Cross Roads

by Fern Michaels

  “The lady is aching a bit. She loves Hank Jellicoe, that’s the bottom line. Unfortunately, Marti has a knack for picking the wrong men. She herself mentioned it.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you got?” Maggie asked in disbelief.

  “That’s it. When I was leaving, she did say something I thought was strange. She said Hank had an agenda, and he used her. She also reminded me she couldn’t discuss White House business with me. I really didn’t ask questions. Marti is smart, and she would have picked up on anything that didn’t sit well with her.

  “Oh, she did ask if I had read the Post this morning and wanted to know if I heard anything about a world summit that met at thirty thousand feet in the air. A meeting neither she nor any representative was invited to.”

  Maggie was about to bite into the banana. She stopped and stared at Lizzie. “I thought you said you didn’t get anything. That’s pretty much something, in my opinion.”

  “Ya think, Maggie?” Lizzie teased as she, too, tackled a banana. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that very minute. “She said her staff apprised her of the meeting. She didn’t say thirty thousand feet; those are my words based on what the girls said. She pretty much passed it off, at least I think that’s what she was doing, as something the blogs were writing about just to stir up trouble. I went out on a limb and told her that, as commander in chief of this great country, she had the resources to pull in Hank Jellicoe. She said no, she’d be the laughingstock of the free world. I think she really believes she was, as the young people today put it, dumped. She keeps moving the ring from one place to another, whatever that means. That’s it, Maggie, the sum total of what I got out of the luncheon. Ooops, I did casually mention that I knew people who might want to help. She knew exactly what I was talking about and she almost, I say almost, ran with it, but then she backed off. She did mention the new columns in the paper and the story you put in about someone seeing the ‘new’ Hank Jellicoe. In short, Maggie, as much as she wants to trust me, she doesn’t.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo!” Maggie snapped as she scrounged around in her desk drawer for a power bar or something to chew on.

  “Have you and Ted come up with anything?”

  “Ted is onto something. He’s like a crazy man out there. That’s how he works, and I just love it. The blogs are so busy we can’t handle them. Drudge’s people are hitting the blogs, but I can smell them. When are the girls calling the big boys?”

  “Probably when I get back to the farm and report in. They have until midnight, unless they change their minds. What about your hacker friend, Maggie? Do you have him on this?”

  “You know I do. I get sick to my stomach when I think about having to tell Annie what it’s costing. That guy could retire right now and live like a king somewhere on what we’ve paid out to him. You should see the real estate he owns, compliments of the Post! Oceanfront!” Maggie snarled.

  Lizzie laughed. “What would you do without him?”

  “Shrivel up and die. He wrote the software for the FBI, the CIA, and the Pentagon. There is no firewall he can’t penetrate, and he always writes in a back door that no one but he can find. Tell me that isn’t impressive!”

  “Then I guess he’s worth all that oceanfront property. Has he come up with anything?”

  “Not yet, but it’s only been a few hours. If there’s something to be found, he’ll find it.”

  “Well, there you go; you just convinced yourself he’s worth every penny you pay him.” Lizzie looked at her watch. “I should get moving. It’s after four, and I don’t want to hit rush-hour traffic.”

  “Lizzie, what do you honestly think about all of this?”

  “Ask me that question tomorrow after the girls make their decision, and I talk personally, one-on-one, with Ari Gold.”

  “How long are you staying, Lizzie?”

  “As long as it takes or until I’m satisfied the girls are safe.”

  Maggie nodded. “I thought that’s what you’d say. That’s all good. It is, isn’t it, Lizzie?”

  “Ask me that tomorrow, too. If you need me, call.”

  “Do you need me to walk you to the elevator?”

  Lizzie laughed out loud. “I’m a big girl, didn’t you notice? I think I can find my way. Don’t work too hard.”

  “Never happen,” Maggie said, waving with one hand. She was back in the world of blogs and Twitters and Drudge’s wingnuts.

  Chapter 19

  It wasn’t a party atmosphere poolside, but it was crowded, and the iced tea and lemonade flowed as the Sisters huddled under the awning and talked. Charles bustled about replenishing drinks and setting out snacks. The Sisters dived into a fresh batch of delicious-looking brownies that Nellie and Elias had brought with them. The only members missing were the guys and Maggie, who were knee deep in whatever sleuthing they were doing, according to Lizzie, who was just finishing cooing to her son on her cell phone.

  “And the game plan is…?” Annie asked.

  “One step at a time, Annie. First, we need to vote one more time to accept the very generous offer that was presented to us. Second, we need to decide on a dollar amount for our services. Third, Lizzie needs to speak to Mr. Gold concerning the immunity. It has to be all across the board. Fourth, we want and need to know where Hank Jellicoe was dropped off. After we have that information, we can make a plan. We have until midnight before we have to make our call,” Nikki said. “Hopefully, by the time we make the call, Maggie and the boys will have something a little more concrete. What’s our fee?”

  The Sisters batted numbers around, some realistic, others over the moon. Annie finally said she’d had enough and snapped, “Fifty million! Plus expenses! Plus all of the above!”

  “Done!” the Sisters said, clapping their hands.

  Lizzie Fox raised her index finger to show she’d heard the decision, then she went back to the computer she was working on.

  “Which now brings us to you, Elias,” Myra said. “We need you to do something for us. As the former director of the FBI, I assume you are on a first-name basis with the former director of the CIA and secretary of the Department of Homeland Security. We want you to…for want of a better explanation, nose around and see what you come up with. The CIA director from your time, who the president kept on until she appointed the woman who now holds the post, retired around Thanksgiving of last year, if I recall correctly. Something about his wife being ill. I saw a few weeks ago in the Post that she passed on.”

  “Nellie and I attended the funeral. He’s out, so what can he tell us?” Elias asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s why we want you to pay him a condolence visit. See what you can find out. Even though he’s retired, I’m sure he knew or knows what’s been going on. Retirement can be deadly, even more so when one’s spouse is in failing health. Brothers under the skin, that sort of thing,” Myra said.

  “I hate the son of a bitch,” Elias growled. “Everyone in the world knows the CIA and the FBI hate each other.”

  Myra blinked. “I didn’t know that, Elias, but we can’t let that stop you. Take a bottle of really good bourbon and see what that gets you. What we want to know specifically is, did or didn’t the CIA pick up on the chatter Hank Jellicoe acted upon? You can say you’ve heard the rumors, and who’s to say you haven’t stayed friends with some of the leaders of the world’s law-enforcement outfits. All you have to do is sound convincing. You will do this, won’t you, Elias?”

  “Yes, of course he’ll do it,” Nellie answered briskly for her husband. “Elias even knows where the director lives, because we went back to the house for refreshments after the funeral. It was a very somber affair, and the food was appalling. It’s just about eight miles from here as the crow flies.”

  Elias put up an argument. “Don’t you think the man is going to be suspicious? It’s not like we socialized or even liked one another. I’m sure his feelings for me are the same as mine are for him.”

  “Ah, but you see, that was
before his wife died. He’s all alone now. He’ll be melancholy. Feed the liquor to him and see what he coughs up,” Annie said. “Was his wife nice?” she asked as an afterthought.

  “Salt of the earth. A very gentle, kind soul. I don’t know what she ever saw in that bastard,” Nellie said. “I didn’t know her well, but she went to the same church, volunteered for some of the same things I did. We called each other by our first names. Notice that I said she went to church, not her husband. I don’t think the man ever saw the inside of a church until his wife died.”

  “You should go now, dear. Pick up the liquor at Save-More and hopefully you will be back here before the girls have to make that call. On the drive to the director’s home, you might want to call and set up a luncheon meeting tomorrow with the secretary of Homeland Security,” Nellie said.

  Elias, a bear of a man with a shock of hair so white it looked like a snow peak sitting on top of his head, started to grumble again. “And you think these people are just waiting to see me to spill their guts and their secrets! They make appointments months in advance. At least I did. Spur-of-the-moment luncheons just aren’t in the cards, but yes, I will do as instructed. Don’t I always do what you say? I have to warn you, my dear, you are all going to be so disappointed when I return empty-handed. I’m going, Nellie, calm down, or your blood pressure is going to go up again.”

  “There you go again, Elias, selling yourself short,” Nellie said soothingly.

  “It’s the element of surprise, Elias. It’s your job to see if they’re trying to hide or cover up something. They’re going to be trying to figure out why you’re there in the first place and what you know. It’s going to be a game. My money is on you, Elias,” Annie said cheerfully.

  The Sisters gave a robust shout of approval that rang in Elias’s ears long after he was tooling down the highway. He admitted to a small thrill of excitement as he wondered if he had the moxie to pull this little stunt off. If he didn’t want to eat out of the trough and sleep in the barn, he knew he had to pull it off. He shifted his thoughts and started to work on some witty dialogue that he hoped would garner something the girls could work with.

  Back at Pinewood, Annie zeroed in on Lizzie. “Dear, is your gut telling you that the president was trying to give you a clue, or was she just…bemoaning her love life?”

  “My first reaction was she was trying to tell me something without telling me. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s what I thought at the time. And she did make the comment that she couldn’t discuss White House business with me. Like I didn’t know that. It’s up to you all to figure out what Hank Jellicoe’s agenda is or was at the time this all happened.” A second later, she was engrossed with what she was doing on her laptop.

  Annie threw her hands in the air. “Let’s hear it, girls! What kind of agenda could a man like Hank Jellicoe possibly have? The man is King of the Hill, so to speak. From everything I’ve read about him, the man has no political aspirations. He likes what he does, is good at what he does, and has the money to prove it.”

  “Remember the first rule, Annie. Always follow the money. I say we go back to the day the man was born and work forward,” Myra said.

  “That’s what Maggie and Ted are doing, Myra. If we stick our noses into that, we might confuse the issue or screw it up,” Nikki said.

  Kathryn looked over at Isabelle. “This would be a good time for you to have one of your visions. Can you conjure one up for us?”

  Isabelle sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you, it doesn’t work that way, Kathryn. I can’t control when they come or their intensity. They just happen. Even when I concentrate and try, nothing happens.”

  “Try harder,” Kathryn snapped.

  “Eat me,” Isabelle shot back.

  “Sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what any of us are right now, this minute. We’re in limbo, and I don’t like it,” Kathryn said.

  “We’re all a little antsy, dear,” Myra said. “This is terribly important to all of us—life-altering, you might say. Once we see clearly what’s in front of us and form a plan, the future for all of us will settle down to something we can all live with. We’re at a crossroads in our lives, and we aren’t certain which road we should take. I find it an awesome decision.”

  “Well said, Myra, well said,” Annie chortled happily.

  Back in the District, Harry Wong opened his dojo, then stepped aside for Bert and Jack to follow him inside. “C’mon, c’mon, hustle here, boys. Make me look good, and be sure you follow all my cues. Those CIA agents aren’t fools. One or two of them are bound to figure out that their e-vals,” Harry said, referring to the agents’ evaluations, “are still two months off.”

  “And if they say something?” Bert said.

  “Then I say I’m taking off again, and it’s either now or they go someplace else and start over. When I first got back, I was in touch with my contact at the CIA and told him I had to play catch-up. They didn’t have a problem, which is probably because they know I’m the best of the best.”

  “Nothing like a little modesty,” Jack said, rolling out the workout mats. “You want me or Bert to take the class.”

  “I think it should be Bert. Those guys hate anyone connected in any way with the FBI. Jack, you monitor, and I’ll do the e-vals. I plan to flunk them on everything, just so you know,” Harry snapped.

  “Whoa, little grasshopper, what’s up with the surly attitude?” Jack said.

  “I hate those guys. They’re cocky, they’re arrogant, and they have mush for brains. That’s my opinion, and I’m entitled to it. Plus, they’re racist.”

  “Oooh, that’s not good,” Jack said, tying his black belt into place. “Say the word, and they won’t be walking out of here with a spring in their step. You sure you really want to go with a four-hour session?”

  “That’s how long the video runs, and yeah, I’m sure. The powers to be want to see their agents in glorious form. I, on the other hand, do not want to see that glorious form. I want you on their asses, show them up, and do not cut them one ounce of slack. If you have to hurt them, then hurt them.”

  Bert laughed. Jack thought the sound was almost as evil-sounding as when Harry got really pissed over something. “So it’s the FBI versus the CIA? Who you putting your money on, boys?”

  “Oh, you big silly!” Jack said as he turned a somersault to limber up. “The FBI, of course, even though you’re retired from the Bureau. You gonna go back there, Bert?”

  “I might, but first I want them to beg me. If they beg, I’ll know they really want me. In the meantime, let’s just have some fun, then leak the tape to the guys at the Bureau.”

  “Damn, I like that. Ah, I hear the CIA van. I think your class just arrived, Master Wong,” Jack said, doing a jig for Bert’s benefit.

  “You screw up, Jack—you, too, Bert—and your ass is grass. Remember now, no chitchat. Work them till their dicks shrivel up. No water, no tea. And…no liniment,” Harry said as he picked up his clipboard.

  “You heard the man, Bert, until their dicks fall off.” Jack guffawed.

  Eight men walked into the back of the dojo with attitude written all over their faces. All were dressed the same, all wore aviator glasses, all had high and tight haircuts. All had a spit shine to their shoes. Their attitude slipped a little when Harry said Bert, former director of the FBI, would be working the class.

  Bert held out a stopwatch. “Five minutes to shed your threads, get rid of the shades, and be on the mat in single formation. Time counts,” he barked.

  “They’re cursing Master Navarro. Mark that down. Disrespect will not be tolerated in this dojo,” Jack said gleefully but under his breath. Bert grinned.

  Jack mentally gave each of the CIA agents a number, because there was no way he was going to be able to remember names.

  “Seven minutes. You’re slugs! Those two minutes could get you dead, agents. And why are you winded? All you did was shed your clothes and get dr
essed. You wearing ruffled panties or maybe garter belts? Those belts are sloppy. Tie them again, and this time do it right. You’re not getting off to a good start, agents,” Bert said.

  Jack dutifully made checkmarks on his clipboard. In the end, it would have to match Harry’s for verification.

  Somewhere at the end of the row, a muffled “Screw you” could be heard.

  Jack walked the length of the row. He stuck his index finger in Number 7’s chest, and said, “Ten points, agent. That’s twelve for you in total. Fifteen, and you have to take the course over.” Jack waited to see if there would be any feedback. There wasn’t. The eight-man team, in his eyes, suddenly looked uneasy.

  Bert blew his whistle, which he had to wrestle Harry for, and the e-vals got under way. The first hour showed how rusty the agents were as they did their best to perform. The second hour showed who had potential and who didn’t. The third hour showed a strain on all eight agents. All were sweating profusely.

  “Ten-minute break, agents. We’re coming up to your final hour. This is where the rubber meets the road. I don’t think I need to tell any of you that you aren’t cutting it, which leads me to believe none of you kept up with your training while Master Wong was away. In other words, you pissants are downright pathetic. You CIA guys are wusses. FBI agents could wipe up the floor with you on their worst day in the middle of a snowstorm. For Christ’s sake, you people out there at the Farm didn’t even get it right where Jellicoe goes.” The bait was out. He waited a nanosecond to see if anyone would pick up on it. No one did.

  Jack stepped in, waving his clipboard. Harry stood on the side, looking disturbed but bored. “I heard about that fiasco. I had a beer last week with a couple of guys from the Bureau, and they said you guys screwed up big-time. They went so far as to say you were the laughingstock of the covert world, but no one needed to worry because you aren’t domestic. They also said you guys at the CIA are no threat to the FBI, so no one is taking you seriously. They said you were just plain old screwups. Okay, time’s up. This is your last hour, agents. Make it good, or the new course starts two days from today.”