13. Under the Radar

by Fern Michaels

  “So, what you’re saying is you won’t help me, is that how I’m to read your response, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie sighed. She’d been friends with the president for more years than she cared to remember. As women, they’d been through a lot during that time. Together they had been in the box, out of the box, and over the top of the box, always coming out the victors. “What kind of help are you asking for, Martine? If you’re asking me to defend any of those Happy Campers, the answer is no. I’ll tell you something else, I’d represent the madam for free. I think the Vigilantes will be of the same mind. Having said that, I must be dense because I don’t know what it is you think either the Vigilantes or I can do.”

  “I know, I know, Lizzie. I’m out of my mind. To be honest, I didn’t know who else to call. I guess I thought you would have a magic bullet of some kind. It just isn’t time for the pardon yet. I’ll keep my word, but I can’t do it yet. Damn it, I just took office. I’ve never, ever broken my word, Lizzie, and you damn well know it. Christ, I’ll probably be impeached within my first 180 days in office. Can you imagine what the guys on the other side of the aisle are going to do with this?”

  Until then Martine Connor had sounded like an agitated old friend with a terrible problem, calling for help and advice. Suddenly, she was back to being the first female president of the United States.

  “I’m sorry, Lizzie, for waking you and bombarding you with my problem. I understand where you are coming from. I’ll deal with it some way, somehow. Go back to sleep, Lizzie. Good night.”

  Like she was really going to be able to go back to sleep. Lizzie wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep again. Right now all she wanted to do was call Cosmo. She looked at the clock. It was a little after midnight in Vegas, and Cosmo slept soundly. Morning would be time enough, as he was an early riser. Cosmo would talk her through her angst then—when he was bright and alert. Simply put, she didn’t want to be responsible for Cosmo losing any sleep.

  Lizzie wrapped the platter and bowls of food and put them back into the refrigerator. She couldn’t believe she’d consumed the whole pot of coffee. She consoled herself with the fact that it was a small pot, with only four cups, and somehow the fourth cup always seemed to evaporate.

  The kitchen clock over the doorway said it was 3:45. If she took a shower and dressed for the day, she could make a second pot of coffee and not feel guilty. She knew she would need the adrenaline rush coffee gave her when she called Big Pine Mountain. Lizzie looked around to make sure she was leaving her kitchen nice and tidy before she went back upstairs.

  Maybe she should call Maggie Spritzer before she called Big Pine Mountain. Or better yet, maybe she should make two phone calls before she called Big Pine Mountain. Calling Jack Emery and Maggie Spritzer was the way to go, she thought. Both lived within a mile of her house, and maybe she could get a better fix on things if she agreed to meet them at one of their houses. She’d offer to bring the donuts and coffee. Now, that was a plan. She’d think it through while she showered. For some reason she did some of her best thinking while standing under a stream of hot water. A good long shower always left her with a clear head, and she usually came up with a solution before she got out to towel off.

  She knew for a fact that Jack got up at five o’clock and was usually at Harry Wong’s dojo to work out by six. Maggie liked to be in the office by six o’clock, six thirty at the latest.

  Lizzie’s mind raced as she ran through what she had scheduled for the day. She thought about what she could postpone, reschedule, or blow off totally. When she was satisfied in her own mind, she picked up the phone and called her secretary, knowing full well she wouldn’t reach her. Lizzie left a voice mail and knew Sandy would take care of things the way Sandy always took care of her schedule the moment she opened the office.

  Cosmo would have to wait.

  Chapter 3

  Lizzie couldn’t believe her good luck when she found a parking space right in front of Jack Emery’s house in Georgetown. And from the looks of things, Jack was up and moving around inside because the house was lit up from top to bottom. She looked to her left, three houses down, and could see that Maggie Spritzer was up and about, too, her house lit up just the way Jack’s was.

  Lizzie was out of her car a moment later, an enormous paper sackful of cinnamon buns and three huge cups of coffee in hand. She set down her purchases on the stoop, called Maggie, and said, “Jack’s house. Now!” Then she rang Jack’s doorbell.

  Jack opened the door, took in the sack of sweets and the coffee. He looked at Lizzie, and said, “Oh, shit! What now? It’s only quarter to six!”

  "Leave the door open, Maggie is on the way,” Lizzie said, heading toward Jack’s kitchen, where she rummaged for a plate on which to set the buns. “Come on, Jack. You need to smile when you greet your guests. It’s the only way to start the day. And, I brought breakfast! That alone should put a smile on your face.” She was turning around to reach for a stack of napkins when Maggie breezed into the kitchen, her freckled face alight with questions. High heels in hand, she was in her stocking feet.

  Maggie reached for a bun, rolled her eyes, and sat down. “Oooh, these are soooo good, and I need this right now. What’s up?” she asked as she happily munched away.

  "Honey, if you thought that little gig in Utah was Pulitzer material, wait till you hear what I have to tell you. Right now, right this minute, I can probably give you enough fodder for your paper for the entire year! Banner headlines for a solid month. You are absolutely going to love what I am about to tell you,” Lizzie said, reaching for a bun she knew she didn’t need. But she wanted it, and she never denied herself anything if she could help it. That was what life was all about in her opinion.

  “What about me, Lizzie, am I going to love this?” Jack grumbled as he eyed the cinnamon buns and tried to exercise willpower. Finally, unable to resist the sugary treat, he snatched one and shoved it into his mouth. “I hate Starbucks coffee!”

  “Oh, boo-hoo,” Maggie said as she swigged at the strong coffee. “Tell us, Lizzie, all the little ‘ifs,’ ‘ands,’ and ‘buts.’ Don’t leave anything out!”

  “Guess who called me at three o’clock this morning?”

  “Cosmo? He asked you to marry him!” Maggie said.

  Lizzie shook her head. Maggie looked crestfallen, as did Lizzie.

  “Charles? He’s on his way back, and the girls are planning to flog him?” Jack suggested.

  Lizzie shook her head again. “You’ll never guess, so I’m going to tell you.” She paused dramatically. “Martine Connor. President Martine Connor.”

  Jack’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “She’s going to pardon the girls! She’s coming through on her promise!”

  “No! Not yet. She said she can’t do it yet, but she will. I told her what the consequences would be if she reneged. No, she called asking for help. I turned her down on behalf of the Vigilantes because she’s already running a tab with the Sisters. No freebies, ladies and gentlemen. I hope I wasn’t out of line. I haven’t even called the girls yet. I have to tell you, she made me a little angry.”

  “I don’t think they’ll fault you, I would have done the same thing,” Maggie said as she bit into her third cinnamon bun. “The president made you a little angry. So what’s the deal?”

  “A scandal of mega proportions involving her brand-new administration. Actually, last night at Judge Leland’s retirement party, I heard some lavatory gossip but wasn’t able to follow through on it at the time. Then when I got home, Cosmo called, and, as luck would have it, he has a client who is tied to the scandal. He suggested that she consult one of the “very good attorneys” he knows in D.C.”

  “Cosmo’s in Vegas. How does that tie in to the president calling you in the middle of the night?” Jack asked as he contemplated a second cinnamon bun.

  “What? What?” Maggie snarled.

  Lizzie grinned. “It seems that our new president has an administration of perverts. It would also seem
that a good many of them, like fifty or so, enrolled in the Happy Day Camp for some…unorthodox…uh…activities. It would appear that when Martine won the election, they, the perverts of the current administration, got carried away and had a little camp outing. Then they had another camp outing after Martine took the oath of office.” She waited for a reaction, and when she saw only blank expressions, she said, “A brothel. Happy Day Camp is a brothel in Las Vegas. Actually, it’s a little more than sixty miles from Vegas. As you know, prostitution is legal in Nevada in counties with fewer than 400,000 residents. However, when the madam was contacted to bring her dog-and-pony show to the nation’s capital, she balked, but they, the perverts, convinced her and her girls that there would be no blowback. It appears they were wrong.”

  “Oh, shit!” Jack said.

  “Wow! You were right, this is big stuff. Do you have names?” Maggie asked as she picked frosting from the remaining cinnamon bun. Jack slapped her hand away from it.

  “I don’t, but Cosmo does. The madam is on the run and she gave him her books, financial records, and cell phones for safekeeping. The administration is trying to contain the situation, but the other side of the aisle must have gotten downwind of it somehow, and they’re going to blow it wide-open. I don’t know when, but I have to assume very soon. She’s going to end up being known as not only the first female president but, she’ll also be the laughingstock of the free world. Actually, the whole world.”

  Maggie snorted. “They’ll go after the madam, string her up, and the johns will lose face, their jobs, and go on with their lives. Half of them will probably end up as lobbyists or CEOs. That’s how it usually works. Wait a damn minute here. Are you saying the president wants the Vigilantes to…cover for all those guys so they can keep their jobs and not embarrass her administration, meanwhile letting the madam get slammed into jail?”

  “Yeah,” Lizzie said.

  “Well, damn, I think the girls will take this one on for free. No way are they going to do what she wants, pardon or not. By ‘books’ do you mean Cosmo has the madam’s little black books?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, and some of those clowns actually used their credit cards. The woman was no dummy, she made sure she got fingerprints of the whole bunch, and she’s matched them up to the payments. The reason she’s on the run is she was tipped off that this was going to go down. She didn’t waste a minute. She sent her girls off to the far corners of the globe, and she’s taken on a new identity. She also told him that copies of all the materials she gave Cosmo were on their way to the ‘intended recipients’—and then she winked at him and gave him the V sign! So Cosmo thinks she might mean the Vigilantes! How she would know where to find the girls, I have no clue. However, there is every possibility she knows Rena Gold. You remember Rena, who helped us with that little caper at the World Bank and then again in Vegas when things went sour there last year? After all, it is Vegas. Anything goes in Vegas, we all know that.”

  “What is the objective?” Jack asked in a jittery-sounding voice.

  “What, Jack, are you so dense you can’t figure it out?” Maggie asked as she drained the last of her coffee. “The madam wants the johns to be punished. It’s as obvious as the nose on your face. She’s the one who, in the end, will hang by her toenails. She’ll be rotting in jail, and the politicians will be dining at the Jockey Club. Eventually they will all weasel their way back into some political arena. Think back to the D.C. Madam. She ended up dead, and you know there were some who said she did not take her own life. Did even one thing happen to her clients? I think not. Every single one of them is going on with his life, and she’s dead. D-E-A-D, Jack.”

  “Cosmo said his client made mention of that, and those on her side of the fence said they do not believe she took her own life. But right now the D.C. Madam is not our problem. So, Jack, to answer your question, Cosmo’s client wants the johns to be brought up on charges, and she wants jail time for them. Or, she wants them…taken care of. She has no intention of going to jail herself. She provided a service, the johns paid. That’s her bottom line.”

  “And as women you agree?” Jack asked tightly.

  “Well, yeah,” Maggie drawled. “Guys who think they’re above the law need to get brought down a peg or two. If justice was doled out equally, I’m sure the madam, whoever she is, would take her punishment like any woman would. Favoritism will not work in a case like this.”

  “And you don’t think losing a job, maybe his family, and his reputation is enough punishment for the john?”

  Maggie got up, reached for the last cinnamon bun, and smashed it in Jack’s face. “Does that answer your question?” she snarled.

  “You’re vicious,” Jack snarled in return as he licked at the frosting smeared across his lips. He then dunked his head under the kitchen faucet and dried off with a length of paper towels. “All I did was ask a question.”

  “Yeah, well, it was the wrong question,” Maggie snarled a second time.

  Maggie turned to Lizzie, and said, “I’m on it. When can you get me the names in the black books?”

  “Hold on here, ladies. Isn’t that violating the attorney-client privilege?”

  Lizzie smiled. Jack cringed. “She gave it up, Jack. We have permission to run with this. Cosmo said she’s one tough lady, and she ‘is not going to roll over and play dead for a bunch of dick-dead men.’ Those are her words, in writing. She okayed, in writing, for Cosmo to do whatever he had to do.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jack mumbled. “What’s the plan? Just so you know, if the girls jump on this, I’m not budging without a plan. I know I’m speaking for Harry when I say we need a plan.”

  Lizzie and Maggie both nodded. “I think a meeting is called for,” Lizzie said. “I have plans to fly to Vegas this weekend. If you all want to arrange a meeting on the mountain, I can attend via webcam. If there’s any way I can arrange for a meeting with our new client, I want to jump on it. The only problem with that is that we have no way to contact her. Cosmo said she’s gone to ground and will call in from time to time. I’m thinking she’s already out of the country since Cosmo said her money is offshore. That’s where she’ll head. Always follow the money. You know that’s the first rule. Maggie?”

  “Hey, I’m on it. The minute you get me those names, we’ll start raising some hell. This city will tremble. I can see the headlines now!”

  “Guess my work here is done, then,” Lizzie said. “You’ll bring Harry up-to-date, Jack?” Not bothering to wait for a response, she moved on to Maggie. “Stay in touch, and I’ll call the mountain and clue everyone in. Still no word on Charles, I guess?”

  Both Maggie and Jack shook their heads.

  All three left Jack’s house, and waited while Jack locked his door. Maggie headed toward her house, where her car was parked. Jack said his was parked on the next block and started to jog toward it before Lizzie could offer him a ride.

  It was raining, a steady, heavy rain that would flood the roads in Georgetown within a few hours.

  Lizzie slid into her Porsche and was at the end of the street before Jack reached his car. She gave a light tap on the horn. She could see Jack raise his hand to show he heard her goodbye.

  Thirty minutes later, Jack breezed into Harry Wong’s dojo just as his early-morning class was disbanding. He screwed up his face so Harry would know something was up before he decked him for being late. Harry Wong was a pain in his ass.

  The love-hate relationship between Harry and Jack boiled up, as it always did.

  “I hope you’re going to tell me you have a raging case of shingles and a huge boil on your ass, and that’s why you’re late.”

  “Sorry, my little buttered muffin, but the only thing I can complain about this morning is a hangnail. Listen, something has come up. Let’s have some of that shitty green tea you think has miraculous powers, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Sensing a smart-ass comeback, Jack said, “Yoko said to tell you she loves you.” Any time Jack wanted to bring Harry to h
is knees, he would throw Yoko into the mix. Yoko was the only person who could put the fear of God into one Harry Wong. Jack delighted in seeing his best friend in the whole world crumble at his feet.

  “Eat shit, Jack. And I’m not afraid of Yoko. I love her,” Harry blustered weakly.

  “Tsk-tsk,” Jack said, clucking his tongue. “Listen up, and don’t say a damn word until I’m finished. Your reward at the end will be me telling you we’re going to head for the mountain tomorrow afternoon. You ready, you miserable excuse for a human being?”

  When Jack finished regaling the martial arts expert, Harry looked at him like he was crazy. “Tell me you’re jerking my chain! Please, Jack.”

  “Nah, it’s for real. I tried protesting, but the two of them,” he said, referring to Lizzie and Maggie, “damn near castrated me right there in the kitchen. The knife block was close to Maggie. My blood ran cold, I can tell you that,” Jack said dramatically.

  Harry was so into blood and guts and dismemberment, especially when he thought it could be Jack’s, that he actually looked mellow at the moment.

  “You know the girls are going to be on this like white on rice.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Harry mumbled. He slurped from his tiny cup of green tea as he waited for whatever else was going to tumble from Jack’s lips.

  “There’s no plan. As yet,” Jack added hastily.

  “No plan!” Harry screeched.

  “Easy, Harry. I’m not even sure the girls know about it yet. Lizzie is calling them. We’re going up tomorrow so that means we’ll be there to uh…uh…help with the plan. Read my lips, Harry. We-will-have-a-plan!”

  “That’s what you said the last time, Jack,” Harry said ominously. “Your cockamamie plan was a truckload of pumpkins.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Just shut the hell up, Jack. I need to think about this. I hate guys who can only get it by paying for it,” Harry muttered as he paced. That is, Harry thought he was pacing, but he was actually stomping around in his bare feet, powerful feet that could kill a man with one little kick, one big toe placed in the wrong place. Harry was a killer. Jack was glad his “archenemy” was one of the good guys.