“Some woman got a little too close to me when I hit the front door of our building. I had to ride the elevator with her. I got off on the fourth floor and walked up the other four. We need to get out of here. Listen, we both made it, that’s the good thing. Come on, I’ll help you. A shower and a few more bottles of water, and you’ll be good as new.”
“I feel like such a…wuss. I really thought I was in good shape, Nikki.”
“Like you said, it’s the heat. We trained on a mountain where the air is cool. You are in good shape, so don’t go berating yourself.”
“I feel like a bag of wet noodles.”
“I feel the same way you do. Myra and Annie have news. Wait till you see it.”
“I don’t want to see anything but the shower,” Kathryn said as she hobbled behind Nikki to Apartment 809, where Myra and Annie were waiting in the open doorway. “What?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
Nikki pointed to the television. “Seems someone said they saw the vigilantes at the Crystal City Underground. They have it staked out—FBI, the locals, and media. That anchor, Joyce Hart, is saying the vigilantes are vain and have egos bigger than the Washington Monument, and she’s staying till we show ourselves.”
Kathryn started to laugh and couldn’t stop as she stumbled toward the bathroom.
Annie hurried after her as she voiced motherly concerns. “What’s that noise? I hope the air-conditioning isn’t going to go out on us. I’ll die if that happens.” Annie laughed.
“Will she be okay, Nikki?” Myra asked.
“Yes, some more water and Gatorade, some food, she’ll be fine. The shower is going to help. When Yoko gets here, she might give her a massage of sorts. She’ll be the old Kathryn by morning. What’s that noise? Oh, who cares?”
Myra smiled. “What about you, dear?”
“I got my second wind, Mummie. I’ll be okay. I’m going to take a shower now. Do you think you could make us a BLT? Lots of tomatoes, the bacon nice and crisp, soft, spongy bread, light on the mayo and lettuce but load on the bacon. Two glasses full of ice with orange Gatorade, and I’ll be in heaven.”
Myra practically swooned. She loved it when Nikki called her Mummie. Growing up, Barbara and Nikki had both called her Mummie. Tears blurred her vision as she made her way to the kitchen.
“Don’t cry, Mummie. Nik will be okay. Remember she likes her bacon to the point where you can snap it in two.”
“Darling girl, I wish I was making a BLT for you, too. God in Heaven, I miss you so. Do you know if…?”
“Everyone is fine. Charles is busy. Actually, he is having the time of his life right now. He pulled it off. It was really a little dicey there for a while, but it all worked out. I know you are all upset with him, but you have to get over it. And, Mummie, he wants that tulip comforter back on the bed so badly he can taste it. It’s time, Mummie.”
Myra managed a weary smile as she laid strips of bacon into the fry pan. “Yes, I guess it is. I can’t believe the time has come when the wheel has turned, and you’re giving me advice. I feel like crying, darling girl.”
“No tears, Mummie. I have to go now. Nik needs me. Love you.”
“And I love you more than you can ever know, darling girl. If Nikki needs you, go to her.”
Myra swiped at her tears. If only she could turn the clock back to the days when Barbara and Nikki were little girls. Innocent little girls with little-girl secrets. Sisters, but not blood sisters, who shared everything.
It all seemed like a lifetime ago. The bacon sizzled, bringing Myra back to the present. She wiped her eyes as she vowed to make these the biggest and the best BLTs Nikki and Kathryn ever had in their entire lives. She needed to pay attention to her blessings.
Charles Martin let his mind race. Why did Murphy’s Law have to invade his territory just when things were running smoothly? First it was Snowden telling him about the unexpected young hoodlum invasion at the Tidal Basin. Then it was Isabelle calling to say she and Yoko had chased the boys and retrieved the bags that were now safe in Apartment 809 at the Watergate. Another call saying Bonnie and Clyde would be delivered under cover of darkness.
On top of that, a vigilante sighting at the Crystal City Underground to confuse things even more. And then Nikki calling to say she thought she had been spotted by another runner residing at the Watergate, and to check out Apartment 1706, and don’t let her get away. Seven phone calls later, four agents in place on the seventeenth floor and stairwell, and he was reasonably confident the woman was no threat to his girls. The worst-case scenario for the woman runner would be that her cell phone, her landline, and her computer would be inoperable for a while until his girls were on their way to safety. If necessary, he had an agent standing by who would make the elevator just as inoperable.
Charles looked up at the large-screen monitor. He moved Lady Justice and brought up a map of Washington. With his index finger he tapped area after area, each of which lit up with bright red dots. The red dots represented agents in place, the blue dots for agents on the move. For the Sisters, along with Jack and Harry, yellow dots. Now all the dots were blinking to show that everything was more or less under control. Four green dots, bigger than the others, indicated that the special merchandise the girls had ordered was in place.
Charles took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he moved back to his workstation. He looked down at his checklist.
Lizzie Fox. No problem there.
Maggie. No problem there either.
Ted and Espinosa. No problem and no need for their help at the present.
Jack and Harry. Always a problem. But problems that worked out, for some strange reason. He’d learned along the way to let them have their heads and somehow work around what followed.
Charles moved on to the massiveness of the identity theft ring. Until just a few hours ago, he had been convinced that Bonnie and Clyde were the second tier, with someone else heading up their ring. He’d changed his mind when absolutely no other intel came his way. The intricacies, the details boggled his mind. He thought about how many people he’d had to use to keep the vigilantes safe from harm. How Bonnie and Clyde kept it together without making a mistake was something he was never going to understand.
And they’d still be out there scamming people, stealing fortunes, and ruining lives if not for Harry Wong and his aversion to opening his mail. Harry was going to turn out to be a hero, and he didn’t even know it.
Maybe a surprise was in order for everyone. He needed to make some brownie points with the girls, and cooking a gourmet dinner on their return wasn’t going to do it.
Charles jerked around when the dogs at his feet barked. He looked to see what had warranted the alert. Then he smiled. It was the silence. The fax machine was quiet. There were no pings alerting him to incoming e-mails. The phones, all nine of them, were quiet—even the two specially encrypted phones in his pockets, the ones he was never without, were silent.
Silence to the dogs meant special time. A run, a walk, some treats. Charles obliged as he led the way out into the early evening. He inhaled deeply as he threw two sticks. The dogs raced after them. While he waited for their return, he sat down on the bench under the old hemlock tree. He fired up his pipe, puffed, then let his body relax. The dogs returned, panting but wanting more. He threw the sticks again.
In a truly relaxed state, Charles let his mind wander. What could he plan for his chicks? A surprise! A really wonderful surprise for them. And for himself as well. All he needed to do was work out the details.
The dogs returned. They’d had enough. They stood politely, waiting for the treats Charles carried in his pocket. Bacon-flavored chews that took a whole hour to gnaw down to nothing.
Charles puffed contentedly. Right then the world looked pretty darn good.
Chapter 20
It was four o’clock on the dot when Vinny Paloma was almost finished loading up the Post’s delivery truck with the morning edition of the paper. He’d been do
ing the same job for the past twenty-three years. Most times he liked what he did because he got to read the headlines before anyone else. Even though it was four o’clock, he had his route timed so well that he could take a good seven and a half minutes to scan the front page and sip the hot coffee he bought at the 7-Eleven around the corner. He loved routine, thrived on it.
Vinny settled himself in the cab of the truck the moment he loaded the last bundle of papers into the back. The first sip of the strong brew was always the best; almost like an aphrodisiac. He looked down at the paper in his hands, then reared back at what he was seeing in front of his very eyes. He didn’t need to read the article, the headline was enough for him. Today he was going to be three minutes late on his route.
He hauled out the laptop he always carried with him and kept on the passenger seat of his truck, powered it up, and sent an e-mail to Dominic Russo, his wife’s brother, who had been a victim of identity theft ten months ago. He knew his brother-in-law would send his e-mail to all 120 people in his address book, and those 120 people would send it to another 120 people, possibly more, possibly a little less, and on and on it would go around the country. Then he hit his own address book and knew for a fact he had close to 250 people listed—his bowling team, softball team, neighbors, relatives, the kids’ friends’ parents, the whole congregation at the church, and friends he’d met online.
Then, just for the pure hell of it, he went to eBay and sent an e-mail to a few sites where he’d bought items, asking the sellers to pass the word along that the Post was this close to bringing in the heads of the largest identity theft ring in the country.
He was about to close the laptop and get on with his workday when he thought about how he was forever sending e-mails to television shows. He checked a particular file and fired off e-mails to Joyce Hart, Joe Scarborough, Chris Matthews, Bill O’Reilly, and Nancy Grace. His wife, Ginny, loved Nancy Grace. Ginny always said if government had a dozen Nancy Graces in office, there would be no problems in the country. Come hell or high water, at eight o’clock every single night, his house went silent, and if a ball game was on, he had to go into the bedroom to watch it on their little twelve-inch screen while Ginny rooted for Nancy Grace and whatever cause she was pursuing.
Vinny looked down at his watch. He knew without a doubt that by six AM, maybe even five-thirty, his e-mails would be circling the country and being delivered at cyberspeed. The news would be carrying the story live. He wished he had someone he could make a bet with. If the vigilantes were in town, according to the dual headline, the scum would be behind bars within hours. Guaranteed.
Vinny started up his truck and backed away from the loading dock. He had a job to do, and he’d just gone beyond the call of duty. Maybe he’d treat himself to some waffles with fresh fruit after he dropped off his last load of papers.
Nikki walked into the kitchen to see the Sisters all gathered around the table drinking coffee. She stifled a yawn as she looked down at the plate of warm sticky buns in the center of the table. She sniffed: cinnamon. She loved the smell of cinnamon. “I ache all over,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
Kathryn groaned as she massaged her neck. “Tell me about it. I cannot believe I slept straight through for twelve hours.”
Nikki looked at the clock on the stove and winced. She, too, had slept twelve hours. Panic gripped her. “Where…?”
“Our…uh…guests are…resting,” Myra said. “Mr. Snowden’s people helped that along. They’re in the alcove, all trussed up like Christmas turkeys. Since time wasn’t an issue, we decided to allow you and Kathryn the sleep you needed. We have plenty of time, so enjoy your coffee. Then we’ll get down to work.”
Nikki felt herself relax as she brought the coffee cup to her lips. “When are they going to wake up?”
“Any minute now,” Annie said cheerfully. “I think we have a generous window of time to do what we came here to do.”
Myra’s cell phone rang. The Sisters froze in place as they watched and listened.
“I’ll tell them, Charles,” Myra said and then hung up.
“Our ‘generous window of time’ just disappeared,” she told them briskly. “We need our guests awake right now.” She looked over at the clock Nikki had just looked at. “It’s seven o’clock. Every news channel is running with a tale of the vigilantes, and they’re saying they have their quarry cornered at the Watergate.”
The Sisters were on their feet and running to the alcove.
“Where are those backpacks? Did anyone check the contents?” Isabelle shouted.
“I did, dear,” Annie answered. “Some getaway cash, ten thousand, to be precise. Papers, memory sticks, and two passports. We couldn’t access the memory sticks, they’re password protected. Charles is checking the names on the passports. How much time do we have, Myra?” she asked.
Myra just shook her head, her gaze going to the two huge boxes sitting in the foyer, the kind of boxes that washing machines come in.
The Sisters looked toward the guest bedroom as they dragged the protesting bound couple toward the living room. There was a strange noise filtering out into the apartment from the guest room.
Yoko’s head jerked upright. She placed her index finger next to her lips for silence. Next, running feet could be heard in the hallway. Then shouts and curses.
Kathryn looked down at the bound couple. “Hey, you two, listen up. You hear what’s going on out there in the hall? This is just a guess on my part, but I think it’s the FBI, and they’re looking for you.”
Annie held up a copy of the morning edition of the Post so that the trussed couple could read the headlines and see the pictures.
The man started to laugh. “What makes you so sure they’re here for us? I think they’re here for YOU!”
“That’s true,” Nikki said. “but we’re going to get away, and you aren’t. Now, we have your backpack, and that means we have the memory sticks, which will give us access to all the funds you’ve stolen over the years. I want your real birth names, and I won’t ask twice.”
“I want a lot of things, too. Make it worth our while,” the man said.
“I wouldn’t give you the time if you were in a dark room,” Kathryn said. “We don’t have time for games.”
“I think it’s time to get dressed, girls!” Myra announced.
The Sisters ran to the foyer and opened the boxes. Within minutes they were dressed in white Hazmat suits. They moved slowly in a tight line back to the living room.
“In one minute we’re going to open the door to that room over there,” Annie told the couple, pointing to the door of the guest room. “That noise you probably thought was coming from a faulty air-conditioning unit is really coming from there. Inside are nine hives of killer bees. Either you talk, or we release the bees. Decide now,” she said, her hand on the crystal knob of the guest room door.
“Oh, God, I’m allergic to bee stings. I was hospitalized once for just one sting,” the woman said. “I could die if I’m stung again.”
“We know, that’s where we got the idea. Back when you worked at East Coast Savings Bank and were calling yourself Sara Brickman. Who are you?” Yoko asked.
“Margaret Pearson. His name is William Bell.”
“Shut the hell up, Margie.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up. I told you we needed to stop at five years. Did you listen? No, you were too greedy. We wouldn’t be in this position if you had listened to me. Maybe you want to die, but I don’t. I told you we would get caught, but you wouldn’t listen. God, I hate you, Bill.”
“I know someone who hates him more than you do,” Yoko said grimly.
The Sisters whirled around when they heard loud banging on the door. The doorbell shrilled at the same time.
“Quick!” Annie shouted. “Drag these two into the bathroom and close the door. Stuff a towel at the bottom of the door. Alexis, take the tops off the beehives.”
The Sisters moved to the front door as million
s of bees invaded the apartment. Kathryn opened the door, and the bees swirled ahead of her, a monstrous black swarm. The crowd of police, reporters, and Watergate security ran for cover.
“Killer bees, cover your faces,” Isabelle barked as she headed for the EXIT sign. She held open the door until the others were through and on the steps. She propped open the stairwell door. On the third floor, Annie propped open that door, and Myra did the same thing on the second floor. When they reached the first floor, the swarm of bees was buzzing so loudly that people were covering their ears and trying to seek shelter.
“Killer bees! Run! Cover your faces! If you get bitten, go to the hospital immediately,” Kathryn shouted over and over.
The Sisters kept up Kathryn’s chant as they made their way to the door leading to the street outside.
Directly in their line of vision was a large white van that said HAZMAT on the panel in bold black letters. As far as the eye could see, people were running down the street, away from the Watergate—except for Joe Espinosa, who had his camera at the ready. Ted Robinson was texting so fast that time seemed to stop. From time to time they swatted at any pesky bees that got too close.
The Sisters lined up, removed their headgear, and gave a slow, sweeping bow as Espinosa clicked and clicked. The pictures were on their way to the Post even as Alexis winked at him, then blew him an air kiss.
Their work done, the Sisters ran for the van and climbed inside. “Whoever you are, burn rubber,” Annie bellowed.
“My pleasure, ladies.”
“Charles!” the Sisters shouted in unison.
“They weren’t really killer bees, were they, Charles?” Myra asked anxiously.
Charles laughed. “No, they were honeybees.”
The questions came fast and furious. “Why are you here? What happened? Where are we going? Tell us!”
“All in good time, ladies. I have to keep my eyes on the road to make sure we arrive at our destination safely.”
Kathryn looked out of one of the dark-tinted windows. “I might be wrong, but I think we have an escort, front and back. Oh, and on the left side, too.”
15. Vanishing Act Page 16