Fast Track (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 3)

by Fern Michaels

  “Please don’t cry, Mom. You make me sad when you cry.”

  “Oh, darling girl, how is it you always know when I need you the most?” Myra wailed.

  “I’m your daughter. That’s the way it works, Mom. Everything is going to be all right. Things are coming together on the mountain. Nikki has a handle on everything. Why are you worried?”

  “Because Annie and I are getting old, darling. The girls are young and vibrant. I’m not sure we contribute anything anymore other than our money and support. It’s sad to grow old and not be needed.”

  “Mom, that is so far from the truth, I can’t believe you said what you said. Without you and Annie, things would fall apart even with Charles’s expertise. Nik and the others depend on you, look to both of you for guidance. Believe it or not, they’re all your daughters, and they view you as their mother. You and Annie both. Two mothers, Mom. It doesn’t get any better than that. Even the dogs love you.”

  Myra swallowed and managed to make her tongue say what she wanted it to say. “I never…that’s how I feel, but I didn’t know the girls felt that way about us. Well, I did, but they never say anything. You know what I mean, dear. Annie and I were just talking, and we were thinking maybe we were in the way. They didn’t want to take us with them this evening. We were so crushed. Annie more so than me, I think. Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’m sorry, darling girl.”

  “Mom, are you paying attention to the weather? They wanted to make sure you two were safe. Someone always has to stay behind. Alexis had to stay behind last time with the G-String Girls. This time it was your turn. Someone else will probably have to stay behind on the next mission. You know how it is when they’re on a roll; they can’t stop to make phone calls. They’re depending on you and Annie to be here for them and Charles. In the end, you and Annie have the most important jobs. You need to get over feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Are you…you know…okay, darling girl?”

  “Fine, Mom. I had to really pep talk Daddy,” Barbara said, referring to Charles. “He was so devastated with the destruction to the mountain, but things are working just fine for him right now. By the way, that was a pretty snappy decision Annie made to buy the paper.”

  Myra started wringing her hands. “I don’t know if that was a wise move or not. I can’t imagine it ever happening, but you never know. Sometimes, Annie scares the daylights out of me. She doesn’t know a thing about running a newspaper, and on top of that, she’s a felon. Good Lord, what if the owners take her up on her offer and it all comes to pass?”

  “I bet you could really write good Op-Ed pieces that would make the readership sit up and take notice. You could be pro-vigilante. Think about it, Mom. Gotta go now.”

  Myra grew so light-headed she had to grasp the bedpost when she felt a featherlight touch to her wet cheek. She fell back against the down comforter and let the tears flow. Her spirit daughter always came to her when she needed her most. If only…She bounced back up, gathered her wits about her, and left the bedroom, four huge pillows stuffed under her arms. She marched down the long, dimly lit hallway and knocked on Annie’s door. “I want to do something, Annie, and I want to do it right now! Get all the pillows you can find and bring them with you.”

  “I thought you wanted to go to sleep. You said you were tired. What’s the matter with you? You look…scary, Myra. Did something happen?” Annie asked fearfully.

  “I did. I was. In a manner of speaking, something did happen. But, that’s when I was feeling old. I’m not feeling old right now, so come along. You’re dawdling, and that’s what old people do. They damn well dawdle, Annie. I refuse to dawdle. Do you hear me?”

  “I think if someone was out in the barn, they would be able to hear you,” Annie snapped. “What are we going to do with these pillows?”

  “What do you think, Annie? Do I always have to draw you a map? We’re going to slide down the banister until our asses are raw.”

  Annie gaped at her longtime friend. “Well, all right! I guess that means we’ll have to double up on our Advil.”

  “Yes, we’ll double up starting tomorrow. Do you know something else? I hope you get to buy that paper. We’re going to take a pro stance on the vigilantes. I’m going to write the first Op-Ed piece. Under a pseudonym, of course.”

  “Well, damn, Myra, whatever it was you ate or drank, I want some. I like this new you. I really do. Until our bony asses are raw, huh?”

  Myra squared her shoulders. “Exactly.”

  An hour later both Myra and Annie were curled up like little schoolgirls in the mound of pillows and bedding at the foot of the staircase. They were breathless, exhilarated, and at the same time exhausted. They looked at each other and laughed like lunatics. “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will kill you, Annie. Do you hear me?” Myra gasped.

  “Oh, I hear you,” Annie said, burrowing into the nest of down bedding. “That was really fun, Myra. I mean it. I can’t remember the last time I did something so silly. Not to mention dangerous. Especially at our age. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I think it was better than having sex.”

  “Shut up, Annie, and go to sleep.”

  “Here? Aren’t we going to bed?”

  “Let me ask you a question, Annie. Do you seriously think you could walk up that very long, very circular staircase one more time?”

  Annie burrowed deeper into the bedding. “Absolutely not. Good night, Myra.”

  Myra snuggled into her corner of the bedding and was just dropping off to sleep when the cell phone in the pocket of her robe chirped. Annie bolted upright as did Myra while she grappled for the cell. It chirped twice more before she was able to bring it to her ear. She listened carefully as Kathryn explained that they were going to spend the night in Rena Gold’s apartment so the showgirl could set up a meeting the following day in the penthouse with Maxwell Zenowicz. They discussed the terrible weather for another minute before the call ended.

  Wide-awake now, Myra explained the call to Annie, then said, “I didn’t think it was the time to tell them about your bid to buy the Post. Do you think I should have told them?”

  Annie thought about the question. “No, I don’t think so. It has nothing to do with what’s going on right now. And it might never happen, so for now, let’s just keep it between the two of us. I do like surprises. How do you feel about a fried-egg sandwich right now with some hot cocoa?”

  “With ketchup?”

  “What’s a fried-egg sandwich without ketchup? It was nice of Nellie to bring us food, wasn’t it? If the weather weren’t so bad, I’d call her up to join us. Nellie never sleeps, you know that, right?”

  Myra struggled to an upright position. “Yes, I know. I think she sleeps more than she admits, though. Arthritis is so debilitating, but Nellie handles it well. My hips and legs hurt, Annie.”

  “What do you expect? We went up and down those damn steps twelve times. We used muscles we haven’t used in a hundred years. We need to keep mobile. If you stop, then everything locks up. And don’t you dare start with that old people business again.”

  The two women hobbled to the kitchen, where Annie fried the eggs and Myra prepared the hot cocoa.

  “We aren’t going to go to bed, are we?” Annie asked.

  “No, we’re not, Annie. In another hour or so I plan on calling Charles. I am so worried about him. I do hope everything is okay back on the mountain.”

  “I don’t know why I say this…well, maybe I do, but I think Charles and the mountain are the least of our worries at the moment. Actually, right now, this very minute, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Everything seems to be under control. We’re so used to going full tilt that now there’s a lull we let our imaginations go into overdrive. Do you want the yolk runny or solid?”

  “Runny and crisp around the edges. Nellie didn’t bring any ketchup, Annie.”

  “See! See! Now, having no ketchup is something to worry about.”
/>
  Myra smiled as she threw the dish towel in Annie’s direction.

  “Life will go on, my dear, ketchup or no ketchup,” Annie said.

  Annie had no idea how right she was about life going on no matter what. Back in the District, at the Post, the discussion that had turned into a free-for-all was continuing at full bore. It was Liam Sullivan—ready to chew nails and spit rust—who finally turned on the television for the late-evening news. The news anchor with rosy cheeks and strawlike hair read the opening sound bites. Sullivan cringed when the first report was the latest on the British Embassy. At some point after leaving the Post, Nigel Summers must have gone to the local Fox News station to be interviewed.

  The assembled group listened as Summers said his staff would be returning to the embassy first thing in the morning, and that the vermin situation was contained. He made it clear that there was never any indication of a plague or anything other than a few rats, which had been trapped by Reston Exterminating. He refused to be baited by the reporter who had done the interview when he was questioned about Homeland Security and giving the CDC permission to enter the premises. It was what he didn’t say that made all the difference. When the reporter asked Summers if he thought it was all a hoax, Summers shrugged and walked away.

  “Son of a bitch! Those Brits are a smarmy lot, now, aren’t they?” Roger Nolan snapped.

  “Since you’re the one who was all over this, Nolan, I can see why you’d say that. Summers just tied your dick in a knot. I’d start sending out my résumé if I were you,” Sullivan snapped. “Somehow I don’t think the president and the VP will look favorably on you after this fiasco. Can we call it a night now?”

  “Look!” Elias Cummings said.

  All eyes returned to the television as the anchor played three different call-in segments that pronounced the whole British Embassy episode a hoax. The third call was slightly different, and the men all looked at one another as they tried to place the voice. The third caller said it was a hoax the vigilantes had perpetrated to cover devious doings and to give the FBI another black eye.

  The silence in the room was so total, a pin dropping on the floor would have sounded like a bombshell going off.

  Dave Wylie from the CDC was the first to pack up his briefcase. He didn’t say a word to anyone as he left the room. He didn’t have to. His work was done, and he and his people would be on their way to Atlanta at first light. No one was going to ruin the reputation of his beloved CDC.

  Sullivan looked over at Nolan and bellowed, “That leaves you holding the bag, Nolan.”

  Elias Cummings stood rooted to the floor. His eyes narrowed to slits as he swiveled his gaze over to where Ted Robinson was sitting with his colleagues. “How sure are you the vigilantes are behind this?”

  His voice sounded so deadly that Ted cringed. Ever defiant, he looked up at his boss to see if he had permission to talk. Sullivan nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Personally, I’m a hundred percent sure. I just don’t know why. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  Sullivan looked around at the cluttered room, at disgruntled lawyers and judges who suddenly didn’t seem to know what to say or do. He barked orders to Ted and Espinosa before he left the room. “Stay as long as you like, gentlemen, I have a paper to get out.”

  “Hold on there, Sullivan,” Cummings barked.

  Liam Sullivan whirled around and jabbed a stubby finger into Cummings’s chest. “No, you hold on. I’m putting a special edition out, and I’m kicking ass and taking names later. If you don’t like it, sue me. My guys say you can’t stop me, and that’s good enough for me. We’re going with the vigilantes theory because this time I think Robinson is on the money.” He pointed to the men from the Sentinel and the News, who nodded in agreement as they powered up their cell phones.

  Roger Nolan, not to be outdone, powered up his own cell phone, walking away to whisper into the phone.

  “You know what, Robinson? You just went on my shit list. From here on out, you are in my crosshairs, and that goes for all the rest of you who call yourself journalists,” Elias Cummings bellowed before he stormed out of the room.

  “Ooh, I’m so scared,” Ted said in an attempt at bravado.

  “You should be,” Sullivan said. “From now on, you’re on his short shit list. That’s not a good place to be, Robinson.”

  Like I didn’t know that, Ted thought. Never let them see you sweat, he said over and over to make himself feel better. It didn’t work. His insides felt like one big, jangled, raw nerve ending.

  Nolan’s color was what Sullivan described as ashen in the article that appeared in the early edition of the paper. But, he didn’t stop there. He went on to describe Nolan’s trembling hands, along with the FBI director’s threat to shut down the three major papers in the District. Sullivan ended the Op-Ed piece by quoting verbatim what Nigel Summers had said and his intention to move his people back into the British Embassy.

  Chapter 22

  The sunburst clock over the mantel in Rena Gold’s apartment read 12:20. Twenty minutes past the witching hour.

  The women were sprawled out on the floor, the contents of Rena’s floor safe spread out in front of them. Nikki waved a paper under Rena’s nose. “Do you have any idea what all you have here?” she asked, awe ringing in her voice.

  “Not really. I was so worried and scared, I just copied every piece of paper in his briefcase and never looked at them. Why…What is it?” Rena’s eyes were so fearful, her voice so shaky, Kathryn reached out to take her hand and pat it.

  Nikki’s eyebrows drew together in a tight frown. “It’s probably better that you don’t know. You’ve done half our work for us. Now, the tricky part is going to be getting Zenowicz here tomorrow. The sooner the better. Tell me something, Rena, is he a day or night guy?”

  Rena flushed a bright pink. “It depends on how long…Sometimes he likes afternoon…trysts. I…I haven’t been with him in over a week. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been with someone else, the louse. But from the tone of his voice the other night, I think I’m safe in saying he hasn’t been with anyone, so…” She left whatever she was going to say to their imaginations.

  “Okay, we need to come up with a workable plan and at the same time get you out of here safely. Ourselves as well. By the way, just how alert is that guy down in the lobby?”

  “The day guy is easygoing. He likes to flirt. But I know Maxwell pays him to report my comings and goings. The night man is older, but he goes by the book. You can’t get anything past him, and he usually sits glued to the monitors. He only fills in as a doorman if one of the guards calls in sick or something. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Nikki chewed on her lower lip. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “What are you going to…you know…do to Maxwell? I read about how…Actually, I don’t care what you do to him. I’m sorry I asked.” Rena reached for her wineglass and seemed surprised that it was empty. Five empty bottles sat like soldiers on the tabletop. She eyed them before uncorking a sixth and pouring generously. Then Nikki’s cell phone rang, and Rena was a deer in the headlights.

  Nikki uncoiled herself and walked away toward the kitchen when she saw that it was Charles on the phone. The first words out of her mouth were, “What’s wrong?”

  “Plenty,” was Charles’s response.

  “Tell me.” Nikki listened to Charles suck in his breath. That alone told her the news was not going to be good. She waited.

  “The Post, the Sentinel, and the News are all going with special early editions tomorrow. Today, actually. The headline will read something like, Vigilantes are back. Rat-and-plague scare a hoax. Vigilantes responsible.”

  “Oh, my God! What do you want us to do, Charles? Before you tell me, let me tell you something. We’re more or less stranded at Rena Gold’s penthouse. There’s a terrible storm. We have all the documentation we need to pull this off, but if we leave, we’re going to be too noticeable. We opted to stay overnight, and Rena is goin
g to invite Zenowicz here in the morning. Whether or not he shows up will tell the story. On top of that, we do not have Alexis’s Red Bag. And our special box. Both are at the farmhouse. We need them, Charles. Right now I’m not sure where Harry, Jack, and Bert are. Do you know?”

  “They’re in the parking garage dismantling all the security cameras to make it look like the storm shorted them out. Kathryn didn’t help when she just ripped the wires out. You don’t want to call undue attention to yourselves. Stay put, and I’ll find a way to get Alexis’s Red Bag to you. What will you do if Miss Gold’s invitation to Mr. Zenowicz doesn’t work?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far in my thinking, Charles. We still have a few hours till morning. We’re working on it. He’s really stupid, Charles. I never set eyes on the man, and I hate him with a passion. He’s all about the money.”

  “Just don’t get overconfident, Nikki. I want you out of there safe and sound. By the time those early editions hit in a few hours, there are going to be millions of sightings of all of you. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. By that I mean, the administration is going to get off the hook because the vigilantes are front and center. Are you following me?”

  “I am, Charles. Just tell me one thing. Do we have a ride out of here back to the mountain?”

  “Not yet, dear. I’m working on it.”

  “Work faster, Charles.”

  Nikki blinked as she shut the phone. Charles was never big on good-byes.

  She rushed back into the sunken living room to tell the girls about her conversation with Charles.

  The only person with a question was Rena. “What does all that mean?”

  “What that means is our time frame is really, really short. It all hinges on you, Rena. You have to be absolutely convincing to get Zenowicz to meet with you even if you have to threaten him. You will have to do whatever it takes to get him here. Is that understood?” Rena’s head bobbed up and down. “Good, that means we’re all on the same page,” Nikki said.