Mr. And Miss Anonymous

by Fern Michaels

  Winston whined and nudged Zolly’s leg, which meant, give in already.

  Before Zolly knew what was happening, the reporter was pressed up against him, then she was kissing him so hard he thought he was going to black out.

  Winston yelped and pawed the ground at these strange goings-on.

  “That’s to remember me by and do not, I repeat, do not, ever try to tell me you’ve been kissed like that in your whole life. Now, again, where in the hell is your boss? I have business with him. You… I’ll get back to you later, and we can pick up where we left off.”

  Winston pushed hard against Zolly’s leg to get him to turn around. When that didn’t work, he ran back to where Pete and Lily were desperately trying not to laugh. He tugged at Pete’s pants leg to get him to move.

  “Whatever you do, Lily, do not let either one of them know we heard what just went on,” Pete hissed. “Let’s go now and pretend we just got here.”

  Pete stepped out of the shadows, pulling Lily behind him. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Tessie, what a nice surprise. Lily and I just took a stroll since it’s such a nice night. Come in, come in. Good night, Zolly.”

  “Don’t mind him. He just had a life-altering experience. He’ll be okay by morning. Nice doggie, take Mr. Zolly back to his lair while your master and I have a conversation.” Tessie giggled.

  The shepherd eyed the big woman, listened to her tone of voice, and decided it was in his best interest to obey the order. He pushed and growled until Zolly finally moved in the direction of his villa. Winston then marched forward to Lily’s villa and waited for her to open the door.

  Pete led the parade straight to the sitting area. “What’s up?”

  His voice sounded so anxious, Tessie patted his arm to reassure him. “Which do you want first, the bad news or the terribly bad news?”

  “Does it matter, Tessie?”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t matter. My source is extremely upset at what he says we are mixed up in. This particular source is pretty unflappable, but he was flapping big-time this evening when I met with him. He wouldn’t part with any of his information until I told him who you were. Once I told him it was you and Lily, he was okay with telling me what he found out because he said you two could take care of yourselves because you’re so high-profile.”

  “What…what did he find out?” Lily asked.

  “That minihospital attached to the fertility clinic. It seems nineteen years ago, which is our time frame, there was a surrogate program. He managed to track down one of the surrogates. They were artificially inseminated, monitored for nine months, then gave birth at the fertility clinic. This particular surrogate was paid fifty thousand dollars. It was all legal. Lawyers and all. My source traced one of the lawyers, but found he died three years ago. The lawyer’s widow was less than forthcoming, and she’s old now and in frail health. Still, the proper authorities can have a go at her when the time is right.”

  “Well, where the hell did the children go?” Pete demanded.

  “My source doesn’t know. He hit a blank wall. He has suspicions. He thinks the lawyer’s widow knows. The surrogate might know, but she clammed up because she has a family now and doesn’t want them to know what she did back then. My source thinks it was a ring back then for…nefarious purposes.”

  Pete sucked in his breath. “What…what kind of nefarious purposes?” He could feel Lily start to tremble next to him. He put his arm around her as they both waited for Tessie’s response.

  “Human testing of some kind, which was probably illegal. Guinea pigs, for want of a better term. I don’t know, Pete. What I do know is if they were paying fifty thousand dollars to a surrogate to deliver a baby, the return on that money would have to be substantial. Do the math. The one thing I can tell you for certain is your, uh…donations did not go to childless couples, directly or indirectly, as you were led to believe. There is absolutely no record of that anywhere, and if there was, my source would have found it.”

  “Are…is the school involved in some way? Did your source find out who owns the sperm bank, the fertility clinic, and the school?”

  “Yes and no. It’s a consortium. Four organizations. Well, that’s not quite true, it’s four individuals from very wealthy organizations. Three foreign and one American. The American is the one who calls the shots because the sperm bank and fertility clinic are here in California. There are other schools besides the California Academy of Higher Learning.”

  Pete leaned across the table, his eyes blazing in the lamplight. “Do you have a name for the American?”

  “My source has it. He wouldn’t give it to me for what he said was my own good. He said even you, Pete, as high-profile as you are, are not immune to this guy’s power.”

  “That’s bullshit! Are you afraid, Tessie?”

  Tessie thought about the question. “ ‘Afraid’ isn’t the right word. ‘Cautious’ might be a word I’d choose. The man I’m thinking of is ruthless. Having said that, even ruthless people have an Achilles’ heel. I’ve found over the years in my line of work that there are more ways than one to skin a cat.”

  “Do you think you know who it is, Tessie?” Lily asked.

  “I think I have a pretty good idea, and my source is right—he’s as powerful as they come.”

  “Is there anything we can do to get to him?” Pete asked.

  “Do you mean like having a Plan A, B, or maybe C? I have to think about it. I rushed over here to tell you as soon as I got myself together. This is one of those rare times when you have to take a step backward and think about the repercussions of continuing. I can handle my end of it, I am a reporter. My paper, now, that’s a different story. I want to say yes, but I do have some reservations. Like I said, Pete, I want to think about this a little more.”

  “Who is it, Tessie? C’mon, this involves my kid, and, yeah, he’s mine, and I’ll never believe otherwise. Even if he wasn’t my kid, I’d still be standing here talking to you and pleading my case,” Pete said.

  “Why don’t we just say for the moment if it is the guy I’m thinking it is, he has many friends in high places and can waltz in and out of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue any time of the day or night.”

  Diesel Morgan stepped off the red-eye and headed for the restroom, where he washed his face and ran the razor over the stubble on his cheeks and his now-bald head that he’d shaved before leaving the Daniel Marley house.

  Traveling as David Mason, he wore a conservative Armani suit that hung exquisitely on his lean frame. He pulled a fresh white shirt and tie out of a carry-on that he would ditch the minute no one was looking. He stared into the huge mirror until he was satisfied with his image before he departed the men’s room in search of breakfast.

  Two cups of coffee, six pancakes, three eggs, and assorted bacon and sausage later, Morgan felt prepared enough to hail a taxi to take him to his employer’s prestigious home in Georgetown. He felt giddy as he anticipated the look on the man’s face when he stepped into what Morgan knew would be an elegant home. Yessireee, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  He’d been able to learn his employer’s schedule by finding an article by a Washington Post political reporter who had been given access to the man’s daily routine, so Morgan knew what he needed to know. Morgan looked at his watch. He had a good thirty-three minutes until his quarry would step out of his house, all pressed and smelling good, and into the waiting limo that picked him up every morning to take him to his office, where he toiled to make the world a better place to live.

  Before he headed for parts unknown, Morgan made a promise to himself that he would kill the guy to save the world from his bullshit. Yeah, yeah, that’s what he’d do, then he’d send a letter to every newspaper in the country telling them about his act of generosity.

  The moment the taxi cruised to a stop outside a redbrick Colonial house on P Street, Morgan handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He walked up the brick path leading to the fro
nt door and rang the bell. A Hispanic-looking maid complete with gray uniform, white apron, and some kind of fancy white lace thing on her head opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I have an appointment,” Morgan said, shouldering his way inside past the startled maid and made his way to the dining room, where he knew his quarry would be having coffee.

  “Good morning, sir. I thought I’d join you for a cup of coffee. You might want to call your driver to tell him you’re running late this morning. Do it!” Morgan said, steel ringing in his voice.

  “Señor, señor, you cannot…sir, he…”

  “It’s all right, Consuelo. Fetch some coffee for my guest and call my driver and tell him I’m running late.”

  The man was livid and trying to control his emotions. But, he appeared unafraid. Morgan thought that very strange. He wondered if something was going on that he didn’t know about. Like all things, he’d just have to play it by ear.

  “I told you we were never to meet. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

  Morgan propped his elbows on the linen-covered table, with its array of silver-domed plates and crystal. The rich really did know how to live. “The part where I do what you say when you say it. Our contract didn’t specify details like that, as you well know. I came here to tell you that I cannot fulfill the second half of our contract. I thought I owed you that much. I did try, but the FBI got in the way, not to mention that computer guy. Your ass is in a sling, mister, and they’re closing in on you. I also wanted to tell you I am not returning your money. So, if you have anything to say, say it now before I leave. Oh, there is one other thing I want to show you in case you get any funny ideas.”

  The maid entered the dining room through a swinging door that Morgan assumed led into the kitchen. She placed an exquisite china cup in front of him. He waited until the door swung shut behind her before he spoke again.

  “Listen to this,” Morgan said as he shoved his arm next to the man’s ear.

  The man’s face drained. “Shut that thing off. What do you want?”

  “Ten million dollars wired to the Caymans will buy my silence. Wired within the next ten minutes. And the contract canceled. Your word will do. Consider it collateral damage. No questions asked. For whatever it’s worth, the kid is gone. Will he resurface at some point? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Your people did not have good intel, and that’s why things didn’t go according to plan. You’re on your own now. Sir,” Morgan added as an afterthought, “do we agree on all of this? A simple yes or no will satisfy me.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” Morgan said as he pressed a button on his wrist. “I can see myself out. I think I’d be remiss, sir, if I didn’t tell you that if I were you, I’d get the hell out of Dodge.”

  The man’s zany laughter floated around the dining room as the single diner pounded his fist on the table in frustration. “Bastard!” he seethed.

  Chapter 21

  Josh woke to a sound he couldn’t immediately identify. He lay still and listened intently. Rain! Hard-driving rain beating at the windows. His tense muscles relaxed until he remembered he was sleeping in Adam Dickey’s bed. He hopped out at the speed of light.

  “Where are you, Tom?”

  “Right here, buddy. It’s just rain, don’t go getting spooked. You can’t go anywhere anyway. You’re socked in until this evening. What’s your game plan?”

  “I don’t have a game plan. I’d need a computer and a telephone to have a game plan. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Maybe. Sort of. More or less. Didn’t that guy from Hotdog Haven tell those homeless people he was working the day shift today?”

  “Yeah, I did hear him say that.”

  “Well?”

  Josh’s mind raced. “You want me to break into his apartment at Number 16 and use his phone, is that it?”

  “He might have a computer. You could leave some money for the use of those things. It’s not like you’re breaking and entering to steal or destroy his apartment. I think you could do it and get away with it. It’s really raining hard. No one will be paying attention to anyone out in the rain. It’s worth a shot, Josh. You have to get dressed and check this place out. Who knows, maybe Mr. Dickey left some clues here that will help us.”

  Josh was already in the kitchen checking out the refrigerator. He found some yogurt that was past the due date, two oranges that were still edible, and a package of English muffins. Josh ate it all and washed it down with two bottles of water.

  The kitchen was neat and tidy, just like Mr. Dickey. It was obvious by just looking around that Adam Dickey was not a collector of anything. He had a set of dishes for four, one fry pan, two pots, and silverware for four. There were four glasses in one of the cabinets, some boxed crackers and canned soup. The rest of the cupboards were empty.

  Josh sat down on one of the kitchen chairs as a feeling of grief came over him. He had really liked Mr. Dickey, who’d told Josh so many things about the outside world, things he said Josh would need to know when he went off on his own. “Always be courteous,” Mr. Dickey had said. “Never do anything to anyone you wouldn’t want done to you.” “Always treat women like the ladies they are and respect them.” “Be kind to your elders and all animals.” “Work hard and save for a rainy day.” “Never judge people, only God can do that.”

  “What’s wrong, Josh?”

  “I was just thinking about how nice Mr. Dickey was and how good he was to all of us. I’m sorry he’s dead, and I’m sorry I’m here using his things. Do you think he had any family?”

  “He said he was an orphan. Miss Carmody was an orphan, too, I do remember that. I guess that’s why they got along so well. Why, is it important?”

  “Maybe. It doesn’t seem right that no one is claiming his things. I know it isn’t much, but someone out there should want them. I would if I could. It bothers me that he died the way he did, and now people will just throw his things away. If that happens, no one will remember him but me. It’s not right. He didn’t say anything about this kind of stuff going on in the real world.”

  “Yeah, I know. Remember how he used to tell us that every day would be a new experience, and we’d have to adapt a little bit at a time? Okay, enough of this, let’s get to it and make a plan. Get dressed and make it snappy, Number 8446.”

  Josh ran to the closet, pulled out pants and shirts, and didn’t stop to think about dressing in his teacher’s clothes, which were a little too small, and his sneakers, which were a little too big. But it all worked. At the last second, he reached for a hooded zip-up sweat jacket and carried it to the kitchen with him. “Where are you, Number 8211?”

  “Right here. So, what’s the game plan?”

  “Like I said, I need a phone and a computer. What do you think about me calling a newspaper and telling my story to a reporter? They won’t know where I’m calling from. I can ask questions, get a sense of what’s going on. Reporters on television never tell about the people who give them scoops.”

  “Their sources,” Tom volunteered. “Reporters go to jail to protect their sources. Good thinking, Number8446. I bet that guy Charlie gets a newspaper. You can pick a reporter out of it and call. Remember, though, there’s that thing called ‘caller ID.’ The person you’re calling can see where the call is coming from. Keep that in mind.”

  “Okay, Tom. Boy, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d manage. It’s time to go. You want to get in and out before Charlie gets back from work. Do you have the ice pick? Where’s the book?”

  “I have both on my person. I’m ready. Should I go out the kitchen door or the front door?”

  “The back door, you goose. Why call attention to yourself?”

  Ten minutes later, soaked to the skin, Josh was twisting the ice pick into Charlie’s lock. The tumblers clicked, and the door slid open. Josh rushed inside. A small lamp was burning on a table in the living room. The blinds and curt
ains were closed. Josh sniffed as he tried to identify the smell that seemed to be all over the apartment. He finally identified it as BENGAY, the same junk he used to rub on the calves of his legs after a hard hurdling session. He realized he hated the smell.

  It was a cluttered apartment, with stacks of newspapers and magazines on all the tables. Empty coffee cups and candy wrappers littered the kitchen table, along with a lot of crumbs. Charlie needed a wife, Josh decided. He sighed with relief when he saw a yellow phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. Now, if he could just be lucky enough to find a computer, he’d be all set.

  Josh spied a stackable washer and dryer in the kitchen. He peeled off his wet clothes and stuck them in the dryer. He padded around in Mr. Dickey’s underwear to check out the bathroom, which was neat and clean, then went to the bedroom, whose bed was unmade. In the corner were a card table and a wooden chair. He closed his eyes in relief when he saw the computer. He checked it out and was glad it was a newer model. He turned it on and sat down.

  Ever mindful of the time element, Josh quickly scanned the headlines in all the newspapers, then logged on to the identity he’d created at the library to see if he had any e-mails. There were none. So the FBI didn’t want to be bothered with him. Obviously, the police thought he was a weirdo because they hadn’t answered either. He was angry as he typed out an e-mail to each of them informing them that he had records that were going to be turned over to the Chronicle. He then did a Google search and fired off another e-mail to CNN.

  “That’ll work,” Tom said.

  “No, it won’t. Don’t you get it, Tom, they don’t care? They probably get tips like this all the time and don’t have the manpower to follow up. I think our best bet is going to the newspapers. I can send an e-mail instead of calling. What do you think?”