The entire front page of the Post was dedicated to the ninja attack. Damn, I'm good. She hoped Charles, Annie, and the others were proud of her. She took a few seconds to wonder what Ted would think when he watched the news or went online to check out the latest happenings in the District. Not that it mattered what Ted thought. That's a lie, and it does matter, she told herself. She shrugged because there was nothing she could do about Ted. At least for now.
Maggie continued to giggle and smile as she read the brief interviews Espinosa had done with the director of the FBI and Bert when they left the hospital after being checked out, at the insistence of the president. Navarro had suffered the most, with two black eyes, a dislocated shoulder, and other assorted bumps, bruises, and scrapes. The ninjas had apparently taken into consideration the director's age and potbelly by going easy on him. A sprained wrist, a twisted ankle, and a few jabs to the stomach were minor compared to the humiliation and embarrassment, he said. A picture of Bert wearing sunglasses, his suit jacket hanging in tatters as he was being helped to a government car, made her wince.
The best line in both interviews was, "We do not discuss ongoing cases, whether it concerns ninjas who evaporate into thin air or aliens who are invading our planet." The last thing to be uttered, and not part of the interview, was something this intrepid reporter overheard as Navarro was helped into his government-issued vehicle. "You'll pay for this, Emery, and your vigilante friends won't be able to help you." When pressed for an explanation, Navarro offered up a single-digit salute as the ambulance sped off into traffic, siren wailing.
Maggie's fist shot into the air. "That should do it." Her gaze moved to the television on the wall and the nonstop coverage Channel 5 was running.
Her ears perked up, and she bolted upright when she heard the anchor say, "We're outside Harry Wong's martial-arts establishment, where he trains local law enforcement as well as the FBI. We can't prove this, but it has been said CIA agents have been known to come here for refresher courses. We also cannot confirm, but it has been said over the years that Wong is on the CIA's payroll and goes out to McLean on a regular basis to train the men and women who work for the CIA. Right now we're hoping to get a comment from Wong about what happened at the White House today."
"Oh, shit!" Maggie muttered. Major screwup on her part. She should have anticipated what was currently going down and sent Espinosa to Harry's dojo first instead of to the courthouse to speak with Jack Emery. Maybe, just maybe, Espinosa would take some initiative, tune in to his iPod, and show up. That was what Ted would have done. But Joe Espinosa was not Ted Robinson. She whipped out her cell phone and punched in Espinosa's number.
Before she could say a word, the reporter said, "I'm on it. I should be at Wong's dojo in three minutes. Call Emery and set up a meet someplace else, and call me back with the details."
"Okay. If Harry sees you, he'll give you an exclusive. Play that up, Joe."
"I'm not some cub reporter, Maggie. I know what to do."
"I know, I know. I'm just a little jittery today. I'm holding four inches of space for this interview." Maggie closed her cell phone when she realized she was talking to dead air. She returned to the television, her eyes fixed on the screen and the scene playing out in front of her.
A good-sized crowd was gathering outside Harry's dojo. For some reason people just seemed to gravitate to any place where they saw more than one police officer and a reporter. She squinted to better see the faces, but to no avail. Her eyes still on the screen, her hand snaked out to grapple with the pile of junk on her desk until she found her glasses and put them on. Ah, now she could see some of the Post's rivals, friends of Ted and Espinosa. Police were pacing near the entrance. The lookie-loos were starting to multiply near the entrance, and the cops were trying to push them back to the curb. It looked like it was going to get unruly any second. She spotted Espinosa as he did his best to inch his way to where the Channel 5 reporter was standing. Good spot, she thought. Harry would be sure to see him.
All the jabbering and babbling suddenly stopped when the door to Harry's dojo opened, and he stood in the doorway. The aggressive reporter from Channel 5 pushed forward and jammed the microphone in Harry's face. Maggie groaned. No one invaded Harry's space. No one. She watched as with one finger, Harry jabbed out at the reporter's nose. His free hand knocked the microphone out of the offender's hand. One of the gleeful lookie-loos picked it up and started to whistle into it.
Harry eyeballed the Channel 5 camera, and the man lowered it. "Turn it off," Harry ordered.
The cameraman backed away, but a Fox reporter used his own camera to catch the Channel 5 cameraman turning his camera to the OFF position. It was a clear signal that you didn't mess with one Harry Wong. The reporter himself moved off to a respectable distance, his camera steady. Maggie wondered if Harry knew the cameraman was still filming.
Harry's eyes spewed sparks when, hands on hips, he asked, "What? You're here because some actors stirred up things at the White House? You came here because I'm the number two martial-arts expert in the world and you think I'm somehow involved because of my friendship with District Attorney Emery? I have no comment. Now, get the hell out of here before you make me angry."
Espinosa raised his hand the way a school-child would. "Not me, Mr. Wong. I don't think that's all, and neither does the Post. I came here to get your spin on it because you are the number two expert. Personally, I think you should be the number one expert. I've seen you in action. I know you wouldn't have anything to do with that fiasco. Joe Espinosa from the Post, sir."
"Oooh, I love the way you suck up, Joe. Good going," Maggie mumbled to herself.
Harry stared at Espinosa as though he was contemplating his next move. "Okay, okay, the Post always gets it right—unlike these other guys, who make it up as they go along. Come on in, I'll talk to you."
Maggie burst out laughing when Espinosa turned to the Channel 5 reporter and flipped him the bird. "Well, damn," she muttered. Yoko was going to be so proud of Harry. She wasn't sure if Ted would be proud of Espinosa, not that it mattered. She was proud of him, and that was all that counted.
She watched a few moments longer and saw Harry motion one of the cops to come closer. She couldn't hear what was being said, but the cop backed away and, with his fellow officers, started to move the crowd farther back. The television media, sensing favoritism, started to squawk. The cops ignored them and moved the crowd back fifty feet from Harry's dojo.
"Show's over folks, let's move it along now," one of the cops could be heard saying.
Maggie sighed as she leaned back in her chair. "Guess that takes care of that," she muttered to the empty space surrounding her.
Maggie looked at the clock. Two hours to go until it was time to meet Jack, Harry, Judge Easter, and Pearl Barnes, retired justice of the Supreme Court, for the trip to the mountain. She crossed her fingers, hoping Espinosa could get the interviews with Jack and Harry in to her before it was time to leave.
Maggie blinked when her e-mail chirped. She looked up at the name of the sender and saw that it was Espinosa, who was winging his interview by the seat of his pants and sending it on to her at the same time, knowing it would be blue-penciled within seconds. Modern technology. She was convinced now that Espinosa had learned more from Ted than she had thought. No matter, Espinosa is coming through, she thought as she gleefully read what was coming to her, one e-mail after another.
Her e-mail pinged again. Ted. She grinned when she read the short message: "What the #%&#%^$ is going on?"
Maggie took a few seconds to respond to Ted. "Read tomorrow's paper, and you'll see." She sent off the reply and went back to Espinosa's interview, one eye on the clock, the other on her computer screen. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering how Espinosa was going to meet with Jack and get his interview in on time. If it came down to crunch time, she could write the interview herself. If she gave Espinosa the byline, no one would know but the two of them. Three, if you counted Jack, who woul
dn't care one way or the other.
When Espinosa's last e-mail on his interview with Harry came through, Maggie printed it out and scanned it thoroughly before buzzing Tillie, her secretary, to take it down to editorial. She quickly scribbled a note on a sticky pad that read, "This is bare bones, add enough filler to fill the four inches I allocated for this interview." She added a scrawled MS at the bottom of the Post-it. One down and one to go.
Maggie leaned back and closed her eyes. She hated stress, all forms of stress, and at that moment she was stressed to the max. She sat upright and took deep, gulping breaths, then exhaled slowly. She did it ten times and didn't feel one bit better. What I should do is change my clothes and go for a long run. For some reason, running always worked out the kinks and calmed her. Sometimes a banana split with gobs and gobs of warm marshmallows on top had the same effect. Like that's going to happen today of all days.
Thirty minutes later her e-mail pinged, and Jack Emery's interview flooded the screen. For some reason, Espinosa was sending the full interview in one e-mail. Maggie calculated the words—two inches. Jack was being testy in the interview, and that was a good thing. She burst out laughing when she read the last sentences in the interview. "Yes, I'm considering a lawsuit. I'm an officer of the court and do not take kindly to having my character impugned. My lawyer? Lizzie Fox."
Maggie ripped the e-mail from the printer and slapped a sticky note on it, yelled for her secretary, and said, "Tillie, get that to editorial and don't bother waiting for the elevator. Run!"
Maggie headed for her private bathroom, where she quickly changed into a warm running outfit and sneakers. She hung her designer suit up neatly, then saluted it. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided to stay with her makeup because she knew she looked better with a little war paint. She brushed her teeth, all the while listening to the television. The three twenty-four-hour networks were still running with ninjas invading the nation's capital. Talking heads out of their depth had little to contribute as far as ninjas' disintegrating or evaporating into thin air.
One intrepid soul finally found his voice, and said, "I think it's all a trick to cover up something else."
Maggie gurgled with laughter as she bent down to tie her sneakers.
Back in her office, Maggie changed the channel and heard that calls were flooding the station's switchboard, from worried people wanting to know if they should take their children out of school.
A squeaky-voiced caller had the audacity to say, "If ninjas can go after the director of the FBI and the man being considered to replace him, who is going to take care of the citizens?"
Someone else called in to ask if, after the disintegrating, there was any residue found on the ground. Maggie almost choked as she waited to see what the anchor, who was wearing enough makeup to cover a battleship, would tell the caller. He said that it was a very good question, and he would see what he could find out.
"Asshole," Maggie mumbled as she gathered up her backpack. She looked around, checked her bulletin board and all the sticky reminder notes, which now had red X's through them. She nodded in satisfaction. Her first rule when she'd moved into that office was: I'm in authority here, and that gives me the right to delegate. So far the rule was working just fine. She could leave knowing the paper was in good hands. Besides, she asked herself, what could possibly go wrong in just a few hours? She'd be back in control in a relatively short time if she followed through on her plan to leave the mountain at sunrise or a little before. But before she did any of that, she had to settle Ted's cats and make sure they would be okay until her return.
The cable car swayed in the strong wind, whipping across the mountaintop. When it slid into its nest, the party of five ran across the compound toward the main building. They were soaked within minutes.
"You lucked out, Jack. Kathryn won't dare do anything to you in front of everyone," Harry cackled gleefully.
Jack gave him a mighty shove that sent him into a prickly holly bush. Harry continued to laugh, the others joining in as he picked himself out of the wet, thorny mess.
"Are they always like this?" Pearl Barnes asked Nellie Easter.
"Most of the time," the judge shouted in return.
"All of the time," Maggie said.
The huge oak door of the main house opened wide, and the little group barreled through. Myra and Annie held out fluffy yellow towels as Nikki led the little parade to the back end of the house, where dry clothes waited for all of them.
Twenty minutes later they were assembled in the huge family room, a roaring fire crackling in the fieldstone fireplace. Everyone started talking at once.
"Why the command performance?"
"What was going on?"
"Did anyone see the news?"
"What is the press saying?"
"What's the big secret about this 'command performance'?"
Charles, Myra, and Annie simply smiled as they handed out yellow slickers for a walk across the compound to the huge dining room, where a celebratory dinner awaited them.
Maggie's eyes were full of questions for the others, who simply shrugged, which meant that they knew as much as the guests.
Jack and Nikki were holding hands, as were Harry and Yoko. Kathryn simply looked lost, her brashness and sharp tongue buried somewhere.
Jack let go of Nikki's hand and walked over to where the former truck driver stood next to Isabelle. "He's okay, Kathryn. Trust me. It was all a plan. Bert knows that. It had to go down the way it did, so Bert would react just the way he did. He's fine, and he'll be calling you in short order. I guarantee it."
Thinking he had allayed Kathryn's fears and wanting to prove to Harry he really had it under control, he offered up a smirk in Harry's direction. Jack turned when he heard Kathryn call his name. He pivoted on one foot, and in the time it took his heart to beat twice, he had sailed through the air and landed hard on his butt. He saw stars, heard bells, and felt like he was going to toss his cookies. "What the hell. . .?"
"That's for not telling me first. . .you. . .you. . .scoundrel!"
Scoundrel? Jack's mind raced as he grappled with the pain in his rear end. "I wanted to tell you, but Harry said not to." He knew he could die on the spot for such blasphemy, but Yoko stepped forward before Kathryn could lay hands on her beloved.
"Enough of this boyish tomfoolery," she said, using one of Myra's pet phrases.
"She's right," Charles said. "We'll discuss all of this after dinner. Right now I want everyone to put on their festive faces, don your slickers for this momentous moment in time. Follow me," he said, buttoning up his slicker.
Jack was the first one through the door because he didn't want either Kathryn, Yoko, or Harry anywhere near him. Nikki made soothing sounds as she ran after him.
Jack stumbled when he heard Yoko say, "No, darling Harry, you will not kill Jack. I will do it for you."
"Aw, shit!" Jack groaned.
Chapter 5
The excited group removed their slickers, hung them up, and looked around. Someone, probably Annie and Myra, had spent a lot of time decorating the dining room for the special dinner that was about to take place. The long table held a bowl of deep orange and bronze chrysanthemums at each end. The autumn flowers matched the gold tablecloth perfectly. Even the dishes matched the cloth and flowers, and were a rich rust color, with a colorful autumn leaf in the middle of each plate. Directly in the center of the table, between the saltshakers and pepper mills, sat nine gifts wrapped in shiny gold paper with bronze satin ribbons. The women stared at the gift-wrapped packages as they whispered among themselves and speculated about what could possibly be inside the elegant wrappings.
But it was the huge bouquets of colored balloons that drew the most attention. They were everywhere, huge clusters of balloons tied to the backs of the chairs, and anywhere else they could be tied down.
"There must be hundreds of them," Alexis said, awe ringing in her voice. "When I was a little girl, I had a balloon once. I cried for days wh
en the air leaked out. I only ever had one."
The next ten minutes were filled with reminiscences of childhood and how balloons were always associated with happy times.
Charles waited patiently until all the stories were told before he said, "And now it's time to have a champagne toast. And for this particular occasion, nothing but the best: Krug Clos du Mesnil 1995."
The women watched, their eyes full of unasked questions, as Charles poured the bubbly into exquisite Baccarat flutes. Jack and Harry longed for a heavy stein of beer but graciously accepted the long-stemmed crystal.
"Who or what are we toasting?" Isabelle asked.
"Our first toast is to the happy times of our past, our lives as they are now, and to a safe, secure future," Charles said. "A bit wordy, but it needs to be said. I'll let you all pick your own toasts when dinner and dessert are over. Tonight we are drinking and dining, and only conducting business later. Having said that, I hope you all enjoy my dinner."
"And what is on the menu?" Kathryn asked. This was the same Kathryn who had a cast-iron stomach and would eat anything that wasn't moving. In an anxious voice, she said, "Please tell us it isn't everything pumpkin, like last year."
"No pumpkin, dear," Myra said. Her face glowed with happiness in the candlelight.
"I made up the menu," Annie said shyly. "I asked Charles to make all of. . .of my family's favorites. I know I don't have a family anymore, but sometimes I long for all the things I used to make specially for my husband and children. It's nothing fancy, and I hope you like the food and aren't disappointed."
"Just so it isn't pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, pumpkin salad, pumpkin meat loaf, and pumpkin pie," Kathryn grumbled.
"There isn't a pumpkin on the mountain," Myra said. "Charles learned his lesson last year when we ate pumpkin everything for a week."
"So what are we having?" Nikki asked.
"A bit of a smorgasbord," Charles said. "Weenies, hamburgers, grilled cheese, tomato soup, spaghetti, gingerbread cookies, and my attempt at homemade Twinkies and homemade pizza. Soda pop, hot chocolate, and coffee."
Final Justice: Sisterhood Series #5 Page 4
