“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sullivan snarled. “Have you been drinking, Robinson?”
“No, I haven’t been drinking. Jack Emery, you know District Attorney Jack Emery, well he just told me he heard the news at noon today. Turn on the news, your secret is out. I expected more from you, Liam. Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”
“What did I tell you to do today, Robinson? This crap was not what I had in mind. Didn’t I tell you to go out there and find some news? Aren’t you supposed to be working on that and the ‘Where are they now?’ series you conned me into agreeing to? Stop bothering me with this nonsense.”
Ted snapped his cell phone shut. “He acted a little too…angry. I think he knows something.”
“Ha! I told you. Now what?” Espinosa demanded.
“I’m splitting, guys. My car’s on the next block. Call me if things change,” Tick Fields said as he veered off to the right. Both reporters ignored him.
“What should we do, Joe?” Ted asked.
Espinosa shrugged. “What can we do? If you’re looking for some instant gratification, we can go home and hit the phones. We can start with all our snitches and see whose ears have picked up what. I have a few favors I can call in. You must have a few yourself, Ted. Worst-case scenario, we turn on the news and wait to see if anyone is talking. What’s your gut saying after you talked to Sullivan?”
Ted shrugged. “He sounded surprised and angry. Surprised that I knew? I’m not sure. The thing that bothers me the most is Emery saying Maggie bailed because she knew what was going down. I could see Maggie doing that. She always knew everything before it happened. I never could quite figure out how she did that, but damn, she was always on the money.”
Espinosa stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. “Call me if you hear anything. I’ll do the same.” Ted nodded as he walked along. He did some of his best thinking when he was walking. Or pretending to jog. Or running. His feet picked up some speed, then he was running so fast he could barely catch his breath.
Sometimes life just plain sucked.
Ted was almost to his apartment when he remembered he hadn’t cleared out Maggie’s things. Gasping for breath, he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. Suddenly, his head jerked upright. If Maggie knew about the possible sale of the paper and was getting out, why didn’t she take her belongings to her new job? Assuming there was a new job in the offing. It wasn’t computing. Still, if he didn’t pick up Maggie’s belongings, his ass would be grass with Sullivan.
With that thought hanging over his head, Ted whirled around and walked to the corner, where he hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of the Post’s apartment. When they arrived, he asked the cabbie to wait, the meter ticking.
Ted jammed things any old way into Maggie’s suitcases. It took him three trips to load up the cab.
When all was said and done, Ted had his old girlfriend’s belongings stored away in the spare room and was out $70. He made a note to put it on his expense account.
He was so tired he felt like he was going to fall asleep on his feet, but he couldn’t give in to the tiredness. He had phone calls to make. Lots and lots of phone calls.
Each call required a different story to the person on the other end of the line. On his ninth call to a senator’s aide his eyeballs popped to attention. “Yeah, yeah, I heard something about that earlier this evening,” the aide said.
“Who told you?” Ted all but snarled.
“Nobody told me. I just overheard a conversation. About an hour ago, as a matter of fact. I thought about you when I heard it, then it just blew out of my mind. You want me to ask around?”
Did he want to perpetuate what he was convinced was a Jack Emery rumor? Not really. “Sure,” he said.
Ted bit down on his lower lip. Truth or fiction? He looked at his watch. Five minutes until the eleven o’clock news came on. He used up the five minutes by making a quick trip to the bathroom, where he scared his cats half to death as he barreled into the small bathroom, and then popped a beer from his kitchen on the way back to the living room. If Emery was right, and the media had hold of the story, the possible sale of the Post would be the lead for the late-night news.
Ted settled himself in his ratty old Barcalounger, kicked up the footrest, and leaned back, the ice-cold beer in his hand. Feeling like a little kid, he crossed the fingers on his left hand.
Ted ogled the attractive blonde with the flawless skin and expertly made-up eyes and lips. Very kissable. Bedroom eyes. Even so, she couldn’t hold a candle to Maggie Spritzer. He listened as the anchor, Sylvia-something-or-other, welcomed all the viewers who stayed up late enough to watch her. Then she moved with expertise to the news at hand.
“While we can’t confirm the news I’m about to share with you at this late hour, it is rumored that the Post is going on the auction block. We’re told—again, this has not been confirmed—that secret negotiations have been under way for the past two months.” Ted groaned at the news as Sylvia-something-or-other moved on to a bill that was about to be voted on in the Senate.
“Shit!”
Emery was right!
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
Ted squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t cry.
Chapter 6
Charles Martin stared at his computer screen, a frown building between his brows. His stable of retired covert operatives were sending him e-mails at the speed of light. Most were giving him tidbits of information they’d picked up over the past few days in regard to the World Bank and the problems within. All were chomping at the bit to, as Charles put it, get back in the covert game. When it came right down to it, it wasn’t what you knew, it was who you knew. Without these old friends willing to stick their necks out, he knew he could never mastermind his operation. He had other powerful help he could call on from time to time, too, but he preferred to deal with people like himself, people who knew how to play the game, when to hold and when to fold.
Even when money was no object, things sometimes couldn’t quite come together. Right now he was instant messaging an operative he’d put in charge of securing six black Chevy Suburbans bearing untraceable government license plates with blackened windows and delivering them to the base of Big Pine Mountain. This last incoming message read:
Only five Suburbans available,
plates intact as specified. Can
deliver all five by sundown. Two
to mountain base, other three to
areas as specified.
Charles looked out the window. The sun would be up shortly. He’d been working through the night but now he was seeing results. Going without sleep was one of Charles’s strong points. His thoughts raced. Five Suburbans would have to do. That meant Myra and Annie would have to double up, which they would probably prefer anyway. Still, it was a snafu, and if there was one thing he hated, it was a snafu at the beginning of a mission. He typed in a message agreeing to the delivery of the Suburbans.
He then checked in with a second operative he’d put in charge of housing. No snafus there. Charles’s fist shot in the air. He stretched his neck left to right, then right to left. Time to take a break. Maybe he’d go over to the kitchen and whip up a special breakfast for the girls.
He loved to cook. One time, and now it seemed a lifetime ago, he’d prepared a special breakfast for his very special dear friend in England. He still smiled when he remembered how she’d shooed out the kitchen staff, who were stunned to even see her anywhere near the kitchen. She’d sipped on tea he’d made for her while he cooked kippers and poached eggs. The two of them had actually sat at the enamel kitchen table like two ordinary people talking about nothing and everything. Just two old friends who would always be friends. The day she’d knighted him she’d winked at him. Winked. He’d almost fainted. Of all the people who walked the earth, Lizzie and Myra were the only two people he knew he could count on one hundred percent. He belatedly added Annie to the count.
The starry night g
reeted Charles when he walked out onto the plank porch. He stopped when he heard a slight rustling to his left. Murphy appeared out of the darkness and nosed his leg. He reached down to scratch the big dog behind his ears. The shepherd whined in pleasure. “Come along, big boy, and I’ll make you some breakfast.” At the sound of the word “breakfast,” Grady, too, walked out of the darkness and waited for his ears to get scratched before he trotted along next to Murphy. Breakfast was always a good treat with Charles mixing real bacon with their dog food.
Charles worked his kitchen duties the way he did everything, with quick, economical moves, no time wasted. Within seconds he had a special banana–macadamia nut pancake mix stirred to perfection and banana syrup warming on the stove. He nuked what Myra termed a ton of bacon and set it aside. Fresh-squeezed orange juice just took minutes and went into the refrigerator to be served ice-cold with crushed ice and a sprig of mint. The last thing he did was to core a melon and slice it. He looked down at the dogs, who were waiting patiently as they sniffed at the bacon aroma wafting toward them.
Charles poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it out to the small deck off the kitchen. He left the door open so the dogs could join him when they finished eating.
This was his favorite time of the day, right before the sun came up, when it was still dark and mysterious. This was when he thought about the new day, with all its possibilities and problems.
Here, alone in the darkness, he could admit to himself that he had qualms about sending the girls back to the Nation’s Capital. He also had qualms about taking on the prestigious World Bank. There were just so many things that could go wrong, no matter how many good people he had in place to head off problems. He still cringed each time he thought about the hair-raising experience of his ladies getting caught and hauled off to jail. He never wanted that to happen again.
He ran each step of his plan over in his mind. On the face of it, it seemed foolproof but he knew there was no such thing. The human element always managed to creep in somehow, some way. All he could do was his best and hope his girls would follow through.
When he got to that point, Charles thought about money and how much of it Myra and Annie contributed. All in the name of justice. He thanked God for Myra and Annie’s robust contributions to the Sisterhood cause. This little gig, as Kathryn called it, was going to net them ten million dollars, not that they would ever see a penny of it, and that was all right, too. His chest puffed out a little, knowing his girls were worth every penny of it. He remembered how he’d felt when they announced that every last penny was to go to worthy causes. They made him so proud. He made a mental note to call his royal friend on the other side of the pond to let her know. The last time they’d spoken, she said hearing about the girls was better than reading a mystery story. He’d willingly given his word to update her weekly. And, she always had one little bit of advice to offer at the end of the conversation.
Charles finished the last of the coffee in his cup and walked back to the kitchen just as the first streaks of dawn appeared on the horizon. The girls would be entering the dining hall any minute.
It was like every other breakfast Charles cooked for his little family. The talk that morning was all about Nikki’s proposal and the glow she was exuding. Charles smiled to himself as he imagined Myra and Annie trying to figure out what kind of wedding they could pull off on top of a mountain. He just knew it would be a formal affair. If indeed it ever came into being. He felt sad at the thought that it might not work out the way Nikki and Jack wanted.
“Talk to us, Charles,” Kathryn said, when the table was cleared and fresh coffee poured.
Charles looked around the table at the expectant faces staring at him. He knew they hated it when he made them wait for finalized details. “All I’m going to tell you right at this moment is your ETD is tomorrow at sundown. I’ll have more details for you at lunchtime. Nikki, I want you to monitor the computer for e-mails. If one comes through from Avery Cromwell, wake me. I’m going to try to catch a few winks, since I was up all night. Talk among yourselves and decide what sort of disguise you will be comfortable with to invade the Nation’s Capital. ‘Normal’ is the key word here. Alexis will accommodate all of you.
“Lunch is whatever you come up with. Dinner this evening will be a pot roast with mashed potatoes and whatever vegetables are ripe in the garden. And, of course, they have to be picked and cleaned.”
Isabelle threw her napkin at Charles as he left the dining room.
“Let’s have another cup of coffee so we can talk our departure to death,” Annie said as she bustled over to the sideboard and the huge coffee machine. When she returned to the table, she said, “We need to talk about how we’re going to invade Mr. Zenowicz’s space.”
From that point on, the women were off and running, ideas flowing at the speed of light, either to be voted on or vetoed. At the end of the lively discussion, the women burst out laughing when Annie came up with what they thought was the ideal punishment for one Maxwell Zenowicz.
“Now we have to concentrate on Miss Rena Gold. We can’t let her walk off into the sunset, now, can we?” Isabelle asked. “And,” she said, wagging a finger, “we need to know who corrupted whom. Do we know if Zenowicz started pilfering before or after he met Rena Gold?”
“Good question, Isabelle. We’ll ask Charles at lunchtime,” Nikki said. “Let’s do some serious computer time. I say we invade Charles’s lair and see if we can put names to our new employers. I always like to know who’s paying the bill.”
The moment the words were out of Nikki’s mouth, the women were on their feet and headed for Charles’s computer room.
“You know what else?” Nikki asked, as they walked across the compound in the bright summer sunshine. “That’s pure bullshit about not involving them just because they’re paying us. Do they think we’re stupid? We go down, they go down. That’s the bottom line. I’d also like to know which wealthy individuals are donating that ten million. I bet we’d all be surprised. It’s coming from inside the Beltway is what I’m thinking. The US wants to be top dog where the World Bank is concerned. But, that’s just my opinion.”
“I think you’re right,” Myra and Annie said in unison. “Let’s check it out,” Myra said. “Everyone in Washington has their own agenda. We just have to find what those agendas are.”
“What we should have done and didn’t do was get fingerprints off the dishes. I wonder if Charles did that and didn’t tell us. See, we messed up, and we haven’t even started yet,” Kathryn said three hours later, when Nikki came up dry on the computer. “But I have an idea. Alexis, can you sketch pictures of our new employers from memory? Then maybe Nikki can scan them and see if anything pops up.”
Alexis nodded and reached for paper and pen.
“I don’t think the people who came here are our actual employers. I think they were emissaries of the big shots. People like them are never seen because they prefer to remain in the shadows and let others do their dirty work,” Yoko said.
“I agree,” Kathryn said. She peered over Isabelle’s shoulder to see how Alexis was doing with her first character sketch. “That’s it, Alexis! You caught the weasel look. Ooh, it’s just too perfect.”
Alexis handed the dark-lined sketch to Nikki, who immediately put it into the scanner and started typing. Alexis was already on her second sketch, her pen making clear, sharp lines on the stark white paper.
“I’m not really clear on why we’re doing this,” Annie said. “Even if we get a name to match the face, what are we going to do with that information? Are we going to go after the hand that is feeding us? I just want to make sure I understand, since our trip to Washington is going to be time-sensitive.”
Nikki frowned, and the others looked at Annie in surprise. She threw her hands in the air. “What? Was that a stupid question?” The others, Annie included, looked to Nikki.
“No, it’s not a stupid question at all. Charles had the cameras on in the conference room. I
’m sure our guests didn’t realize it, but that’s not our problem. These people will lead us, if we decide we need to know, to whoever wrote the checks for our ten million dollars. I thought we were clear on that. Look, I think we’re all a little intimidated here because we’re taking on the awesome World Bank and the people involved. We all need to change our mind-sets here, myself included. If we’re intimidated, this mission is not going to work. It’s just another mission, our tenth. That’s how we have to look at it. Look at us, we’re already spinning our wheels.”
The women whirled around when they heard the sound of hands clapping. Charles stood in the open doorway. “All you had to do was ask me. I have our guests on video. I have their fingerprints on file. I know exactly who visited us on our mountain the other night. I know whom they represent. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me. This is a team effort, in case you’ve forgotten. When you leave the mountain tomorrow all that information will be at your fingertips. A word of advice: tread cautiously where these people are concerned. They have far-reaching arms and unbelievable power.”
Kathryn openly bristled. “What’s the worst thing they could do to us? Blow up this mountain?”
“There is that possibility,” Charles said quietly. “Even though I, as well as the pilot, took precautions, there is every possibility our guests figured out our location. Like I said, tread lightly, ladies. You’re dismissed now. Thank you for your artistic efforts, Alexis.”
The women trooped out of the computer room, each busy with her own thoughts.
“It’s lunchtime, let’s all do it together,” Myra said. “Something light, a chicken salad and some fruit. It will keep our minds busy.”
While the women set about the tasks Myra assigned them, they kept up a running dialogue with each other, calling back and forth. Again, it was Annie who summed it all up, to their surprise.
Fast Track (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 3) Page 5
