Bert grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
“Well?” Jack snapped.
“It’s the British Embassy. It was on the news this morning. Seems the premises suddenly became overrun with vermin. It’s going to be closed for two weeks. Exterminators will be going in and out trying to control the situation.”
All Jack and Harry could do was gape at the FBI agent. “How in the hell did he pull that off?” Jack asked, his voice full of awe. When there was no response, he shrugged.
“So, does that mean the girls will be ditching the Suburbans to pick up exterminator trucks?” Harry asked, his voice just as shocked as Jack’s.
Bert laughed. “That would be my take on it. That guy Charles has a brass set, I’ll give him that. I think this calls for another round!”
Chapter 8
The mood in the newsroom of the Post was sullen at best. Reporters sat with their heads down as they pecked away at their keyboards. Half the cubicles were empty, an indication colleagues were out beating the bushes in hopes of landing a job with security.
Liam Sullivan stomped his way down the corridor to the newsroom, where he took in the scene at a glance. He bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Listen up, people, this goddamn paper is not on the auction block. This is the last time I’m going to tell you that. Now, if you don’t like it, don’t believe me, pack your shit and walk out the door.” To his surprise his top sportswriter and the columnist for the Sunday Home & Garden section got up and left. Neither said good-bye, and neither looked back.
Ted Robinson raised his head and looked directly at Sullivan, daring him to say something, which he did.
“So, what’s going on with your mystery series?” Sullivan snarled.
Ted snorted. There was no reason to lie, so he didn’t. “We’re coming up with dead ends. I want to continue working it if that’s okay. I have people on it.”
“Well, until you come up with something, here’s an assignment for you. Get your ass over to the British Embassy and see what they’re defining as vermin. To me vermin means rats. The people in this town want to know all about it, so we can have some major hysteria at 3100 Massachusetts Avenue. I want full details. Like where is the staff staying, who moved them out, all of the etceteras. Housing two hundred fifty diplomats and six hundred staffers has to present major problems. Get some interviews, see who is pissed off and who isn’t. See if you can get some pictures of the pesky little devils while you’re at it, the vermin, not the staff. Be sure to get a picture of the Churchill statue. Most people don’t know that one of Churchill’s feet is inside the embassy and the other outside in the District of Columbia. Work in a history lesson. Play up Embassy Row and how the Brits were the first to build an embassy and that’s how Massachusetts Avenue got the name Embassy Row. You should be able to get a couple of days’ news out of it. You’re still sitting here, Robinson.”
Rats. Vermin. This was what he’d been reduced to. Seething inside, Ted grabbed his backpack and headed for the main corridor that would take him to the elevator. “Shit!” he said succinctly as he jabbed at the button on the wall.
Ted’s cell phone rang just as he exited the building. He moved away from the pedestrians and leaned against the wall. “Whatcha got, Tick? Tell me you found something. Sullivan is ragging my ass, and I’m on my way over to the British Embassy to check out the vermin problem.” He listened to the voice on the other end of the wire, his mood darkening by the second. “Nobody drops off the face of the earth without leaving some kind of clue. When five people disappear at the same time, there has to be a reason. Yeah, yeah, you keep telling me about the Privacy Act. We both know there are ways around that, so earn the goddamn money I paid you and come up with something. Dig deeper, Tick.” Ted listened again, then sputtered some more when he asked, “What do you mean, where am I? What difference does it make where I am? You can reach either me or Joe 24/7 on our cells, but if you really need to know, I’m on my way to the British Embassy to take some pictures of rats and of the Winston Churchill statue.” The sound of strangled laughter forced him to snap the phone shut but not before he heard the words, “Oh how the mighty have fallen.”
And it was true. This was a shit detail if ever there was one. At least Joe lucked out with the sports beat, not that he knew anything about sports. Christ, what was the Post coming to these days? He’d give everything he owned to know if the paper was being sold or not. He felt like crossing his fingers the way he had when he was a kid and making three wishes. What the hell would he wish for? In the order of importance of course. For Maggie to return. For the rumor to be proven false. For Jack Emery to fall down a deep, dark hole that he couldn’t get out of—along with all the members of the Sisterhood. Maybe that was three and a half or maybe even four wishes. Like he had a snowball’s chance in hell of any of them coming true.
Ted planned to walk to the British Embassy for two reasons: to delay the inevitable and to get some exercise at the same time. The minute he felt the first raindrop, he headed to the curb to hail a taxi. Screw the exercise. Screw the rats. Screw Liam Sullivan and the frigging Post.
“I know you, you’re that reporter for the Post,” the driver said the minute Ted settled himself and strapped on his seat belt. “That’s a hell of a thing about the Post being sold. What’s this world coming to? I heard some Chinese group is buying it.”
Christ. “Who told you it was the Chinese?”
“Two fares ago. The guy was all spit and polish, slicked-back hair, expensive threads. Seemed to know what he was talking about.” The driver tilted his head back, giving the impression he was about to impart a secret. “The guy said he thought somehow the Saudis were behind it because they have so much money in our banks. What do you think of that, Mister Reporter?”
“I think it sucks,” Ted said.
“Yeah, that’s what my wife said when I called her to tell her. She’s really up on the politics of this town. She used to work for a congressman, and she said he was a nutcase and his staff did all the work and all he did was go to lunch.”
“Sounds about right to me,” Ted said.
The rest of the trip was made in silence as the driver and passenger contemplated each other’s words. When the driver pulled to the curb, Ted gave him an outrageous tip, knowing full well he’d have to go to the mat with Sullivan when he turned in his expense account. Like he gave a shit one way or the other.
Ted stood on the curb gazing up at the impressive-looking building known as the British Embassy. Just for a moment he felt a little in awe of the structure. He’d been here in July of 2005, when the U.S. Army band played “God Save The Queen” outside the embassy in remembrance of the victims of the London bombings on July 7, 2005. He remembered how choked up he was. When he’d written his account of the event, he made sure to let his readers know about the British remembrance service for the attack on September 11, 2001, when the American National Anthem was played outside Buckingham Palace. There weren’t many dry eyes that day.
And now, here he was three years later, getting ready to take pictures of some rats. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.
It took only fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t going to get inside to take any pictures at all. The place was tight as a drum. No sign of life at all. Yellow crime-scene tape was stretched across the front door. Huh? Ted shrugged. Rats must be considered criminals in the minds of the Brits.
Now what the hell was he supposed to do? What any good reporter would do who was soaking wet and had an aversion to all vermin: lunch and a call to his boss.
Liam Sullivan’s voice almost blasted his eardrums. “You’re supposed to be a goddamn reporter, Robinson. Figure out something. Or, how’s this for a clever idea? The embassy operates consulates general in Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, Houston, Los Angeles, New York, Dallas, Denver, Miami, Seattle, and San Francisco. Maybe they can help you.”
Ted’s jaw dropped. “How do you know that? How do you have that information on the tip of your tongue?” His voice was f
ull of awe at the EIC’s monologue.
“I heard it on the goddamn news this morning, that’s how.”
Ted clamped his mouth shut, then opened it again. “There’s no sign of life, Chief. No exterminator trucks or anything like that. There should be somebody here. It doesn’t make sense. I think there’s something fishy going on.”
“Look numbnuts, they’re probably taking bids on the job. It’s a big place and it’s going to be an expensive job and they want the most bang for their buck. The Brits never act in haste. You could try some of the other embassies to see if they have a similar problem. Stake it out, Robinson. Why the hell am I telling you how to do your job, anyway?” the EIC snarled again.
“Because you love me?” Not waiting for a reply and knowing he was pushing his luck, Ted closed his cell phone with a snap before he sauntered around the corner in the hopes of finding someplace to eat. He found a place called Ellie’s Eatery and walked into a jam-packed shop with people waiting in line for take-out. While he waited for his turn and a table in the crowded room, he let his mind race. Rats. Exterminators. Almost a thousand people displaced by vermin. How strange was that? Surely the staff just didn’t walk in one morning and see hundreds of rats? Wouldn’t it have been a gradual process that would have been taken care of at the first sign of one of the creatures, especially since half the staff was female? He didn’t know why, but his reporter’s gut instinct was telling him there was something weird about the whole rat thing.
Something really weird.
The late-afternoon sunshine bathed the women in its warm glow as they waited for the cable car that would take them to the bottom of Big Pine Mountain. Charles stood off to the side talking to Myra and Annie, who were decked out in flashy tourist clothes. Outward appearances for this mission, according to Charles, were important.
They all watched as the huge cable car slid into its berth. Kathryn stepped in, a small folder tucked under her Windbreaker. She would take the lead Suburban, drive it as far as Fairfax, Virginia, where she would stop at a motel/gas station and trade in her Suburban for an Econoline Van belonging to a newly established exterminating company located in Reston, Virginia. By the time she put the Suburban in gear and the cable car was back on top of the mountain, she would be ten miles down the road. The other departures would be staggered so that their arrivals did not coincide. Each of the Suburbans would be swapped out at various locations either at the North Carolina border or in Virginia. Charles’s last order was that they were to call one another in teams and leave their cell phones on in case anything went awry. Kathryn was hooked to Isabelle, Yoko to Annie, Alexis to Nikki. Myra was locked in to Charles, as she and Annie would be the last ones to leave the mountain. According to Charles, it was a spiffy plan.
The departure took a full hour before Charles was left standing alone with the two dogs for company. Both animals whined and ignored the man who controlled the cable car. “Come along, boys, and I’ll fix us all a big steak. With all the fixin’s, as Kathryn puts it.”
The dogs’ ears perked up as they trotted behind the only person left who would throw a stick, feed them, and even tussle with them if time permitted.
Charles loved to cook—the more exotic the recipe, the better he liked it. But he was also a meat-and-potatoes man at times. This was one of those times. He could feel his tongue start to water at the thought of the Kobe steaks Pappy had left in the freezer for him. Meat that cooked up so tender you could cut it with a fork. A little peppercorn marinade, a few minutes on the grill, and served with a mango-avocado salsa. A nice summer salad with chunky blue cheese and a few dinner rolls from the freezer, and the three of them would be good to go.
Surely he would get to eat his dinner in peace. Surely nothing would crop up that needed his attention before tomorrow. The plan as far as he could tell was absolutely foolproof. But in the back of his mind he was apprehensive. He knew only too well how Murphy’s Law went. What could go wrong, would go wrong.
Charles placed the cell phone on the counter as he set to work to prepare his and the dogs’ dinner. Things went smoothly for the next four hours. He was actually dozing in his chair while a game show he’d never seen before played out for the dogs’ benefit. His second cell phone was vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked down at it. His heart kicked up a beat when he clicked it open and brought it to his ear.
Hundreds of miles away, Kathryn Lucas pulled into a seedy-looking motel and drove to the back end of the empty parking lot. It was almost midnight, and only one lone light shone down. She got out of the Suburban, announcing her intentions to Isabelle, who was not yet at her own destination. Kathryn giggled when she heard her fellow Sister say, “That’s a ten-four, over and out. I still have forty miles to go. Talk later.”
Kathryn walked into the dingy motel office and tapped the bell on the counter. She heard movement from the room behind the front desk as someone walked across a wooden floor. She looked up and froze, her eyes almost popping out of her head. The man coming toward her was as big as a grizzly bear and looked it, too.
“Big Sis!”
“Joe!”
They stared at one another, both suddenly speechless.
Kathryn panicked, hoping Isabelle was listening. “Listen, Joe…”
The big man put his finger to his lips. “Shhh, Cass and I are on your side. We saw the way it went down. You don’t owe me an explanation, and I don’t want to hear one if you’re thinking of offering one. No one is here, Sis. You’re safe, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Kathryn closed her eyes for a second until the panic washed away. “You’re the last person I expected to see here today, Joe. How’s Cass? Is this your place?”
“Cass is fine since she got her new hip. I wish I was someplace else myself, but I’m stuck with this dump. Me and Cass, we made a bad decision, but at the time we made it, it seemed right. We sold our truck stop and moved here to be closer to the kids. We made enough money to pay cash for this place, but as you can see, who in their right mind would want to stop here? We had great plans, but Angie’s husband left her with three kids, so we had to pick up that slack. Joe Jr. fell from a roofing job he was on and was laid up for almost two years. We had to take on his family, too. Cass can’t do much yet, but she’s improving every day. We won’t have to worry about this place much longer. We owe so many bills we could wallpaper this whole place. Got liens out the kazoo. Now, enough about me. C’mere, give me a big hug and tell me what the hell you’re doing here. No, no, don’t tell me that. Are you by any chance the one supposed to be picking up that white van some guy in dark glasses dropped off today?”
“Yeah, I’m that person. Listen, Joe, about…”
“No, you listen, Sis,” he said, calling Kathryn by her old trucking handle of Big Sis. “I don’t care about none of that. I’m just so damn glad to see you and know you’re all right. Cass is never going to believe this. Can you wait a minute for me to wake her up? She’ll kick me all the way to the Maryland border if you go out of here without saying hello.”
Kathryn nodded as her mind raced. “Joe, do you have a computer I could use?”
“You know it. It’s all I have going on. Day in, day out. Cass does a knitting class three days a week on it. Seems like playing on that damn thing is our life these days.”
“Do you bank online?”
“Yeah, actually I was just doing that when you walked in. I hate doing it during the day because it seems worse in broad daylight. Nighttime it’s still grim, but at least I can handle it. Go ahead, just X me out and do what you gotta do. I’ll go get Cass. Give me a few minutes. You know, Cass, she’ll want to pretty up a bit. Jesus, it’s good to see you, Sis.”
“You, too, Joe. Listen, I don’t have much time. I’m on a real tight schedule.”
“Gotcha. Help yourself to the computer.”
Kathryn walked over to the computer and looked at the screen. She felt sick at what she saw. “Isabelle, click off. I’m sure you
heard the conversation. I have to do something about Joe and Cass.”
“I hear you, Kathryn. Go for it. I’m reading your mind.” A second later the line was free, and Kathryn was talking to Charles.
“Charles, I only have a minute so listen to me because I don’t have the time to repeat anything. Copy down this bank account number.” Kathryn rattled it off, then said, “I want you to transfer a hundred thousand dollars into this account. No, make that two hundred thousand. These people who own the motel used to own a truck stop where I stopped on a weekly basis. They recognized me. They’re good people, Charles, and they’ve had a bit of bad luck. Take it off the top of the emergency fund.”
“That’s impossible, Kathryn, there is no time to be doing something like this. I’m sorry.”
“You will do it, Charles, and you will hit those keys right now. I’m not leaving here until I see that money in their account. And by the way, the Suburban stays here, too, minus the plates. I’ll take them with me. Now means now, Charles.”
“Kathryn…”
“I said now. I’m hanging up, Charles. You have five minutes. If you don’t comply, the deal is off, and I’m outta here.” Kathryn didn’t give Charles a chance to say anything else, she simply ended the call. She stared at the account information she was seeing on the screen in front of her. It was amazing, she thought, how at midnight with just a few computer strokes a family’s life could be saved from disaster. She looked down at her watch, three and a half minutes had gone by. Her eyes started to water as she continued to stare at the screen in front of her. She could hear voices coming from somewhere. Just as they got louder to the point where she could distinguish the words, the numbers on the screen started to move. Her fist shot in the air. “Yessss.”
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