2. Payback

by Fern Michaels

  “Want some more Advil, Julia?” Nikki asked, setting the coffee cup down on the cocktail table. “Would you rather be alone or do you want to talk?” she asked gently.

  Julia grimaced. “I think I already talked too much, Nikki. What did Charles say? How upset is he with me?”

  “Julia, Charles understands. We all understand. He’s working on it. Knowing Charles as well as I do, I think we’re still on for this evening. There will be some changes but we’re going to pull it off. Hey, we’re women! We can do anything if we put our minds to it. Remember, there were some glitches during Kathryn’s mission. We pulled it off and no one was the wiser.”

  Julia struggled to find a more comfortable sitting position. “Jack and his new partner know too much, Nikki.”

  “Yes, I know. They could do real damage to Charles and his new identity here in this country. If you want to know what my secret fear is, it’s that Charles will tell his people on the other side of the pond and they will take care of Jack and Mark.”

  Julia clutched one of Myra’s needlepoint pillows to her chest. Tears trickled down her drawn cheeks. “Oh, God, I didn’t think of that, Nikki. Will they…will they…” Julia couldn’t bring herself to finish what Nikki was thinking.

  “I don’t know. I think so. That covert spy stuff by both governments is serious stuff. We’re babes in the woods compared to what those guys do. I suppose it’s possible they could arrange to talk to Mark and Jack.” Nikki shivered as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “The FBI and the Secret Service will be at the armory this evening. I’m surprised Mitch doesn’t have an all points out on me. If he doesn’t withdraw or tell the governor he doesn’t want to be his running mate, I’m fair game from here on in. I’ll be under a microscope.”

  “Charles is working on it, Julia. Right now, I’m concerned about you. Can you take a shower? I’ll help you.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I should or shouldn’t. I’m going to do it. I got caught in the rain twice yesterday. You can help me wash my hair if you don’t mind. Then you’ll have to re-tape my ribs. I…I want to look as nice as I can this evening. Mitch said some ugly things to me that I will never forget. I guess he hasn’t taken a good look at me lately. He was very cruel. I can’t forgive him for that. You know, Nikki, I almost blurted it all out but I bit my tongue so hard I drew blood. I was married to that man for God’s sake. Why didn’t I ever do something? Why did I stay? What’s wrong with me?”

  Nikki held out her hands, dug her heels into the carpeting and pulled Julia to her feet. Together they made their way to the downstairs bathroom where Nikki got out towels, soap, and shampoo. “Hot, warm or cool?”

  “Hot. I can adjust it after I stand under the steam.” Julia stood still as Nikki helped her undress.

  Nikki held her tears until Julia stepped into the shower. She wiped at her eyes on the sleeve of her pajamas. When it was time for her to make a decision where Jack and Mark were concerned, all she would have to do was remember this moment. Julia deserved her revenge.

  Charles paced his domain as he waited for his secure cell phone to ring. After all these years he was in danger again. Like the CIA in Langley, MI6 never slept. What was taking so long? Why weren’t they calling him back? He looked into his coffee cup and was surprised to see it empty. He had no clear recollection of finishing it. He started to pace again, the empty cup in his hands.

  Dear God, what if MI6 insisted on moving him. Well, that simply wasn’t an option. If that was their decision he might have to go over their head to Lizzie. The mere thought of having to do that gave him indigestion. He couldn’t leave Myra and the girls. They needed him, depended on him. He could make Lizzie understand that. No, leaving his little family was not an option.

  The phone rang. Charles clicked on the button knowing his conversation could not be heard by anyone in the world except the person he was talking to.

  The voice on the other end of the line apologized for the short delay in not getting back to him sooner. “I’m sorry, Sir Malcolm, but I had to boot this up about nine levels to get you the person you need to speak with. Hold while I transfer this call.”

  Charles drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. “Sir Malcolm, Rodney Abernathy here. I caught your call. I don’t see a problem. We’ll take care of it. Would you like to move on to a warmer climate?”

  Charles felt light-headed with relief. He wouldn’t have to go to Lizzie after all. “Not at all, Rodney. I just want to be reassured.”

  “Rest easy, Sir Malcolm. We fielded a call a short while ago from Interpol. One of your FBI agents imposed on a friendship to make inquiries. There are so many red flags on your file, the man went to his superior. Everything has been taken care of. Is there anything else I can help you with today, Sir Malcolm?”

  “No. Thank you. I’ll stay in touch should things change.” Charles clicked off the phone. How strange to hear himself called Sir Malcolm. His birth name was Malcolm Sutcliff. Lizzie herself had given him his new name when he was sent to America and he’d grown over the years to believe he really was Charles Martin.

  Charles felt his shoulders straighten. He had work to do. Lots of work. But first he needed a gallon of coffee to jump-start his adrenaline again. Good Lord, he must have become Americanized along the way. A relieved smile on his face, Charles decided it wasn’t a bad thing.

  Shortly before the noon hour, the foursome were ready to tee off when the director of the CIA felt his secure mobile phone vibrate inside his shirt pocket. His golfing buddies, the senior senator from Illinois, the Speaker of the House and the FBI’s second in command groaned as one. The director clicked on his phone and walked away so his conversation couldn’t be overheard. He listened, the expression on his face going from furious to livid to murderous. “Yes, I do recall a similar situation where you did what we requested with no repercussions. I’ll see to it. You can assure Her Majesty your man is safe and there will be no need to move him to another location. Of course, I’ll get back to you. I’ll take care of it as soon as I hang up.” The director waved off his friends and headed back to the clubhouse.

  Inside his car, his chauffeur standing outside, the director made his first call. It wasn’t that unusual for the director of the CIA to call the director of the FBI but it wasn’t quite normal either. The two men exchanged guarded pleasantries before the CIA got down to business. “Now means now, Adam. They tell me on the other side of the pond that this is crucial. Can you hog-tie your man and his friend? I just want to be sure, Adam. The lady across the pond is in a pissy mood from what I gather. No sense in riling her up any further. The fact that the PM isn’t involved shows how serious this is. I’ll return the favor, Adam, should the occasion arise. Call me when you have something to report. I’m ten minutes late teeing off. Oh, you’re on the ninth. I heard about that hole in one you got a few weeks back.” The connection ended and the cell phone went back into the director’s pocket. Ten minutes later, he said, “OK, boys, what are we betting today?”

  A light misty rain was falling outside as Mark Lane tugged at his tie. He straightened the Windsor knot, looked at himself again to make sure he looked professional, checked his watch to make sure he had plenty of time to pick up Jack Emery. More than enough time. They’d be outside in the rain, and he’d probably catch a cold. One of those spring-summer colds that lingered for weeks. Just the thought depressed him.

  Time to warm up the coffee in his cup. Maybe he should eat something. He knew he’d never get a chance to get even close to the buffet table with the delectable tidbits the governor would be serving at this particular bash. Been there, done that.

  As Mark waited for the countdown on the microwave he realized he was not looking forward to the evening even though it meant he was “out in the field” so to speak.

  A sharp knock startled him just as the microwave beeped signaling his coffee was ready. It must be Jack, so anxious he drove over here to cut down on driving time. Coffee cup in hand,
he marched to the door and didn’t bother to check the peephole to see who it was. He was about to offer up some kind of blistering comment until he saw the two men standing facing him. His mother hadn’t raised any fools. He knew trouble when he saw it. The coffee cup in his hand started to shake.

  “Agent Lane?” one of the men said.

  Mark blinked as his right eye started to twitch. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “For starters, you can invite us in unless you want your neighbors knowing your business,” the second man said as he flashed his credentials.

  Mark stepped aside to allow the two men to enter his apartment. Coffee sloshed out of his cup onto the floor. He ignored it and he used both hands to steady the cup.

  “Going somewhere, Agent Lane?”

  “The fact that you’re standing here tells me probably not. I was going to the armory. I signed on for the extra detail. You can check with my boss.”

  “We already did, Agent Lane. You’re right, you are not going to the armory. Where’s your buddy, Jack Emery?”

  “Probably home. I was supposed to pick him up.”

  “That’s not going to happen either, Agent Lane. Call him and tell him something came up and he has to drive over here. In the spirit of cooperation. That’s all you say, Agent Lane. You say another word and I’ll shoot you on the spot.”

  Mark looked down at his shoes that he’d polished earlier to a high sheen. He could feel his back start to stiffen. “I think I want to know what this is all about. I don’t work for you. What does Jack Emery have to do with anything?” Stupid ass question.

  Mark’s thoughts were faster than speeding bullets. He liked his job. No, he loved his job. He had good health benefits which he needed. He didn’t need any black marks on his sheet. Still, how could he in good conscience turn Jack over to these guys, and that’s exactly what he would be doing if he called him? Plus, Jack was on a thirty day leave without pay. Technically, that made him a civilian . I knew I should have killed you, Jack.

  “We don’t have to tell you squat, Agent Lane,” the first man said quietly. Mark heard the menace in his voice. “Make the call.”

  Mark walked through the living room and down a short hall to his second bedroom that was a home office. He sloshed coffee all the way. He sat down on his swivel chair because he was scared out of his wits. He dialed Jack’s number from memory. The second man reached over and pressed the speaker phone button. Jack’s voice came across loud and exceptionally clear.

  “If this is you, Agent Lane, telling me you changed your mind, I’ll come over there and personally kick your ass all the way to New York. What?” he barked.

  “Something came up, Jack. Drive over here. I’ll be ready to…to leave when you get here.”

  “All right, all right. You fibbies are the pits, you know that. You’re so disorganized I have to wonder how you get anything done. Plus today is Saturday, your day off.”

  “I didn’t say it was work related, Jack. All I said was something came up.”

  The first man pressed a button and the call ended. Mark replaced the phone. He brought the cup to his lips, stunned to see he’d lost the contents. Shit, now he was going to get ants. He tried to take a deep breath and made a horrible sound in his throat. Neither man looked concerned.

  “How long will it take Mr. Emery to get here?”

  “Depending on traffic, maybe fifteen minutes. If he hits the right lights, ten minutes.” Mark continued to hack and sputter. Both men walked back to the living room. Mark followed and sat down in his favorite chair. He’d seen pictures of the shields both these men carried but on a wide screen at a briefing. The instructor at the academy had said in any given year, maybe three such shields were issued by the president of the United States. One year, the instructor said, there had been four. One year, none. What that meant to the students was, if you ever come across someone carrying that particular shield you immediately stand down and turn over everything to the person carrying the shield. The instructor had droned on to say that MI6, Interpol and the Mossad had similar shields. All were compatible which meant the holders of the shields worked in harmony.

  Mark thought about the call he’d made to his friend at Interpol. Bastard. See if I ever do anything for you.

  The minutes ticked by. Mark finally got up and replenished his coffee. He drank it cold. All the while he wondered where his next assignment was going to be if they didn’t fire or kill him. He didn’t even want to think about what they’d do to Jack. He remembered his old instructor saying the guys with the special shields were meaner than cat shit, and worse than hired assassins. All the students, including himself, had laughed when he said they shoot first and take names later.

  The knock on the door sounded impatient. Neither man said a word as Mark trudged forward.

  “C’mon, c’mon, open up, Mark. Let’s get this show on the road,” Jack bellowed from his side of the door.

  Mark opened the door and watched in horror as Jack was literally lifted off the floor and thrown across the room with such force he made a thumping sound when he landed on the sofa. He wondered giddily, how they’d managed to gauge the distance so he didn’t crash through the glass topped coffee table. Then again, maybe it was just pure dumb luck.

  Mark stared at his friend. He’d seen normal fear, abnormal fear and then the kind of fear he was seeing on Jack’s face in his earlier years in the line of duty. Oh, shit. This is where the rubber meets the road. Keep your mouth shut, buddy, and maybe, just maybe, we can get out of this with our skin intact.

  Nine

  Alexis hopped on the bed and clapped her hands for silence. “Yo! Listen up everyone and get in line. Who wants to be first?” She jumped off the bed, to land with a thud next to Yoko. She eyed the Asian with a practiced eye.

  “Might I say I do admire those new boobs of yours. I think I can say I’ve never seen a four foot eight, eighty-five pound female with a set of thirty-six-inch knockers.”

  Yoko preened and then pranced around Alexis’s bedroom. “My husband loves them. Thanks to Julia’s colleague, I was able to have it done. No charge. How do you say, complimentary?”

  “Wow!” Kathryn grinned. “Do they feel the same?”

  Yoko giggled. “My husband says they do. He said he likes it that I am an experimental, progressive woman. Free!”

  Julia felt the need to explain. “A colleague of mine has an intern who needed the practice. We did it after hours. I was in the clinic when they were done. Good job if I do say so myself.”

  It was just enough conversation to defuse the tension in the room before Alexis got down to work. Her famous Red Bag was voluminous and no one was permitted to touch the contents but Alexis herself. The others called her a magician because she could transfer any likeness to something totally different from when she started, with the aid of latex, spirit gum, makeup and costume.

  “Who am I going to be this evening?” Yoko gurgled as she gave her new boobs an uplift bounce.

  Alexis looked down at the chart Charles had given her prior to all of them retiring to her room to get ready for the evening’s festivities. “It says here I am to make you three inches taller, pile your hair on your head for added height and transform you into a beautiful regal Chinese royal.” She looked Yoko up and down. “I don’t know if I can do that. Those boobs are going to throw me off. Besides, you’re already beautiful.” At Yoko’s crestfallen look, she hastened to add, “I’m teasing, dipshit.”

  Alexis began taking things out of the oversized Red Bag, grateful for all the backstage training she’d had when she worked in Little Theater.

  The gig was on.

  As Alexis pinched and prodded, glued and pasted, her brushes and fingers moving like magic, the others chattered nonstop, mostly to Julia as they clustered around her, offering support.

  Nikki looked up from her nest of pillows on the bed. “Are we all clear on every single detail?”

  “Got it down pat, Nikki. Wait till you guys see the jo
b Yoko and I did at that armory. It looks like a rainbow. One of the governor’s people actually came out to thank us. Gave me a fifty buck tip and winked at me. Yoko got a hundred bucks. I haven’t been able to figure that out,” Kathryn groused.

  “There’s going to be a thousand people there this evening and that doesn’t count the press,” Isabelle said. “Charles said the expected donation was a thousand bucks each. He gave me our checks earlier to distribute. No grass is growing under the nominee’s feet on this one. Announcement, pony up, and get the hell out of there. Whatever you do, girls, do not, I repeat, do not forget to bring your invitation. Charles did a masterful job of duplicating them.”

  “Ta-da!” Alexis said dramatically.

  “Oh, myyyy, God!” the women squealed.

  “You look like…” Kathryn struggled for words and was unable to come up with any. Murphy, who was on the bed with Nikki, reared back and howled.

  “Let me save you the trouble and let’s go with high priced Asian slut with family ties to the Ming family! The Monarch family will be dying to make my acquaintance.” Yoko giggled as she strutted around the room in her underwear.