Annie’s expression went from disbelief to utter disbelief when she said, “Pearl, I have my own crisis right here on the mountain, and I can’t get excited about what’s going on in Utah. Besides, it isn’t even light out, so it has to be around three o’clock in Utah, which raises the question: What the hell are you doing out there on some back road in the middle of nowhere at this hour of the night? I’ll get back to you when I have time.”
“What? What?” the other Sisters demanded.
Annie shrugged. “Like I know. I could barely understand her. Somebody’s bus broke down. Not Pearl’s.”
Annie’s phone rang again, then Nikki’s pealed. Yoko pulled her phone out of the pocket of her robe just as it rang.
“Will someone answer the damn phones already?” Kathryn blasted.
Everyone started talking at once, on the phones and among themselves.
Five minutes later the Sisters were pacing.
“I’d say Pearl does have a crisis. But, I don’t see how we can help,” Nikki said.
Annie’s phone rang again. She barked a greeting, then said, “We’re discussing it now, Pearl. What do you mean, what should you do? Sing songs. Play games. That’s what we used to do when our parents took us for buggy rides a hundred years ago. I’ll get back to you.”
The Sisters argued back and forth for a good ten minutes before Annie stood up and stomped her feet. “Listen up! Are you all saying we are not capable of helping out a fellow Sister? All right, all right, she’s almost a Sister.”
Before anyone could respond, there was another wave of phone calls. Judge Easter, Lizzie, then Maggie calling in.
All Annie would say is, “We’re taking it under advisement.”
“Maybe we should have told them about Charles and Myra,” Isabelle said fretfully.
“And maybe we shouldn’t,” Annie said spiritedly. “They don’t live on this mountain, so that makes them the auxiliary or the second string. That means they do not, I repeat, they do not need to know everything. I don’t think Charles or Myra would want their private business being talked about, even with friends. We’re family, so to speak, so it stays right here and goes no further. But, we need to have a show of hands to show total agreement.”
Annie’s Sisters knew she was spot on as five hands shot in the air.
“All right, then. My first decision as PW is that we are all in agreement, and we act accordingly. I don’t know what that means exactly, so we’ll more or less wing it for now. Now, let’s sit down and figure out what if anything we can do to help Pearl without Charles and Myra and still keep their business private.”
Chapter 2
Within seconds, the high-tech world that none of the Sisters truly understood kicked into high gear when their special phones warbled a symphony that left the women breathless.
Annie’s beringed fingers wiggled in the air, the signal for each of them to say who was calling according to their caller ID displays. Confusion reigned as one call clicked off and another one came in at the speed of light.
Pearl.
Maggie.
Lizzie.
Nellie.
Jack.
Harry.
Bert.
Annie wagged her finger. “Okay, we know why all the phones are ringing. We have to make a decision to shelve Myra and Charles, then we have to decide what if anything we can do for Pearl. That’s not to say we aren’t going to help Myra and Charles at some point, but for the moment, Pearl’s problem seems to be the most pressing.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that, Annie. We’re just going to…what, ignore whatever it is that’s going on with Charles? Shouldn’t we be thinking about a way to get to England to help? I understand all about Pearl but she’s not really one of us. I don’t mean to sound ugly, but that’s the way it is. She helped us, we helped her. It was supposed to be a one-shot deal. End of story.”
“Charles doesn’t want our help,” Nikki said. “If he did, he would have left instructions for us. Look, this is as personal as it gets for Charles, and he doesn’t want us mucking around in his private life. We have to accept that and the fact that he may very well not be coming back. I understand where you’re coming from, but I think Annie is right. We have to shelve Charles and Myra.”
“Utah is not around the corner. I should know, I had that run for years when I was driving my rig,” Kathryn said, “especially at Christmastime when I used to haul Christmas trees. Let’s face it, who can we call to help us? Charles never shared his roster of contacts with any of us.” She looked pointedly at Nikki, and said, “Unless you know how to access all that secret spy stuff.”
“I can try, but Charles never…I just helped him, he didn’t share secrets. There is some guy he depended on named Avery Snowden, but that’s all I know for sure. Let me make sure I understand what you just said, Kathryn, and what I think you’re all worried about. What you’re thinking is, we can’t take on a mission without Charles. Well, if that is what you’re thinking, you’re wrong. We can make it work. We all know people, our second string know people. If we pool our strengths and our knowledge, I wager we can pull this off.”
“Does that mean we’re going to help Pearl?” Alexis asked.
“Damn straight that’s what it means,” Annie said.
Yoko hopped off her chair and danced around the room. “That’s all well and good, but what does Pearl do in the meantime? We should call her, get her to some safe haven, then kick it up a few notches. Until we formulate a plan, we let the second string kick some ass. Charles always dotted every i and crossed every t.”
“I do like the way that sounds, dear. I’m going to call Pearl right now and get the particulars. The rest of you start calling the others. Someone make some more coffee, this is going to be a very long morning. Wait! Wait! One more thing,” Annie said, drawing herself up to her full height. “This is WAR!”
“Well, damn,” Kathryn said as she punched in Bert’s private cell phone number, a number no one in the Hoover Building knew existed. Her legs felt rubbery when there was no response. She didn’t bother to leave a message.
Two thousand miles away in Las Vegas, Lizzie Fox’s encrypted cell phone rang. She reached a long arm over Cosmo Cricket’s barrel chest to snag the phone off the night table. Her sleeping partner groaned loudly enough to shiver timber. He did his best to roll over, but his bed, while huge, didn’t quite accommodate someone his size plus a partner. Lizzie stifled a laugh as she giggled a greeting. And then she listened. Before she snapped the phone shut, she said, “I’m on it and on my way.”
Cosmo Cricket, legal guru to the Nevada Gaming Commission, groaned again. “You just got here, Elizabeth! Tell me I didn’t hear what you just said.” He rolled over and the bed felt like it was tilted on two legs.
Oh, how she loved the sound of her name on Cosmo’s lips. Lizzie leaned over and kissed the big man so soundly she felt his ears radiate heat. “I know, but I have to go. The good news is, I’ll be back. I promise. We talked about this, Cricket, and you said you understood and would never stand in my way…in regard…to…certain things.”
The big man propped himself up on one elbow and stared at the woman who had somehow, magically, made him fall in love with her. “I did say that, didn’t I? Go on, do what you have to do. If you need me, call.”
Lizzie planted a second liplock on the big man that made his whiskers sizzle. “Count on it,” she said breathlessly.
“Where are you going, can you tell me?”
“Utah.”
“What the hell’s in Utah?”
“A bus full of stranded pregnant teenagers.”
“Oh,” was all Cosmo could think of to say.
Oh, indeed, Lizzie thought as she stepped into the steaming shower, her mind already on the problem at hand.
While Lizzie was showering and plotting, retired judge Nellie Easter Cummings flipped open her special phone, the phone that drove her almost-brand-new husband, th
e recently retired FBI director, out of his mind because each time it rang it represented a crisis of some sort. She wasn’t completely sure but she thought Elias looked forward to the ringing phone.
He sipped his coffee, his impatience showing by the way he tapped his bare foot under the table. One of Nellie’s nine cats, the one called Miss Patty, pretended to nibble at his toe so that he would pick her up. He obliged, and she purred her thanks by settling herself in his lap. He stroked the soft yellow fur, hoping he would calm down the way the cat had.
Elias forgot about the delectable breakfast sitting in front of him as he watched Nellie close the phone and shove it in the pocket of her smock, something she’d started wearing of late.
“That was Lizzie Fox. She’s in Las Vegas doing…well what she’s doing…is…”
Elias laughed. “You can say it, Nellie. I know what the two of them were/are doing. Cricket’s a great guy. I hope that marriage comes off. From what I can see, the two of them are great together. Almost as good as you and I.” He laughed.
Nellie’s face flamed because down deep she was a prude, something she always denied vehemently.
“It seems Pearl has gotten herself into a bucket of trouble out there in Utah someplace. Through no fault of her own,” she added hastily. “Pearl always travels during the middle of the night doing her…her underground railroad thing. And she always tries to use back roads with the people who help her. She came across a bus that had broken down with a load of pregnant teenagers. She needs the Sisterhood. But…according to Annie something else is going on—something with Myra and Charles; they’ve left—and she really wouldn’t talk about it. What all that means, Elias, is, the girls don’t know what to do. I imagine they are trying to figure out how to make everything work without Charles at the helm. I’m thinking we might want to take a trip to the mountain. To help. The more heads the better. What’s your feeling about that?” Nellie’s tone and words were jittery-sounding, the way they always were when her special phone rang.
Elias let his hands flap in the air to show he was okay with a trip to the mountain. Miss Patty arched her back, hissed, and leaped to the ground to show her total disdain for anything other than her own feline pleasure.
“I’m also thinking we should make a stop at the Post and have a little talk with Maggie. Will that work for you, Elias? Because you’d be doing the driving, and I know how you hate to drive in the District.”
“That will work,” Elias said as he heaved up from the table. “I guess you want me to shower, dress, and pack for us while you…uh…make some more phone calls.” He wouldn’t admit it for the world, but he always got perked up when Nellie’s special phone rang. Retirement was beyond boring.
Nellie nodded as she cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher. Then she waited until she heard her husband’s footsteps on the wide plank stairs that led to the second floor of the farmhouse. She picked up her phone and hit the speed dial, and within seconds heard Maggie Spitzer’s voice coming through loud and clear.
“I’m on it, Nellie,” Maggie said before the judge could utter a word. “Annie okayed the use of her Gulfstream, and it’s being readied as we speak. I’m sending Ted. The plane will set down in Vegas to pick up Lizzie. I’ll work the desk. Get up to the mountain as soon as you can.” She listened for a moment. “No, no, don’t waste time coming here, just hit the interstate. I’ll call Nikki now and tell her you’re on the way. Just off the top of your head, do you know how far it is from Utah to Montana?”
“I don’t have a clue. Google it, dear,” Nellie said before she hung up. She looked around the kitchen to make sure she was leaving it neat and tidy. She filled the cats’ water bowls and food bowls. She’d changed all their litter boxes when she first got up that morning. Her cats would survive for four days without her. If her stay on the mountain was longer, she’d simply call Pritzy Alouette, her cleaning lady, who would come to check on things and take care of the cats.
As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, Nellie mumbled and muttered to herself about retired Supreme Court justices who didn’t know how to stay out of trouble. “I’m getting way too old for these shenanigans,” she mumbled. But, like Elias’s heart, hers always kicked up a couple of beats when word came through on the encrypted phone that her help was needed.
If she could just figure out what was awry with Charles and Myra to make them leave the mountain. In a British helicopter, no less.
Less than forty miles away, Jack Emery waited his turn to be called up to the front of Harry Wong’s dojo to receive his coveted black belt. He thought of all the years of training, all the bruises, the sore muscles—not to mention a few fractures—he’d endured since enrolling in Harry’s martial arts classes. He’d religiously followed every instruction and even managed to pick up a smattering of Harry’s language. The words always sounded ominous and deadly, so he thought he should memorize them. On occasion he’d utter one or the other of them, and Harry would laugh like hell, which probably meant Jack had said “manure” in six different ways.
Bert Navarro nudged Jack’s arm. “Bet you thought old Harry was never going to give you that belt, huh?”
Jack nodded. “He passed me over twice because I wasn’t ready. Even I knew I wasn’t ready, so it was okay. This time I just told him I’d beat the living shit out of him if he didn’t come through.”
Bert grinned. “What’d he say?”
Jack laughed out loud. “He told me to ‘sit on a pointy stick and spin.’ Then I told him I was going to tell Nikki to tell Yoko to tell him she’d beat the living shit out of him and, voilà, here comes my black belt. As we all know, our fearless leader, also known as Harry Wong, the second-best martial arts expert in the land, is only afraid of one thing: Yoko.” Jack laughed at his own wit, then sobered when Harry fixed his steely, slant-eyed gaze on him.
“This is a ceremony, gentlemen, even though it is only a ceremony of three. Rituals and rules apply. That means no laughter, no jokes, and no cell phones ringing. Since you think you can ignore my rules, Mr. Emery, drop and give me two hundred push-ups. Like now. Director Navarro, since I saw you instigate that little scene that just transpired, drop and do the same. Now!”
“Eat shit, Harry. I did a hundred when I got here,” Jack said. “Give me a break.”
“Yeah, eat shit, Harry,” Bert said.
Harry offered up what he called his Number 6 Evil Grin and dangled a brown belt that was to go to Bert, along with Jack’s black belt, back and forth. He reached behind him to pull out a pair of pink scissors that Yoko had given him for his ribbon-cutting ceremonies. He opened the scissors and prepared to slice at the two belts in his hand. “Last chance.”
Jack and Bert almost killed each other as they raced to the middle of the sweat-soaked mat in the center of the floor.
“Now, repeat after me, gentlemen. Harry Wong is the Master of his dojo. The Master of his dojo is to be respected and obeyed. Unconditionally. Say it in between each push-up.”
“Fuck you, Harry,” Jack huffed as he struggled to do the Master’s bidding.
“Yeah, Harry, fuck you,” Bert groaned.
“Count! Shout out loud so I can hear you. Do it in synch,” Harry said, the Number 6 Evil Grin still in place.
The black and brown belts hung just an inch from both men’s noses as they did their best to comply with Harry’s dire instructions.
Both men were on their eighty-seventh push-up when the door of the dojo burst open and Maggie Spitzer stormed into the room. She matched Harry’s evil grin with one of her own. “Get up!” she commanded. “Harry, sit down and listen to me. Stop with this…macho bullshit and listen up. And turn your cell phones on.” She turned to face Harry, who was sitting docilely. “If you ever make them turn off their cell phones again, I will cut off your advertising allowance and sic Yoko on you. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” the trio said solemnly as they primly folded their hands in their laps.
“Good. We are now in
volved in a major problem. This is what I know as of the moment…”
While the members of the second string were scrambling and scurrying, the Sisters were gathering around the circular table in the War Room on Big Pine Mountain to plot their strategy.
Chapter 3
Pearl Barnes looked like anything but what she was: a retired Supreme Court justice. She was dressed in baggy cargo pants, a sweat-stained oversized T-shirt, and combat boots laced up to her ankles. Her iron-gray hair was cut short and slicked back. These days her skin was bronzed, dry, and wrinkled. And she could smell her own body odor. A far cry from the way she looked when she was in court: immaculate, coiffed, and perfumed in her judicial robes.
She’d been driving for hours in a special bus with a special engine that promised never to give out on her. It looked like her, old and decrepit, but that was what she wanted, part of her MO so that she didn’t draw attention to her illegal activities.
The people she worked with—“volunteered” was a better word, and more to her liking—didn’t call her judge because they didn’t know about that other life. They called her many names, like Savior, Angel, and Mama. The name that stuck more than any other was Missy. Not Missy something or other, just Missy. But for the most part she answered to just about anything including, Hey Lady!
Pearl looked at the passengers in her bus and winced. She had thirteen pregnant young girls, and if she was any judge, none was older than fourteen. An unlucky number no matter how you looked at it. Then she looked at her two novice volunteers, who looked scared out of their wits, the same way the three other women and their seven children looked scared out of theirs.
They were all looking at her expectantly, wondering what magic she was going to unleash. Her destination was a small rural town called Sienna, where she planned to drop off the women and children, where they would wait in a very special barn until the next relay team surfaced. Now she had fourteen girls and one dead bus driver. The driver she had to forget about for now because when you were dead you were dead, and there was nothing one could do about that. Sooner or later, the Highway Patrol would come along and take the man to the county morgue.
13. Under the Radar Page 2
