Maggie gave it all up, even the part about signing their names to the gift card that accompanied the banana tree.
Isabelle frowned. “What do you think it all means?”
“The boys are up to something they don’t want us to know about. The ritzy, shiny, brass sign says it is the BOLO Building. I don’t know if that’s a true name or initials or what it stands for. I couldn’t track down the ownership. I even asked some of the owners of the surrounding buildings. No one knows who the owner is. They all claim to have been aware of renovations over the past months but nothing that disrupted their own businesses. The building was sold off as part of an estate. Couldn’t find out anything there. Pricey. This might be a stretch, but off the top of my head, I’d say it’s worth around ten million. Like I said, pricey, because it’s in Georgetown.”
“I don’t understand, dear,” Annie said. “How did you find out about the building? What made you suspect the boys were . . . uh . . . up to something?”
“Come on, Annie! Are you going to sit there and tell me that you don’t think this whole past year has been more than a little strange? Everything has gone to hell. You know it, and I know it. Just because we haven’t been talking about it doesn’t mean something isn’t going on.
“Well, for one thing, Abner’s out. No offense, Isabelle, but he’s aligned himself with them, so I have to find a new computer guru who is as good as he is. You got any ideas?”
“No offense taken, Maggie. I’ve been kind of locked into my own personal problems here. Abner and I haven’t exactly been warm and cozy these past five or six months. There is someone, but I don’t know his name. Abner said in the past he’d like to strangle him because he is so good. I can’t think of his name or even if I ever heard Abner mention it. I don’t have a clue as to how you can get in touch with him. All I do remember is that he works for the CIA. Actually, he doesn’t really work, as we normally define the word, for the CIA. He spies for them. He’s not on their payroll. It’s like Abner. He does the same thing for the FBI and a lot of those other alphabet agencies. Abner writes software. So does the other guy, but Abner says he’s better at it than the other guy. That’s all I know. What do you mean, he’s with them? What’s going on, Maggie?”
“I wish I knew, Isabelle. Maybe nothing, but I’ve learned to pay attention to my gut, and doing so has served me well all these years. The guys, the boys, whatever you want to call them, are up to something, and it does not include us women. Or if you like, us girls. Whatever it is, it’s secret. In the past, actually from day one, I’ve always been able to get anything out of Ted. But this past year, I would liken him to a turtle. He pulled his head in and clammed up. So when my gut got the better of me, I started to follow him and Espinosa. As you all know, they’re like Batman and Robin—one is always with the other. The boys have been meeting up regularly. On the face of that, it doesn’t mean anything. Guys going out for lunch, out for a beer, going to a Redskins game. All normal. Then, when he started going to that BOLO Building, I hired a private detective to tail him.” She looked at Annie and said, “On my own dime. I did not charge it to the paper.” Annie simply nodded.
“What did you end up with, dear?” Myra asked.
Maggie shrugged. “Everything centers on the BOLO Building. For months now, they all go there almost every day. Not necessarily together. Sometimes, they stay an hour or so, sometimes longer. I know the kind of furnishings that have been moved in, the kind of floors they have, how many bathrooms, and the kind of equipment that’s been delivered. The investigator was not successful in getting any of the delivery people or vendors to talk. All he had to go on was what he saw with his own eyes. He said he saw boxes with computers, the cost of which is not something any of us could or would pay. In other words, high-end industrial-spy stuff. Like that cave Abner has at his home. You know, the climate-controlled place with his millions and millions of dollars’ worth of equipment.
“The front door is, according to the detective, impenetrable, and the back door, where the guys go in and out, has a retina scan and a state-of-the-art keypad as a backup. Then there’s Jack’s dog—Cyrus. He said it was impossible to gain entry. Why all the security? Then the guy quit on me, but only after he asked me what I was involved in. He said he ran an up-and-up legitimate investigative service, but something was going on there he didn’t want to be involved in. So I paid him off and took up the surveillance again, but I didn’t come up with anything more either.”
“What does it mean?” Myra asked fretfully.
“Well, dear, all we have to do is call Avery Snowden and let him take over,” Annie said.
“Wrong! I saw him going into the building a week ago. He’s on their side or their payroll or whatever you want to call it. And are you ready for this? So is Jack Sparrow. I saw him with my very own eyes.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “I think what you’re saying is that the boys are going to pick up where the vigilantes left off. Is that what you’re saying, Maggie?”
Maggie looked at Myra and Annie and nodded. “I can’t be sure, but yes, that’s what I think. And I think young Dennis is funding them. Oh, one other thing, all the guys are training under Harry, even Dennis. They meet every evening at seven o’clock and work out for two hours. On the nights when Harry has other classes, Jack teaches it. He, as you know full well, has a black belt, thanks to Harry. Ask yourself why all that is necessary.
“This is just a guess on my part, but I think the seed, the germ, whatever you want to call it, came about last year, right around Thanksgiving. The guys were huddling even back then. I think when Charles split, that was all they needed to make their move. I don’t know how it’s going to work with Bert in Vegas. They recruited Abner, Dennis is relatively new to the group, but he’s in one hundred percent, and he has all that money for funding. Factor in Avery Snowden and his little group, then ask yourself if anything else comes to mind.”
“What about Jack Sparrow? You mentioned him,” Annie asked.
“Glad you asked that. I just heard a rumor a few days ago, and if I got downwind of it, then Ted for sure heard it. He has some of the best sources or snitches, whichever word you prefer, in the world. You pay for it, Annie, but those snitches always come through for him. Mine are only half as good as Ted’s. The scuttlebutt is Sparrow was seen going into the White House. With guess who?”
“Who?” the women asked in unison, their eyes wide.
Maggie grimaced. “Lizzie, that’s who. Our own Lizzie Fox!”
“But . . .” Annie sputtered.
“Mr. Jack Sparrow is going to be the next director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Mr. FBI himself. The boys’ inside source, the way Bert Navarro was ours. What could be sweeter? That is my personal take on it. In other words, my gut. I’m never wrong, ladies.”
“Oh, dear, that . . . that . . .” Myra reached for her pearls, her lifeline when things moved out of her comfort zone.
“Sucks, Myra. Go ahead, you can say it, it’s not a bad word, but it sure sums up the way things are right now,” Annie said.
“All right, all right, but what does all this mean?” Myra demanded.
“Well, look at it like this. Sparrow is probably going to be the new director of the FBI if the rumor is true. The boys all have the same gold shields we have. Carte blanche. Jack doesn’t have a job—he quit Nikki’s firm and left the D.A.’s office, so he’s a free agent. There appears to be trouble in the marriage. Abner . . . I didn’t know about . . . about your problem, Isabelle. He’s always been a free agent, too. Alexis dropped Espinosa and chose her career over him. Ted and Espinosa, as well as Dennis, have hours and hours of downtime, so they’re available for whatever is going on. Harry has the perfect job, what with all those agents he trains. They talk, the agents that is. Harry listens. Grist. Dennis has, we might as well say, virtually unlimited money, and he’s probably funding whatever it is they’re doing. The only thing Dennis West doesn’t have going for him is one of the gold shields.
What all that tells me is that the boys are ripe for something. I guess time will tell us what that something is. Now, I’d like to know what’s going on with you, Isabelle. I need a break from all this heavy stuff. Talk to me, girl.”
Isabelle drew a long, deep breath. “Abner and I hit a rough patch. I had hoped when I took that job in England we could weather a long-distance relationship. We did for about eight months. Abner would fly over once a month; and then he started getting sick with each flight. Upper respiratory infections, really bad sinus attacks, his ears acted up. He actually had tubes put in them. The specialists told him he couldn’t fly anymore. He said his eardrums could explode. He would no sooner get better than another attack would hit him, always after a flight across the pond. At least until he was totally one hundred percent recovered from that flight episode. I couldn’t make the trip over here because I had to be on-site seven days a week. At first it was okay—we had the webcams. We’d e-mail, talk, call, send texts. But on my time, not his. That didn’t sit well. With either of us. Then there was the six-hour time difference. That just out and out played hell with everything. I asked him to move across the pond until the job was done. He refused. Then I made a big mistake and said it wasn’t like he had a real job, and when he did work, it was doing illegal stuff. He retaliated by asking me if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black. Referring, of course, to my vigilante days, for which I had no comeback. He was absolutely right. At that point, we both dug in, and that was four months ago. I came over last week. I have to be honest—we hit a big snag on the project, and things shut down. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Also, the weather turned awful in England, so it was a good time to make the trip. I showed up and, at first, Abner wouldn’t even let me in. He finally did, and we had a rip-roaring fight. He said we were married and belonged together, not on two separate continents. He said I could have all the work in the world right here on our home shores. I said I had to see the project through to completion, and he said he understood in the beginning. He totally ignored me when I told him he could do his spying anywhere. Then he said that was before he got sick, and why did he have to make all the sacrifices. It just got out of hand really, really quick, and I walked out. That’s it. I’m leaving tomorrow to return to England.”
Maggie nodded, trying to absorb all she was hearing. “How much longer is the project?”
“Two more years, maybe three. At this point, I can’t be certain. For all I know, it could go to four. The Brits are sometimes difficult to deal with,” Isabelle said, defiance ringing in her voice.
No one said a word because no one knew what to say.
Isabelle started to cry. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.” She sobbed. Annie handed her a bunch of paper towels and patted her on the back, after which she put the kettle on for more tea.
“I don’t want any more damn tea. I swim in tea when I’m there. That’s all they drink. I hate scones, and I damn well hate kippers, and I sure as hell hate mutton.”
Maggie threw her hands in the air. “Can’t the two of you compromise somewhere along the way?”
“Abner does not know the meaning of the word compromise. I tried that.”
“What and how were you willing to compromise, dear?” Myra asked.
“Well . . . I said I would do my best to come over for a long weekend whenever I could. I reminded him of the webcams, the texting, and the e-mails. He in turn said he wanted a flesh-and-blood person next to him. He refuses to understand that this is my career, something I’ve worked toward all my life. I finally got the brass ring. And let’s not forget all those years when I lost everything and had to fight my way back. I just can’t give that up. I can’t. I won’t.”
“Well, then, I guess that pretty much sums it all up,” Annie said cheerfully. “Why don’t we all go out to dinner to celebrate Isabelle’s decision? My treat. So, who is going to file for divorce, you or Abner?”
Maggie almost choked on the last swig of cola.
“Who said anything about a divorce?” Isabelle asked in a shaky voice.
“Well . . . I just . . . you know . . . assumed that that’s where you were going with all this. You won’t give up your career, and Abner can’t cross the Atlantic for health reasons, unless he is one hundred percent recovered from his last flight episode. It’s inevitable that you would each want to get on with your lives.”
Isabelle burst into fresh tears and fled the room.
Myra grimaced. Maggie looked pained, but neither said a word.
“The word divorce might give her pause for thought. It was worth a try. Personally, I don’t see it working. How can it when both of them are so stubborn. If they’re meant for one another, they’ll find a way. Actually, you two might not agree with me, but I’m on Abner’s side in all of this,” Annie said.
“I am, too,” Myra said.
“Believe it or not, I’m on his side, too,” Maggie said. “I hate it that I feel so disloyal, but it’s how I feel. They have to work it out. So, are we on for dinner, or should I leave? I’m sure you two have a lot to think and talk about, so I think maybe I should get back to town. Are you up for lunch tomorrow with the girls? Betty Lou’s. Dupont Circle. Kathryn is in town but only for a few hours.”
“We’ll be there,” Myra said. “It will be great to get together again.”
“What time is Isabelle’s flight?” Maggie asked.
“I think she said it was eleven-ten, so unless she has some kind of an epiphany, she will not be joining us,” Annie said.
Maggie grinned as she pulled on her jacket. “Annie, how many times have you said to me, if you snooze, you lose?”
Annie laughed. “Too many to count. Be careful driving back, dear. We’ll see you at lunch.”
Maggie hugged the women, looked toward the family room, and winced. “Tell Isabelle I said good-bye.”
Maggie’s cell phone pinged just as she was ready to make a left turn onto the highway. She listened to Annie’s voice telling her to hire a new investigative firm with twenty-four/seven surveillance of the boys and to bill it to the paper.
Maggie’s fist shot high in the air. “Yesssss,” she almost screamed as she careened out onto the highway.
Chapter 9
Abner Tookus sat in a traffic jam in the middle of Dupont Circle. He drummed his fingers in frustration on the steering wheel as he stared at the long line of cars ahead of him. He was just ten minutes away from the White House and five minutes away from prestigious Embassy Row. Too bad neither place was his destination. Behind him, cars blasted their horns. Ahead of him, cars blasted their horns. He felt like doing the same thing but resisted the impulse because he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could just imagine the curses being bellowed behind the closed windows of the cars. He looked into his rearview and side mirrors and saw dozens of raised middle fingers.
He’d just come from the area in the District called Foggy Bottom, where he had a midmorning meeting at the crown prince of the U.S. government—the Department of State—where he’d turned down a job that wasn’t to his liking. He was absolutely certain that his contact person would be back in touch and offer to sweeten the offer by the end of the day. It always happened that way. Today, he knew, would be no exception. He loved it when he could make big government sweat.
Ah, traffic was finally moving. Abner inched forward, then came to another stop as the light changed from green to yellow, then red. “Crap!” He slumped in the seat of his Hummer and stared out the side window. Nine miserable days of weather just like today: gray, ugly, and depressing. He could hardly wait to get to BOLO and the bright, fluorescent lighting.
Abner blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut and quickly opened them. Did he just see what he thought he just saw? What a stupid question. Of course he had. Nikki and Alexis were literally running toward Betty Lou’s Café. Right behind the running duo were Yoko and Kathryn, both of whom were sprinting to catch up. He frowned. �
��Hmmnn.” He eyed the traffic in front of him, which still wasn’t moving. Aha, Maggie, running solo, her flaming red hair billowing out behind her in the strong wind. He blinked again when he saw Annie de Silva holding the entrance door to Betty Lou’s Café for Maggie, which had to mean Myra was already in the building. “Hmmnn.” All present and accounted for except for Isabelle, who was probably already in the air heading across the ocean to her beloved job. Don’t go there, Abner. Thinking about Isabelle required complete solitude in his personal comfort zone. Translation: home. Concentrate. Think. What would cause all those women to be out and about at the same time on a day like today? Particularly since today was a workday. You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know that whatever it was, it had to do with him and the guys. He could feel it in his gut.
The light, probably the longest light in the District, finally changed, and he moved forward two car lengths, after which he had clear sailing. He stepped on the gas and, within minutes, was tearing down the alley that would take him to the back entrance of the BOLO Building. The moment he stopped, he sprinted from the Hummer to the door, then lowered his six-feet-four-inch frame to let the retina scanner search his eyeball. He heard Cyrus barking just as the pneumatic hiss of the door kicked in. A second later, he was inside, handing a treat to Cyrus, rubbing the dog’s belly, and shouting at the top of his lungs. The guys all came running.
“They were all there except Isabelle,” he said, winding down in his excitement.
“So they were going to lunch, so what? Women do that all the time,” Dennis said.
“No, Dennis, they don’t,” Jack said, a frown building on his face. “At least not our women. They take brief lunches or eat at their desks. They only meet up as a group when something is important or one of them has news that needs to be shared in person.”
“I agree with Jack,” Espinosa said. “Alexis told me time and again she only has time to gobble down a hard-boiled egg at her desk. I asked her hundreds of times to go to lunch, even volunteered to bring lunch to eat in the kitchen at the firm. She said she couldn’t take the time.”
Upside Down Page 6
