Louise checked into the room she had booked at The Surrey, which was the most discreet of all Manhattan hotels. From there, she could fly under the radar and test out her Karen Baker identity, in preparation for traveling incognito. The hotel was built in 1926 and had served as a residence to many of New York’s most eccentric celebrities including John F. Kennedy, Bette Davis, and Claudette Colbert, all of whom had taken advantage of its exceptional, discreet service. The name resonated with the feeling she had being back in Manhattan: surreal. She ordered room service and went to bed.
December 23, 2001
Louise woke up late having slept until 9:00 a.m. feeling disoriented and panicked. She sent Michael a text on her new satellite phone: FOLIAGE
He replied almost immediately: R U KIDDING ME?
She smiled and texted back: YES
WHERE ARE U?
She replied: CHOWDER IN ONE HOUR?
By the time Louise had arrived at the Grand Central Oyster Bar, Michael was already seated in their usual spot at the counter.
“Is this seat taken?” Louise expected Michael to welcome her with open arms. But instead, he did a triple take.
“Holy shit, I didn’t recognize you.”
“Hello, to you too.”
Michael hugged her then felt her taut biceps. “Wow you’re so buff.” He stepped back to look. “And your hair…”
“You don’t like it? I was instructed to match my passport photo.” She presented it to him as if she was identifying herself.
“I like it fine,” he said, peering at her eyes. “It’s the makeup with the dark hair that make your eyes insanely green.”
“Thanks?”
The soup chef behind the bar placed two steaming bowls in front of them.
“I took the liberty of ordering for you.” Michael picked up the bowls and Louise followed him to a more private table of the bustling restaurant. They sat facing each other. “Well, this is a surprise,” Michael said tasting the soup.
Louise tasted hers, and they took a moment to enjoy the comforting sense memory.
“A pleasant surprise, I hope?” Louise replied.
“Of course,” Michael said.
“Weren’t you expecting me? I mean, you are the one who sent Charlie, right?”
“Yes, but you really threw me.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “It’s surreal to see you. How long has it been?”
“Surreal is the right word,” Louise agreed. “Going on six years since being exiled to my little island.”
“Right,” Michael said, his telltale dimple forewarning her of impending sarcasm. “Poor you, having to move to paradise instead of witness protection.”
“You never bothered to visit.”
“I couldn’t risk your cover,” Michael said.
“You mean you couldn’t risk my wrath.”
“Here we go,” Michael said, flagging a waiter.
“What the hell? You force me to cooperate with the FBI. Then help disappear my fiancé and send me into exile, and I’m overreacting?”
“It was for your own safety.” The waiter arrived. “Two dry vodka martinis, up, olive.”
“Coming right up,” the waiter said, buzzing away like a bee to the next flower.
“Hiding on a remote island was perfect for you,” Michael continued. “You fit right in there.”
“Did I have a choice?” Louise asked.
“Yes, witness protection or The Banker’s Grave. You saw those thugs after the hearings. You still know too much.”
“Where’s that drink?” Louise asked. On cue, the waiter placed two ice-cold martinis in front of them. They clinked glasses and sipped.
“So, you’re staying for Christmas with your family?” Michael asked changing the subject.
“That’s the plan,” Louise said, taking another sip. “We have a lot of catching up to do. Some of which won’t be pretty.”
“It’s not like you to hold a grudge.”
“I’m not holding a grudge,” Louise said. “I just don’t like being treated like a leper.”
“Look, it’s Christmas and you’re leaving soon. That doesn’t give us much time to prepare you for this mission.”
“As an undercover agent?” Louise pressed her hand under her bobbed hair in that retro-60s way.
“This isn’t a game,” he paused as if to emphasize the point, “Karen Baker.”
“Humor is my defense mechanism, but I don’t find you funny at all.” Her emotions bubbled uncontrollably to the surface and she took another sip of courage. “There is something about this case that seems very close to home. Maybe it will help me move on…” Her lower lip quivered, and she looked down at her martini as a tear fell, making a splash. She held up her glass, clinked Michael’s and drank. “Cheers to tears.”
Michael had expected Louise to have a culture shock moment of release. He wished he could ease her heartbreak by telling her that Jean-Philippe wasn’t in any better shape. Instead he stuck to the subject at hand.
“So, where do you want to start?” Michael asked.
“Can you tell me where to find Vladimir?”
“That I do not know. But I’m sure you won’t have any trouble. My suggestion is to start in Paris. I’ll book your flight.”
“Speaking of Paris.” Louise looked at her watch. “Time to shop.” She got up and kissed him on the cheek. “See you for dinner tonight at the hotel.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Surrey, of course.”
Her goal shopping for under-cover attire was to keep it simple. Versatile and interchangeable pieces that were easy to pack, all in black, from outerwear to underwear were best. Her new darker persona was a natural, finally matching her feelings about being Karen Baker, and somehow creating her. Some women couldn’t pull off going from blonde to dark hair. However, something about the brunette against her fair skin and green eyes was very striking.
Soho was the obvious shopping district of choice. At the Dr. Martens boutique, she bought a pair of lace-up leather boots. Then at another shop she bought two each of jeans, skirts, and tops, and a cashmere sweater, all in black. Her classic black leather bomber jacket was irreplaceable. The thick, rugged-grained leather was indestructible, and it hugged her shape perfectly. The best clothes were the ones that one could put away for ten years to bring back when no one else was wearing it.
After shopping, Louise went to her room, freshened up and changed into some of her new clothes then went down to meet Michael in the Bar Pleiades. The décor, inspired by fashion icon Coco Chanel in the elegant lines of 1930s Art Deco, featured black and white lacquer finishes, French doors, and quilted walls. Louise looked striking in her sleek dark hair and outfit and Michael eyed her as she approached him already seated at a secluded booth.
“It really is a transformation,” Michael said.
“You think I’m fooling anyone?” Louise asked.
“You already fooled me twice.” The server arrived and they ordered. “Are you going to try to fool the parents, or is that a naughty thing to do before Christmas?”
Louise pondered Michael’s suggestion. “That’s a great idea. It would be the perfect trial run.”
“Yes, it would be good practice and I happen to know where your mother will be tomorrow.”
Louise’s heart raced at the mention of her mother, to whom she had barely spoken in six years, much less seen. “You know where my mother will be?” she asked.
“Yes, she and my mother started meeting for lunch every Christmas Eve at the same place right here in the city.” Louise found it odd that their mothers had become friends when she and Michael were a couple long ago, even though Michael was from Stanford, Connecticut, and she was from Edison Park, New Jersey. She remembered that their mothers would meet for lunch occasionally in New York City, the halfway point between the two towns, but the Christmas tradition must have been new.
“It’s unlikely I’ll fool my mom, but I’ll give it a try. Where do they meet?
”
E L E V E N
December 24, 2001
The next day, Louise sat at a corner table in Serendipity 3 restaurant, with a clear view of the entrance. Finally, the two moms, Mary and Judy, entered and the hostess seated them on the other side of the restaurant. Louise patiently spooned butterscotch sundae into her mouth and waited for the right moment. After their meal, Mary rummaged through her purse to pay the bill and dropped her car keys. Louise calmly rose and walked to their table, bent down, and picked up the keys. She handed them to Mary who looked up at her and smiled.
“Thank you, my dear.”
“You’re welcome.” Louise realized she was wearing her new oversized black frame sunglasses. So, in fairness, she flipped them up on top of her head and gave her mother a polite close-lipped smile. Louise turned and started to walk away.
“Excuse me,” Mary said. Louise stopped and turned back to the two women now both staring at her. “I’m sorry, you look like someone I know.”
Judy was in equal wonderment. “She’s the spitting image.”
“Well,” Louise said. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“She sounds just like her too,” Judy said.
Louise shrugged. “See you at home, Mom.” Louise turned to walk away.
“Young lady, you get back here,” Mary said in her Midwest accent, not loud enough to draw attention, but a dog whistle for Louise. She came back and gave them each a hug then took the seat between them. “If I wasn’t so happy to see you, I’d be mad at you.” Mary took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Her face turned red and her bottom lip quivered.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t try that on your father,” Mary said. “You’ll give him a heart attack.”
“I don’t think I could fool him.”
“You’re probably right,” Mary agreed. “But, just in case, don’t risk it.”
“It’s great to see you, Karen,” Judy said, winking knowingly. Louise looked at Mary, who shrugged guiltily for telling Judy her undercover name. “What happened to your hair?” Judy asked.
Louise fiddled with the ends. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s lovely, but does Michael like it?” Judy was cut from the same Midwest cloth as Mary. They put up no pretense and cut through the crap.
“I wouldn’t know,” Louise lied.
“Then how did you find us?” Mary asked.
“Okay, you got me. Michael liked it fine.” Louise checked her watch. “Oh, look at the time. Shouldn’t we be getting home?” Louise got up and grabbed the check. “Let me get this.” She gave Judy a kiss on the cheek. “It was great to see you, Mrs. Fuentes.”
“Please don’t get home before me,” Mary said.
“I have a few errands to run first. See you at home.”
After stopping at a drugstore for some hair coloring and checking out of the hotel, Louise wound the four-wheel drive down the snowy backroads to her family home. Except for an occasional new house and taller trees, the scenery had not changed since her childhood. Snow frosted the forest and fields like a birthday cake. The tires moaned as they forged through the snowbank then crackled on the salt in the driveway that her father had shoveled. From the other tire tracks, she could tell her mother had returned and both cars were in the garage.
She had not seen her father for almost six years, since the end of the BCCI scandal. Nervous knots contracted in her stomach, but she toughened her resolve and got out of the car. The familiar surroundings and the invigorating cold conjured fond memories as she gingerly hurried down the walkway to the back door. Having left these intemperate climes to move to Paris, vowing never to buy winter clothing again, her leather bomber jacket and boots would have to suffice. But given that she’d spent six years in temperatures that rarely got below 70 degrees, she could have been dressed like Nanook of the North and still not have been warm. Through a slightly open kitchen window, she heard the clanging of pots and pans and smelled familiar aromas. Louise kicked the doorstep, loosening the snow off her boots.
“Louise is home!” She heard Mary shout to everyone and no one. Louise opened the door, and the sudden warmth and emotions brightened her already ruddy complexion.
“Hi, Mom.”
Mary hugged her. “Welcome home, Lulu.”
“It’s great to be back.” Louise hugged her more tightly now that they were in the privacy of home. “I missed you.”
“Did you miss your dear old dad or is this just a girl thing?” George Moscow entered and rubbed Louise’s head, mussing up her hair with his big hand. She enveloped herself in his arms silently trying to hold back tears. George sensed her emotion and broke the tension. “How about some champagne while you tell us what happened to your hair?”
“I love it,” said Mary, licking her fingers and patting down some of Louise’s static fly-away wisps caused by the lack of humidity. “It reminds me of a boy I had a crush on in school.”
“What’s his name?” George asked. “So, I can track him down and disappear him.” The pop of the cork provided a compelling yet comical sound effect.
“That’s great, Mom. I remind you of a sixteen-year-old boy from the 1950s.” George handed them flutes of champagne and they clinked glasses.
“Cheers, big ears,” George said, rubbing her earlobe.
“Well, Lulu, I’m happy you made it home for our annual Christmas Eve dinner, but I have a lot to do.” Mary put her champagne glass down and hustled to finish her cooking. “Go to your room and relax. I’ll call you when the guests arrive.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Louise said, heading to the back door to go to her car.
“You go on up and get settled,” George said. “I’ll get your bags from the car.”
“Thanks, George.” For Louise to call him by his given name was her way of warning him things weren’t back to normal yet. Louise went up to her old bedroom and splashed water on her face. She dried off with a hand towel and looked in the mirror. She would never be able to un-see the image of a teenager in a Beatnik hairstyle that her mother had evoked.
“Here’s your bag.” George placed her carry-on and computer bag on the chest at the foot of her bed.
“Thanks.” Feeling cornered, Louise made a show of unpacking her things.
“The hair is a nice touch.”
“Yes, I even fooled Mom.” Louise put her reading glasses on, sat on the bed and fidgeted with some of her childhood souvenirs on the nightstand.
George sat next to her. “Thank you for trusting me enough to come out of protection and work on this investigation,” he said.
Louise looked at George. “Do you trust me?”
“Not only do I trust you. I’m your biggest fan.” He rubbed her earlobe between his index finger and thumb, like a worry stone, relaxing her. Then he stuck his finger in her ear pissing her off. She squirmed away and stood over him.
“After going through the trial, and then living so far away all these years, I was able to get over how you manipulated me. But now, after 9/11, everything is coming back and I’m just so angry.”
He stood, now towering over her. “Good. Stay angry.” He held her shoulders. “That’s your superpower.”
“I’m just tired,” Louise said, pulling away. “Tired of worrying, tired of being angry.”
George paused, not wanting to spoil the reunion with the daughter he adored. But he knew he had to be frank and to-the-point, as time was of the essence.
“This is beyond you and me,” George said. “It’s about national security. The dark money and the so-called black network are still out there. More than ever now as we saw with 9/11. You are the best person to see what is going on in the underworld of finance. And, dare I say, to see if they are still looking for you.”
The goal of this investigation finally hit home for Louise, and she was stunned by the realization. “I’m all for helping expose those behind 9/11. But, do I understand you correctly, that I’m serving as my own bait.”
“Y
ou could say that. But with a new identity and protection.”
“You mean, Charlie and inspector Roblot,” Louise said.
“And Michael, and me.” He paused and Louise half hoped he would say Jean-Philippe, but he didn’t. “You’re the best we have for this,” George continued. “You know the terrain. You can get in close, turn over some big rocks.”
“I hate those little squirmy things under rocks.”
George tried a different tactic, “Those reading glasses remind me of when you were little and used to take your magnifying glass and study all those little squirmy things. Your hair was all crazy like Albert Einstein’s…”
“Stop joking, George,” Louise said.
“Don’t call me George,” her father said.
“George! Louise!” Mary called from downstairs.
“It’s not funny, George!” Louise ran down the stairs.
“What did Daddy do now?” Mary asked.
“Nothing.”
“Did you take a nap, sweetheart?” Mary asked.
“I’d rather stay awake and sleep on the plane.”
“Are you going somewhere fun for New Year’s Eve in your new costume?” Mary asked.
“Mom, this is not a costume!”
“Why don’t you go back to your crazy Einstein hair?” George said, messing up her hair.
“Yes, you have the reading glasses now too!” Mary added.
“This is the new me.” Louise pouted, straightening her hair and taking off her glasses.
“Old or new, I love all of yous. Or should I say vous?” They heard the familiar sound of boots kicking the doorstep outside, followed by a knock. “Come on in!” Mary shouted.
The door protested against the cold in E flat and Michael popped his head in. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Wise man,” George said.
“Michael!” Mary ran over and let him in. She kissed him on the cheek and closed the door.
Michael held a bottle of wine. “1938 Côte d’Or Burgundy wine for you, Mary.” Then he handed another bottle to George. “Macallan 18-Year-Old Sherry Oak Single Malt Scotch Whisky.”
Pinot Noir Page 9
