole, I know the G-String Girls are the vigilantes. How’s that for my deductive skills?” Ted could hear laughter on the other end of the phone. His skin prickled at the sound. The laughter grew more robust.

  Jack managed to control himself long enough to say, “Boy are you going to sound like a horse’s ass when you spout that crap to anyone who cares to listen. The fans will damn well lynch you if I don’t do it first. Go back to bed or crawl back under your rock. Whatever floats your boat. Just stop calling me.”

  “Okay, Jack, I’m going to call the FBI. They have more than a vested interest in catching your girlfriend and the others. Watch for the story tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You finished?”

  It suddenly dawned on Ted that Emery had been stalling for time. He knew it because Minnie and Mickey were racing for the front door. He stuck his head around the corner, one leg still in his pants, the other out. He tried to stare down the two goons from Harry Wong’s dojo. “You bastards picked my lock. This is a home invasion. I’m going to screw your skinny asses to the wall. Do you hear me?”

  One of the petite men crooked his finger, indicating Ted should come to them. His smile was almost as evil as Maggie’s when she was pissed off.

  Ted narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out which one of the guys he’d plunked in the nuts. He didn’t have long to wait when he saw the high-flying kick. He went down, excruciating pain rivering up through his entire body. The pain was so bad he wanted to cry. He did cry when the little man butted him a second time and the world went black.

  “Night-night,” the little man sing-songed. His partner reached down and picked up the lanky reporter like he was a sack of rice. He slung him over his shoulder and together the two men left the apartment, careful to make sure the cats stayed behind.

  Chapter 19

  Jack Emery paced the lobby of the Willard hotel, his gaze sweeping to the doorway every few seconds. Where the hell was Maggie? More to the point, where the hell was Harry Wong? He didn’t want to be down here in the lobby. He wanted to be upstairs with Nikki. On top of all that he wanted to kill Charles Martin. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to put his hands around the Brit’s neck so he could squeeze the life out of him.

  He saw Maggie then, frazzled as always, bounding through the door. He held up his hand and waved. He led her across the lobby to two empty chairs where they couldn’t be overheard. “Well?”

  “I need two more tickets,” Maggie said breathlessly.

  Jack’s face went totally blank as he tried to figure out what the reporter was talking about. “Huh?”

  “Tickets. I need two more and I need them right away. That’s as in immediately.”

  Jack smacked his forehead. “Maggie, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Tickets for the G-String Girls concert. I need two more tickets. I had to give mine to my boss so he’d get off my back. Two, Jack, and I need them right away. By the way, you look like shit.”

  Jack ignored her. “We had to snatch Ted. He figured it out.”

  “Well, don’t look at me. I haven’t talked to him. If you recall, it was me who told you he was acting a little weird when the girls first arrived. That was the last time I saw him. That means I gave you a heads-up. If Ted figured it out, you’re on shaky ground, Jack. What do you want me to do? Listen, I really need those tickets.”

  Jack shook his head. This woman was all over the map. “Things are moving at the speed of light. According to Charles, it looks like the real G-String Girls are going to be late arriving here in the States. There was a problem with some of their handlers at the airport. Drugs,” he said succinctly. “That means our girls are going to have to perform. There’s a revolt going on upstairs. Charles has been on the horn every two minutes. Kathryn was supposed to leave for Oregon to take Justice Barnes’s people to a safe location. Now Lizzie is the designated traveler. I have no idea how she’s going to drive a goddamn bus but she’s going to have to do it. Justice Barnes is acting up. Myra is in a tizzy. Annie is having the time of her life and I haven’t had any time with Nikki.”

  Maggie did her best to absorb all Jack was telling her. She, like Jack, shook her head to clear away her thoughts of Abner and the tickets so she could concentrate. “Like I said, what do you want me to do?” was the best she could come up with.

  “Not me. Charles. He wants you to arrange another meeting with Tyler Hughes and somehow get Grant Conlon to that same meeting. The girls will take it from there. Can you do it, Maggie?”

  Maggie’s mind raced, her shoulders slumping as she recalled her last meeting with Hughes. “It’s not going to be easy but I’ll give it a try. Where and when do you want this meeting to take place?”

  “Nikki’s house in Georgetown, where I now live, and we need that meeting immediately. This way the girls can get in and out without too much trouble. Personally, I don’t like it but no one seems to care what I think at the moment. Charles thinks the Georgetown address will work in our favor. We need to do this quickly. As to Conlon, I think if you call him to set up the meeting and tell him Justice Barnes will be there, he’ll show up. Then your job is done.”

  Maggie worked at a strand of hair, twirling it between her fingers. “What if I can’t entice them to the meeting? Hughes flipped me the bird at our last meeting. I don’t even know Grant Conlon and couldn’t pick him out of a crowd of two. Don’t look at me like that, Jack. I’ll try and do my best. I can’t force them to a meeting.”

  “Then threaten them. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? They’re not going to want to see themselves in print. Call me as soon as you have the meet set up.”

  “Just like that you want me to threaten two high-profile people. I could end up in jail. I need those tickets first. I’m serious, Jack.”

  “All right, all right!” Jack motioned to one of the police officers stationed next to the door. He held a whispered conversation with the officer as he dialed Nikki’s number.

  Ten minutes later the officer handed over two tickets to Jack.

  Maggie literally snatched the tickets from Jack’s hands. She ran over to the concierge’s desk, asked for an envelope, slipped in the tickets and scribbled a note from a sticky pad that said, Pick me up at the paper an hour before the concert. “Can you messenger this to the address on the envelope?” she asked the concierge. She handed over twenty-fiv
e dollars and walked away, her heart kicking up a beat at what she’d just done. She wondered what Abner would think when he opened the envelope and saw the tickets and her note.

  One wet dream coming up. She wasn’t sure if it would be Abner’s or hers.

  “You got any insight on Ted?” Jack asked when she returned to his side.

  “Ted who?” she asked breezily.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s that bad. Okay, I’ll get back to you. Any other instructions?”

  “That’s it for now. Good luck, Maggie.”

  Jack moved off to walk the lobby again before coming to rest near the elevators. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs but that was out of the question. He looked down at his watch and grimaced. The countdown was on. He closed his eyes for a moment as he wondered if Nikki was upstairs thinking of him just the way he was thinking of her. How in the damn hell, he wondered, did it ever come to this? He jerked back to reality when he felt a light touch to his arm. Jack whirled, his hand going inside his jacket to the gun in the holster under his arm. “Damn, Harry, you’re like a spook. You need to cough or something before you come up on me. I could have killed you.”

  Harry snorted. “You and what army? What’s going on?”

  Jack briefed him. “Where’s Ted?”

  Harry laughed. “Our intrepid reporter is trussed up like a turkey and sleeping like a baby. That guy can really cuss. That means he was pissed big-time. He figured it out, Jack. What are we going to do with him when this is over? It is going to be over, right?”