by Josie Brown
“With Norm, at the Two Bits Shoe Shine stand, in the South Capitol Metro Station.” Ben turned to face him. “How did you come across the intel?”
Fred shook his head. “I don’t like to divulge my sources.” He pulled over to the curb. “We’re here.”
Ben looked out the window. “No, we’re not! This is some pizza joint.”
“No, it’s not just ‘some pizza joint.’ It’s Pizzaria Paradiso. The best in Dupont Circle. I’ve already ordered a Siciliano, a couple of bottles of beer, and one of their signature caps. While you’re making the delivery at the front door, I’ll enter through the back.”
“You’ll find the key over the door ledge.” The memory of Maddy jibing him about hidden spare keys came back to him. It seemed like a million years ago.
Tell whoever answers it was paid for in advance, and be sure to give the guy some shit about your tip. That’ll give me time to make my move.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Let’s hope so. By the way, I hope you like eggplant.”
Chapter 53
At first, the ghost wouldn’t open the front door.
And yet, he was right here, just on the other side.
Ben hadn’t heard his footsteps but he had tuned his ear to the creak of the loft’s floorboards.
The last one stopped right in front of the door.
There was no light coming through the peephole.
Smith’s ghost was right there, on the other side.
What had taken him so long? What had he been doing to Abby?
Ben banged frantically on the door, He rang the bell, over and over. He slammed his fist on the door, as hard as he could. “Dude, you bitch when we don’t deliver hot, and we live to please, remember?” he shouted, desperately. “I don’t want you pissed at me, like last time, for leaving before you got off the john…or whatever—”
The door opened, but only as far as the security chain allowed. The man on the other side of it—bulky, mid-height, with curly hair—stared out at Ben. “Fuck off.”
Ben tried hard to smile. “A large Siciliano and two beers. You already paid for it. You might as well take it, right?”
He prayed the bead of sweat rolling down his forehead would get sopped up by the Pizzaria Paradiso cap before rolling down his nose.
The man’s eyes narrowed. He shrugged and shut the door.
If Ben had been quicker, he would have stuck his foot in the door and barged his way in.
He didn’t need to. The thought of free pizza and beer must have gotten the better of Smith’s man because a moment later the door opened wide, freed from the chain that kept Ben from Abby.
But before Ben could take a step forward, the man positioned himself in the center of doorway and held out his hands.
Ben smiled and handed him the pizza box, but out of the corner of his eye he watched as Fred inched his way out of the kitchen.
As if sensing Ben’s distraction, the man’s eyes turned slightly.
“No anchovies, and pecorino, just like you asked,” Ben murmured with a smile. “We were out of Anchor Liberty, so we upgraded you to Avery Out of Bounds Stout. Is that okay?”
The man gave him a wary nod. “Yeah. Now, fuck off.”
“Well, you know we live on our tips—”
The man shoved the pizza box onto Ben’s chest. “Oh yeah? Well, here’s a tip. Get lost before I cram one of these bottles up your ass—”
Ben shoved back.
Bad move. Fred’s shot, aimed for the guy’s head, hit the door frame instead.
When the man rolled out of the fall, he had a gun in his hand. His first shot winged Fred’s shoulder. Fred groaned and jumped back into the kitchen.
He then turned toward Ben, who had leaped over the high-backed couch. He yanked the table lamp onto the floor with him, so that the only light in the room was coming from where it had landed, illuminating Maddy’s sculptures upward so that they loomed out of the shadows. Their sharp points appeared to have tripled in size.
Two of her metal statues also fell. One—just a foot long, with a small square base that rose to a sharp point—barely missed his head, piercing a throw pillow instead. Ben prayed the man didn’t see the cloud of downy feathers rising around him.
He needs me, she thought. Just like I need him.
She’d passed out when she’d fallen against Preston’s coffee table. When she came to, she found herself in Maddy’s bed, naked. A strange man had just finished tying her, spread-eagled, to the bedposts with silk stockings that must have belonged to Maddy.
“You’ve got quite a collection of whore couture,” he said with a smile. He leaned in so close that she smelled cigarettes on his breath. When he hefted one of her breasts in his hand and tweaked it between his thumb and forefinger, she shuddered despite the fact his hands were gloved. “I’d take a go at you myself, but I’m only allowed to fondle the merchandise. Can’t leave any DNA around, you know.”
She spit in his eye.
Angered, his arm went back. He was just about to backhand her across the face when the doorbell rang.
At first he froze. Then he took another stocking and wrapped it over her mouth. He yanked it so tight that she almost gagged. “I guess my buddies are here with your boyfriend. When I get back, we’ll have a little fun with this dildo collection of yours. We’re going to make it look like your sweetheart got a little out of hand.” He yanked open the bedstand drawer.
Abby looked down, then turned away.
He laughed as he ran down the stairs.
I’ve got to get out of here, she thought. She strained against her bindings, but they held tight. Panicked, she twisted her wrists and kicked her legs.
The voices below were getting louder, more anxious. She recognized one as Ben’s—
Then she heard the gun shots.
He’s outnumbered. I’ve got to help him, she vowed.
Because he can’t die. I don’t know what I’d do if he died.
I couldn’t live without him.
Because I…
I love him.
That realization set her free, right then and there, from Maddy and Andy’s ghosts.
Freed from her anger, and her jealousy.
She forgave them for loving each other more than they’d loved her.
Ben loved her. She saw it in the way he looked at her. And she knew it from the way he looked after her.
He was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for her.
Just as Maddy had made the ultimate sacrifice for Andy.
At least they were together at the very end, Abby reasoned. And Ben will be with me.
But it will not end this way for us. Not if I can help it.
She struggled with all her might. Suddenly she noticed that the stocking around her right wrist had snagged itself on one of the metal finials on the headboard. She jerked it as hard as she could—
Until it ripped.
Quickly she untangled her hand from the stocking, then untied her other hand and her feet, and shot out of the bed. She looked around for something to throw at her assailant, anything at all—
The mirror.
It hung over Maddy’s vanity. Despite its heft and bulk, she lifted it off the wall. It could shield her from bullets, if it came to that.
If she couldn’t protect Ben, she’d die trying.
She ran to the loft railing with the mirror, and looked down.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Pizza Boy,” Smith’s man declared as he circled the room.
From there on the floor Ben could look out between the couch legs. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the shadows.
The only one moving belonged to Smith’s man.
He hadn’t thrown a javelin since his high school track and field days. Even back then, his aim was usually shaky enough that the spear wavered when airborne and rarely hit the designated target, sailing right past it instead.
This time, though, he couldn’
t afford to miss.
Not with Abby, now naked and carrying a huge wall mirror and staring down at him from the balcony.
Her shadow also caught the attention of Smith’s man. He turned and swung his gun up and around, but he hesitated when he saw his own reflection staring down at him.
Ben realized this was his chance. He leaped up. Grabbing the sculpture, he yelled, “Beer coming your way!”
When the man turned to face him, Ben hurled the pointed sculpture as hard as he could.
Smith’s man gasped when it stabbed him in the gut.
As he toppled backward, the gun dropped out of his hand.
Abby threw down the mirror and ran down the stairs, into Ben’s arms.
It suddenly dawned on her that she was still naked, but that didn’t stop her lips from seeking out his.
From covering his face, his neck, his chest, with her kisses as she sobbed.
“Bullseye.” They were interrupted by Fred’s faint croak. He was crouching on the floor and breathing heavy.
Together Abby and Ben lifted him up. “Pick up the gun,” he muttered to Abby. “And while you’re at it, you might want to put on some clothes. Oh yeah, and grab the pizza on the way out.”
They let him eat it on the way to some doctor he had on call for, as he put it, “little incidents like this.” Remembering Ben’s remark about Smith, he took Too Tall’s cell phone out of his pocket. Smith’s ID was, simply, Boss.
Fred texted PROBLEM SOLVED.
“I guess that buys us a little time,” Ben said.
Wishful thinking, each of them thought, but no one dared to say it out loud.
Chapter 54
The lunchtime line at Pete’s Carry-Out, was moving pretty quickly. Too quickly in fact, for Ben. He glanced down at his watch for the umpteenth time, wondering what was taking Norm so long to get there, when the man behind him growled, “How’s the egg salad in this joint?”
Ben heaved a sigh at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Word of warning: too much mayo.”
Norm chuckled. “I’ll take that as the password that the coast is clear.”
Ben felt something drop into his right coat pocket. He glanced around the room to see if anyone had been watching, but no. The thick crowd seemed preoccupied bantering with their lunch partners, or else they were perusing their smart phones.
Will my life ever be normal again? Ben wondered.
Ben slipped his hand into this pocket, where he found a round tin. He shook it gently. The rattle of the thumb drive was music to his ears.
He nodded his thanks before jumping out of the line and making for the door.
It was Fred’s idea that they grab one of the tall booths at Chief Ike’s Mambo Room to confab on what to do next. He knew for a fact that it (a) wasn’t a spook or government wonk hangout, and (b) there were no security cameras.
In fact, Ike growled if he saw a smart phone on the premises. What happened in the Mambo Room stayed in the Mambo Room.
Abby downed a whisky as she broke the news to Ben about her encounter with her uncle.
“Preston is in on it, too?” Ben’s hands curled into fists. No wonder Maddy was so wounded.
So, Preston Alcott was X.
“Yes,” Abby and Fred said at the same time.
Ben and Abby stared at Fred. In unison, they asked, “How long have you known?”
Fred shrugged. “Since Lavinia handed me the thumb drive.”
“You mean—she’s your source?” Abby and Ben asked at the same time.
Fred threw up his hands. “What is this, a vaudeville act?” Old habits are hard to break. His eyes darted in all directions as he murmured, “Lavinia and I met at your wedding, Abby. She felt I had the right sort of job to investigate her suspicions. One day she overheard Talbot and Preston going over the fine points of Flamingo . Your uncle was angry. He thought it was too risky, but he signed on.”
Hearing this, Abby downed the last sip in her whisky glass. Ben did the same. It just gets better, he thought wryly.
“Lavinia was angry at her brother. The Alcotts fought in Washington’s army. Abby, as you’re well aware, your father’s folk, the Vandergalens, were among New York’s first settlers. The day of Andy and Maddy’s trip, Preston was on one of his New York junkets. Lavinia allowed me into his private study. The files on the thumb drive were downloaded from his computer. I tried to decipher it at Langley and realized too late that the file had a worm that warned the Ghost Squad of a leak, and where. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Abby nodded. “Where does that leave us? Who can we trust?”
Ben frowned. “Good question. Fred, I presume you had your reasons for playing dead.”
“You’ve got that right. Two of the names on the memo’s pass-around list are my superiors. In fact, the list is a Who’s Who of muckety mucks. Not just those in the government, but in major corporations, media conglomerates, you name it.
“I guess that means the press is out, too,” Abby murmured.
“How about Barksdale?” Ben asked. “Did he get the memo, too?”
“I was pleasantly surprised to see that it specifically spelled out the dire consequences to be had, should he learn of Flamingo.”
Suddenly Ben leaped up. “I know who should deliver the message.” He grabbed Abby’s hand and pulled her out of the booth with him. We have to hurry, before it’s too late!”
“Who?” Fred asked, as he stuffed a couple of twenties in the waitress’s hand.
“Supreme Court Justice Roberta Gordon. But we have to act fast. Today she is submitting her resignation to the president.”
Chapter 55
Fred’s kamikaze driving got them down Sixteenth Street without a police escort. “What are we supposed to do, just waltz right in without an invitation?” he asked.
“I was one of Barksdale’s largest donors. The First Lady, Sarah, is quite aware of this.”
“Abby, I hate to remind you, but the First Lady just attended your funeral. Despite your reputation for sainthood, I doubt seriously she’ll take a call from you.”
Abby smiled. “She’ll take one from Maddy. Especially when Maddy reminds her that Abby underwrote the restoration of the Roosevelt Room’s oil painting of Teddy, during his Rough Rider stage. She knows Abby was to have picked it up this week. I’ll tell her that I’ll be there in her stead, with the restorer and his aide, so that he can complete the work before he is due to return to the Louvre next month.”
“Brilliant.” Ben breathed a sigh of relief. “Once we’re inside, we’ll be steps away from the Oval Office, where President Barksdale is to accept Roberta’s resignation.”
Fred let them out on Pennsylvania Avenue, a block from the White House’s East Executive Avenue guard station. The undulating crowd—which consisted of tourists, government workers, and the always ubiquitous protesters—soon closed around them.
The two-man White House security detail was wary when Abby approached them, but her knowledge of the First Lady’s direct line convinced them that she might indeed be someone who Sarah Barksdale was expecting.
Their escort arrived in a golf cart. The journey from there to the West Wing was the longest of Ben’s life.
It was Justice Roberta Gordon’s opinion that Benjamin Brinker was a sight for sore eyes, no matter where she should find him.
Not that she expected him to be dashing down the hall toward her, just as Vice President Talbot was escorting her into the Oval Office.
Hearing Ben call out her name, she turned around—
As did Talbot.
She watched as Talbot’s eyes narrowed; how he gave a slight nod to the Secret Service agent closest to him.
She turned toward Ben. Despite his congenial smile and declaration to Talbot’s security detail that they should have “No worries! The Supreme Court Justice and I are old friends…” the look in his eye was one she’d seen before—when he was younger, and determined to be the champion who could right all wrongs. It was the look he ha
d when he was excited about the candidates he felt—no, he knew—could make the world a better place.
She had been worried about his silence these past few days, since the horrible crash that took Andy and sweet Abigail’s lives. Whatever Ben was up to, she knew it was important, and that she had to help him succeed.
Talbot’s Secret Service agent tried to block her old friend from reaching her, but Ben’s underhanded toss sent something tiny—a USB flash drive, from the look of it, with some comic book character drawn on it—hurtling her way.
The urgency of Ben’s words—“Make sure Barksdale sees this, no matter what”—intrigued her, as did the fact that Talbot was more angry than surprised about the chain of events.
The flash drive dropped and skittered to a halt right in front of her.
So when Talbot reached down for it, Roberta thought nothing at all about pressing her heel on his hand.
When he jerked it away, she grabbed it first. “I think this was meant for me,” she purred sweetly.
Before he could respond, she strolled into the Oval Office, shutting the door behind her.
Roberta was determined that Ben’s detention with his Secret Service interrogators be short and sweet: perhaps no longer than her meeting with President Barksdale.
She didn’t resign, as intended and expected. Instead, she insisted the thumb drive was a gift to the president—
One which he should open right then and there, in her presence.
Her calm but steely tone encouraged him to oblige her.
She read over his shoulder as he opened one file after another on something called Operation Flamingo.
Should it succeed, thousands of Americans would lose their lives. Political factions would rally a frightened constituency to insist he declare war on a country that had nothing to do with the tragedy. And to Barksdale’s horror, his second-in-command, a man he despised, would use the incident to catapult himself into the presidency.
He sat silently, numbed by the evidence confronting him.
