The president was not unmindful of the morning headlines. She was also going to personally track all the reports pouring into the Post on possible pardons for the vigilantes. The Post predicted that if it were to happen, her approval rating would skyrocket to 85 percent. The thought made her giddy, especially since Henry Jellicoe had predicted the same thing, but his estimate had been that her approval rating would reach 90 percent.
So much for all those advisors she’d knuckled under to. Well, they were gone now, and there had been barely a mention of the mass exodus in the Post. In fact, the only thing she could find was on page seventeen. Her new advisors’ names and résumés had been on page four, and as yet, she’d seen barely a ripple in the media. It was business as usual. At least for now.
Somehow she managed to smile and make appropriate comments to the governor of New York, who was sitting on her left. Later, she couldn’t remember a thing that was said by anyone at the table. She shrugged. She could always go online to find out what she herself had said and, of course, to read through her guests’ comments. Assuming that she cared enough to do so, of course. Since she didn’t, this particular luncheon conversation would forever be a mystery.
In three days she would see Henry Jellicoe. Seventy-two hours. She turned to the right, to listen to the governor of New Jersey. She nodded to show she agreed that snowplows did indeed dig up the roads during the winter months.
The president looked down at the pink mess on her plate. Why do they always serve poached salmon at these luncheons? she wondered. She was relieved when her plate was taken away and a dessert of chocolate mousse in the shape of the Capitol was set in front of her. Coffee appeared. Once coffee was poured, she would have another fifteen minutes before the luncheon was over. She risked a quick glance at her watch. Knowing how she hated these luncheons, Martine knew that her press secretary would give her a signal, which meant she would stand up and say something like, “I hope you enjoyed this luncheon as much as I did.” Blah, blah, blah.
Two hours later the forty-fourth president of the United States made her way to her personal quarters, where she mixed herself a stiff drink. She debated a full minute before firing up a cigarette. As she puffed away, she made a promise to herself. As soon as the vigilantes are safely on the road to getting on with their lives, I am going to quit smoking. Henry Jellicoe had told her he would help her quit, because he had gone cold turkey and knew how hard it was to kick the nicotine habit. That was then; this was now. Still, she was going to quit whether Jellicoe was in her life or not.
Martine Connor’s stomach clenched into a tight knot when she thought about what was going to go down in less than seventy-two hours. Perspiration beaded on her brow. How was it she could deal with a worldwide crisis and not break a sweat, but a simple matter of honoring a promise she’d made could throw her into such a state of panic? How?
She finished her drink in one long gulp. Her eyes started to water, and her throat burned, proof that she’d never be a serious drinker. She crushed out the cigarette, which she’d barely smoked, because of the guilt she felt. Finally, she couldn’t stand it a moment longer. A second later she pulled her personal cell phone out of the pocket of her suit jacket. No calls. Her shoulders slumped. “Well, what did you expect?” she asked herself. “You refused to take Henry’s calls, a dozen or more.”
She tried pep-talking herself out of acting like a sophomoric teenager instead of the president of the United States. Why didn’t you just ask me to help you? I would have. But would I really have? And even if I would have, how could Hank have known that I would? I was prepared to betray Lizzie’s trust, even if in the end she would gain from it, to avoid having to do what I had promised. The thought popped up from that wellspring of conscience, where she could not hide from herself, from the place that had finally enabled her to break with her advisors and do the right and honorable thing. And it softened the blow when she could not help thinking, instead, You used me, made a fool out of me.
“Even presidents fall in love,” she whispered to herself.
Chapter 22
The sun was dipping behind the horizon as the guests from the last full cable car walked across the compound to the main building, where the Sisters and Charles waited.
Lizzie, fresh from her flight from Vegas, was the center of attention as the Sisters oohed and aahed over her condition. There were hugs, squeezes, giggles, and misty eyes as Lizzie beamed and sparkled.
The men stood to the side, and Charles said, “This is not something we’re invited to observe, much less participate in. The women have a lock on it, as you can see.”
And the guys could see and hear scattered exclamations of boy versus girl, pink versus blue, white baby furniture, rainbow-colored mobiles, and hand-painted murals. When the chattering women switched up to breast-feeding versus bottle-feeding, Charles led the parade of men closer to the fire, where they hunkered down to listen to Hank Jellicoe expound on the expertise of the Secret Service versus “my own people” and how there was simply no contest.
Jack tried his best to hide his skepticism. He had a healthy respect for, if not an ongoing love-hate relationship with, the Secret Service. He tempered that respect with the thought that he’d never seen Jellicoe’s people in action. He listened with half an ear to what his new boss was saying. Wrong. Jellicoe had turned over the reins of the company to him and Bert and the others, so he wasn’t his boss. Jack was his own boss. He felt a head rush at the thought.
Jack turned to look at the chattering women, his gaze locking with Lizzie’s. Without stopping to think, he got up and went over to Lizzie and hugged her before he kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t have the words to tell you how happy I am for you and Cosmo, Lizzie. I hope you’ll always be as happy as you are right this moment.”
“Jack…I—”
“Shhh. Leave the past where it belongs, in the past,” Jack said. “This is today, and tomorrow isn’t here yet.”
Nikki beamed as she winked at Jack. He felt warm all over. In a matter of hours, albeit more than a few, he would be able to spend every waking moment with her. They could make plans, not worry about schedules, not worry about looking over their shoulders. They could plan a wedding, actually have a wedding. They could go to the cabin in Montana or to some exotic beach and just love and adore each other. For three weeks. Three weeks that he knew would go as fast as a lightning strike.
A chill ran down Jack’s spine when he realized that Nikki didn’t know about his resignation, his signing a contract to take over Global Securities. He had honored his word and hadn’t spoken of the deal to anyone. And as far as he knew, none of the others, not even Ted, who with his weak backbone hadn’t caved to Maggie, had told anyone. That was when he realized Maggie wasn’t standing in the group of chattering women. He asked where she was.
“She said she could do more by staying at the paper,” Annie told him. “She’s putting out a special edition dealing solely with the vigilantes. She’s running chapter and verse from day one and urging everyone all over the country, the world, too, to vote for a pardon for us. She’s been twittering and blogging twenty-four-seven. She said the response has been phenomenal. The three major news channels are giving her hours of coverage. She knows what she’s doing. And she’s doing it herself. She said Ted and Joseph resigned, saying they were moving on to greener pastures. She’s very perturbed over that. Would you happen to know anything about those resignations, Jack?”
Before Jack moved back to the fireplace, where his colleagues were standing around and staring at him, he countered the question with several questions of his own. “Me? Shouldn’t you be asking Ted and Espinosa that question? I’m not their keeper, nor do they confide in me about their personal decisions.”
The baby chatter wound down, and the Sisters were on maternity fashion when Charles clapped his hands for everyone’s attention. “The command center or the dining room?”
Since it was approaching the dinner hour, it was decided to adj
ourn to the dining hall, where within minutes a cold and hot buffet would be laid out. The kitchen that very afternoon had been a beehive of activity, with Alexis making real Southern fried chicken, black-eyed peas, and johnnycake. Nikki had baked a ham, while Isabelle and Kathryn had prepared a thick, hearty vegetable soup and a pot of chili. Yoko had fixed the garden salad, several cold pasta salads, and dessert, while Myra and Annie had overseen the table setting and the canapés.
The reason for the buffet was, as Myra put it, “The less time we have to spend worrying about cooking and eating, the more time we can devote to the most important mission of our lives.”
Dinner and the cleanup all went smoothly as the Sisters worked in tandem. Finally, fresh coffee was poured, and Hank Jellicoe took the floor. He cleared his throat, then said, “It was not, nor is it, my intention to upset any of you by keeping secrets from you. I have one way of working, and the moment I deviate, all hell breaks loose. I say this so you will all understand what I am about to tell you.” Hank looked around the table, with its extra chairs to accommodate everyone, and was satisfied that he had everyone’s attention.
“I specifically asked Charles to dismantle the computers so none of you would be able to read the papers online. Bert resigned as director of the FBI yesterday afternoon, and Jack resigned his position as assistant district attorney late last evening. Both resignations went into effect immediately. Ted and Joe Espinosa also tendered their resignations to Maggie early this morning. Harry Wong has agreed to come on board and will be closing his dojo sometime during the next month. I’m retiring once this gig at the White House comes to a close. Bert and Jack will be taking over Global Securities. As yet, we have not decided on a base of operations.
“It is imperative that all of you leave here once your pardons are in place. I’m sure all of you have given a great deal of thought to how and what you will do once you are free. There will be a free-for-all when the media get wind of Bert and Kathryn and Nikki and Jack. The same goes for Ted and Joe. Since Harry trains FBI, CIA, and local law enforcement, he would be in some serious trouble should anyone link him to Yoko. Are you all following me here?”
Heads bobbed up and down.
Jellicoe went on. “Good. I will remain at the helm for the next month, a figurehead only. That means you all have thirty days to do whatever you want to do until the guys have to report to boot camp. I’d like to see all of you settled somewhere safe, away from the media’s prying eyes. Things will settle down in time, and we can hope that at that point in time you can all resume your old lives, if that’s what you want.”
“In this country or out of the country?” Nikki asked quietly.
“That’s what you all have to decide among yourselves,” said Jellicoe.
“If we go out of the country, we won’t be here to see Lizzie through her pregnancy and the birth of her baby,” Kathryn said.
Isabelle looked like she was about to cry. “Listen, I just…I was hoping…”
Jellicoe smiled. “This might be a good time to tell you, Isabelle, that Stu Franklin works for me. He always has. So does Fish,” he said, his gaze going to Annie. “How else do you think you were able to have such a successful mission in Vegas? He’s my top instructor at our boot camp. Fish, of course, does things his way, but his way, for some reason, always works. Couldn’t do it without Stu and Fish. Does that answer your question?”
Isabelle’s eyes sparkled. “It does!”
Annie just stared off into space. But she did nod to show she understood.
“The pardons are a sure thing, then?” Myra asked.
Charles got up and went into the kitchen. He came back with a large manila envelope. He opened it and spread the contents on the table. “An hour after this set of pictures of your pardons in the desk drawer was taken, this second set of pictures was taken by…an associate of Hank’s. As you can see, the pardons are now on top of the president’s desk. This picture,” he said, where the pardons were fanned out, “have all your names on them. Signed, sealed, and just waiting to be picked up. The rest of the pictures are pretty much a road map for you to follow. It will be up to you to choose someone to…uh…pick them up.”
“And then?” Annie snapped.
“And then you walk out of the White House free women. The president will make an announcement at the end of the party, at which point you will be long gone. Maggie at the Post will have her edition ready to go.”
“It’s all set up, then?” Myra asked.
“A done deal,” Jellicoe said.
“What if something goes wrong?” Kathryn asked.
“Like what?” Jellicoe asked. “My people will be all over the place. Harry Wong and his people will be everywhere also.”
Kathryn, mulishly stubborn, fixed Jellicoe with a burning gaze. “So what you are telling us is that the Secret Service is going to stand down and let you and your people take over at the White House, is that right?”
“Well, not exactly, but close enough that you do not have to worry about it,” replied Jellicoe.
“Yeah, right,” Kathryn said. “You know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men. It just takes one independent thinker to screw things up. What a coup to nail us in the White House!”
The Sisters started to murmur among themselves. It was obvious to the men that the Sisters were leaning more on Kathryn’s side and not giving too much credence to Jellicoe and his promises. When it looked like things were going to heat to the boiling point, Charles suggested the men go outside for a cigar and leave the women to their discussion.
The moment the door closed behind them, Kathryn literally exploded. “I’m not buying this. This is just too damn easy. Aren’t the rest of you seeing what I’m seeing? I understand wanting the pardons so damn bad you can taste them, but my gut is not happy with all this. Another thing. Don’t you find it a little strange that all of a sudden Hank Jellicoe is going to retire and turn over a multibillion-dollar security firm he worked all his life to build to the boys?”
“You do make some excellent points, Kathryn. But Charles trusts Hank,” Myra said defensively.
Yoko stood up. “Harry and his friends will not let anything happen to us, Kathryn. If Harry weren’t involved, I would be just as worried as you are.”
The heated argument continued as Kathryn refused to budge an inch in her thinking. All she kept saying over and over was, “Convince me, and I’ll go along with it.”
When it looked like it might turn into a howling, hair-snatching, stomach-punching event, Lizzie stood up and banged her coffee cup on the table. “Listen to me, all of you. I’m going to do something I’ve never done in my life. I’m going to betray a client’s confidence. I want it clearly understood right here and now that what I am about to tell you stays with all of you, and you take it to your graves. I want to see everyone’s hand high in the air.”
Seven hands shot upward.
Lizzie continued, “I’m going to tell you what Hank wouldn’t tell you. He and the president are in love. That’s the bottom line. To be blunt, they’re having an affair, which so far no one knows about. He wants to marry her, and that’s why he’s so willing to turn over his business to the boys. The president told me in confidence that she is not going to run for a second term. Personally, I think she’ll change her mind once she and Hank get married. I know no female president ever got married in the White House, so this will be a first. Because,” she quipped, “she’s our first female president. Right now the two of them are having a little tiff, but that will change. Hank just stepped in to help her keep her promise to all of us. Now, Kathryn, do you understand? If Hank says it will work, then it will work. Yes, the president has her role in all this, and she will carry out that role. You will all walk out of the White House free women.
“No one can accurately predict the aftermath, but I don’t think we need to worry about that right now. This is what you all have going for you right now. If you want to back off, say so now. A tremendous am
ount of time and effort has gone into this mission. It’s yours for the taking. It’s what you’ve wanted since we put Marti in office. She’s coming through for you, later than expected, but she is doing it. What? I’m not hearing anything here. Five minutes ago you were willing to kill one another, and now you can’t think of anything to say. Be quick before those men freeze out there.”
Without having to be told, one by one, the Sisters raised their hands.
The bad time was over, and Kathryn was smiling. “Do you think she’ll invite us to the wedding?”
“I think you can count on it,” Lizzie said.
Yoko scampered over to the door and opened it. “Please, gentlemen, come inside,” she said sweetly.
Jack hung back. “Yoko, hold on. Harry asked me to give you this. He said he’d kill me if I opened it. I did not open it.”
Yoko looked down at the little enamel box, opened it, and stared down at the perfect pearl, nestled in a fold of black velvet. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “With all of this going on, he is thinking of me. He is just so sweet. Isn’t he sweet, Jack? It is so beautiful. I have never seen such luster. Thank you for bringing it to me. Harry would not have killed you. He loves you like his own brother. He does, you know.”
“I know,” Jack said gruffly.
Yoko slipped the little box into the pocket of her jeans. “Come. We must sit in on the final details. I am so happy, Jack.”
Jack laughed. “I’m just as happy, Yoko.”
The Post headlines and the top-of-the-hour news for the next three days alternated between the pardon count for the vigilantes and the patriotic party at the White House, with the vigilantes garnering the most publicity. Every Web site and switchboard Maggie set up crashed within hours with the number of people calling, texting, and e-mailing in to vote to pardon the vigilantes. The switchboard at all three news channels went down repeatedly with the high volume of call-ins. One excited commentator likened it to the number of hits people logged hoping to get a ticket to the Michael Jackson funeral. Maggie finally gave up at the end of day two, when the number had just fifty thousand to go to make it a full billion hits. Worldwide. She decided to gild the lily a tad and ran with a headline that was three inches of solid black and said, ONE BILLION! “Numbers don’t lie,” she mumbled to herself as she turned to watch the television sets in the newsroom, which were tuned to the three major news channels.
Game Over Page 19
