As Maggie made her way back to the apartment she let her mind wander to her finances. How long could she stay afloat on her own? If she cashed in her 401k she could take a leave of absence, try to make things right for Ted, for Jack, for everyone involved. As long as she stayed with her parents, she could exist for about eighteen months. Maybe in those eighteen months, if she hunkered down, she could try to figure out what and how things had gone wrong. Maybe there was a chance for her to get her scoop after all. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
All she needed was a plan, but before she did anything she had to talk to Jack Emery. To clean her slate. Only then could she move forward. Ted’s rule of “play fair” rang in her ears. Okay, she’d play fair and see what it got her.
Maggie called her mother and within seconds her hopes of moving in for eighteen months were dashed. Her parents were hosting friends from Switzerland for six months and all the bedrooms were taken. Three additional calls to friends dashed any hopes of bunking with them. Never a fool, Maggie realized she had no other choice at the moment but to stay with Ted. Unless he decided to kick her out.
Maggie did a quick turnaround in the middle of the sidewalk and headed for Jack Emery’s office. If the district attorney was in court, she’d simply wait around for him and do her best to make things right between him and Ted. If that turned out to be an impossible task, she would be able to live with it knowing she’d at least tried to do the right thing.
Chapter 9
If Maggie had a tail it would have been between her legs as she slinked out of the building. She’d given it her best shot but District Attorney Emery had threatened to call Security if she didn’t leave the premises immediately. His ugly words rang in her ears and she knew in her gut it would be a very long time before she would be able to tune them out. The same ugly words Ted had said time and again: It was all her fault the women got caught, her fault that she’d told Ted to forge ahead because this was Pulitzer material. She was the one who’d pushed the SEND button. And, in the end she’d failed even that. She’d seen the hatred in Jack Emery’s eyes. As far as she knew, no one else in the world actually hated her. Oh, they might not like her abrasive, in-your-face style but they didn’t hate her. It was clear that Jack Emery hated her with every fiber of his being.
As she trudged along, Maggie’s mind raced. If she told Ted she’d gone to Jack to try and make things right, he wouldn’t believe her. She wished there was a bench somewhere so she could sit down and cry. Instead, she made her way back to the Post’s locker room, where she changed into her running clothes. Maybe she could run off some of the misery.
Fifteen minutes later she was running around the Tidal Basin, the scent of the cherry blossoms so sweet she felt lightheaded.
It was a beautiful, sunny day with runners, joggers and sprinters working their way around the Basin. From time to time she passed a nanny or a new mother pushing a pram or walking a toddler. She adjusted her wraparound sunglasses so they would be more snug around her ears. At the same time she yanked at the bill of her baseball cap to lower it farther so her forehead wouldn’t get sunburned.
That’s when she saw Lizzie Fox and the person she was running with. Maggie slowed and dropped back so two high-speed runners could pass her. What was Lizzie Fox doing running around the Tidal Basin at this hour of the day? And who was the guy she was with? Her imagination ran wild. Running along the Basin was a perfect way to meet someone for a private conversation, but Maggie remembered reading a profile on the high-powered defense attorney where she said that she didn’t believe in exercising. And yet, here she was, running with some muscle guy who had the body of Adonis.
Maggie’s reporter’s instincts kicked in as she wiped at the sweat on her face. She increased her speed a little, aware that by the end of the run she would be crippled with shin splints.
With two other joggers ahead of her and behind the lawyer, Maggie wasn’t able to hear a thing, and the joggers appeared in no hurry to speed things up. There was no way she could wiggle her way in between them. She could pick up more speed and get in front of them, but she knew she couldn’t continue to run at that speed; her body simply wasn’t up to it.
She studied the man running with Lizzie Fox. There was something familiar about him. The crew cut, his height? It wasn’t the clothes because they were the same as everyone else’s who was running and jogging. Maybe it was his thick neck? When he’d turned a moment ago she’d seen that he was wearing aviator shades. Government issue, she was sure of it.
He was running but he was checking out things as he did so. Only cops did things like that, but Maggie knew in her gut the guy wasn’t a blue-suit cop.
A boyfriend? Lizzie Fox was known to play the field with a different man every week, if the gossip columnists were accurate. No, she decided, it wasn’t a boyfriend or a cop. The body language wasn’t there.
It hit her then like a bolt of lightning. Mitch Riley. The assistant director of the FBI. The same guy who had grilled her and Ted on their return from Idaho. She congratulated herself on her phenomenal perspicacity.
Maggie’s heartbeat quickened. She was witnessing something important but what was it? Was he some kind of Deep Throat? Was Lizzie Fox some kind of female Deep Throat? Was Lizzie on the FBI payroll? Wooeee, what do we have here?
The joggers in front of her suddenly broke away, walked over to one of the cherry trees with a canopy of blossoms and slid to the ground. Maggie took advantage of the moment and picked up her speed slightly, staying far enough behind her quarry so as not to arouse suspicion.
She could hear their voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They appeared to be arguing. Riley turned slightly and noticed the two joggers had disappeared. He gave half a glance at Maggie and turned back to Lizzie. He said something as he steered her to the side. Maggie had no other choice but to keep running.
What to do? Collapse onto the grass or keep going? If she stopped, Lizzie and Riley would eventually jog the rest of the way around the Basin. Should she stop now, or finish up the run and wait at the starting point in the hopes they would pass her to go to their respective cars? She finally opted for finishing. Her legs were killing her when she sat down to massage them. Tonight she would be walking like a ninety-year-old crone. But if she was onto something, and she suspected she was, it would be worth it.
Maggie strained to see the two runners, who were now jogging toward where she was sitting. She watched as they parted company without even saying good-bye or waving to one another. Lizzie Fox looked like she wanted to kill someone.
Pleased with herself, Maggie hobbled off. The big question was: Was this something she kept to herself or should she tell Ted in her quest to bring their relationship back to its old footing? She would have to think about that long and hard.
Charles stood at his computer as he waited for the women to take their seats at the round table. He tried to gauge their respective moods but gave up when he saw Myra’s stony gaze on him. If Myra was still unhappy with him, then so were the others. The truth was he was more than a little tired of the women’s attitude and he was on his last nerve. He tilted his head to the side as he watched and listened to the irritation that was rampant among them. He made up his mind to wait them out.
It took all of eleven minutes for the women to realize nothing was happening. One by one they straightened up in their chairs, their shoulders thrown back, their gazes reflective. Charles nodded as he stepped down to the main floor. He held papers in both hands. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he spoke. “I have here, in my left hand, my resignation. In my right hand is the game plan for your next mission. Let me also say that I am very disappointed in all of you. I expected you to act like the professionals you are supposed to be. I’m taking your attitudes as a personal insult. Because of your sloppiness during Yoko’s mission in California, you got caught. We worked, at the time, with the only means available to us. You all knew the plan was short-term at best. When plans don’t work, they have
to be changed. You’ve been acting like children whose lollipops were taken away. You seem to have forgotten that you not only failed me, you failed yourselves. I will not single out anyone in particular. You worked as a team and you failed as a team. That’s your bottom line. From day one I told you I have zero tolerance for failure.”
Charles’s left fist suddenly slammed down on the round table. “Here is my resignation. Accept it and you are on your own. Survive any way you can.” His right fist hit the table with the same ominous sound. “This is your next mission. I’m going to give you precisely fifteen minutes to make your decision. My bags are packed should you choose to accept my resignation. It’s your decision, ladies.”
Without another word, Charles left the war room. The women looked at one another, their mouths open, their eyes filled with tears. Myra was openly sobbing as Annie tried to comfort her.
Then the others went at it, screaming and yelling at one another.
“Stupid bitch!”
“It’s your fault!”
“I didn’t sign up with this group to get caught!”
“Shut that damn dog up!”
A long leg shot out and Kathryn fell flat on her face. The screaming led to a pushing match that ended up on the floor as all hell broke loose. Strands of hair flew as grunts and groans ricocheted against the old stone walls of the monastery. Accusations spewed from the women’s mouths at the speed of light. A chair smashed against the wall and splintered.
Then the vicious sound of a second chair crashing into one of the walls finally got to Myra, who looked around in horror. A metal thermos sailed through the air to land at Yoko’s feet. She stomped on it and it crushed as easily as a tin can.
“I’m outta here. I don’t need this crap!” Isabelle screamed.
“Me, too,” Alexis said just as her fist landed on Nikki’s jaw.
“Do something,” Annie hissed.
Myra stood up on wobbly legs and called for quiet. The women ignored her. She looked at Annie and shrugged.
Annie rushed to Charles’s workstation on the raised platform. She knew there was a gun in the cabinet because she’d given it to Charles. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely lift the heavy pistol. She slid off the safety and fired three quick shots at the ceiling. She was rewarded with instant silence.
“We have three minutes until Charles gets back here. I am a terrible shot so don’t make me angry. Myra, call this damn meeting to order and let’s get on with it.” Annie took her seat, the gun still in her wobbly hands.
“I’m ashamed of all of you. I’m ashamed of myself, too,” Myra said in a voice none of the women had ever heard before.
“I’m not ashamed,” Annie said loudly. “We did what we were supposed to do. We caught a bad break and things went south. It’s those reporters who brought us down. So if you want to blame anyone, blame them. As for Jack and Harry…Get over it, girls. There’s no room or time to go all sappy. We’re talking about our very survival here and I for one am not worried about your love life. If you can’t stand the heat, leave the kitchen.” She leaned over to whisper in Myra’s ear. “Did I say that right?”
“You did,” Myra whispered back.
Kathryn looked over at Annie as she massaged what was soon going to be a black eye. “You sounded just like me. Oh, God, I have a clone.”
“Did I, dear? I’m going to take that as a compliment. We have one minute, girls.”
“Girls, raise your hands if you wish to accept Charles’s resignation. I want you to know if Charles leaves, I will be with him,” Myra said.
“Me, too,” Annie said.
At these declarations, five hands shot downward.
“This is going to call for a major attitude adjustment, girls,” Annie said. “As in immediately. Five seconds. Ah, the door is opening. Two seconds.”
Kathryn leaned across the table to pick up Charles’s resignation letter. She tore it into shreds.
Charles observed the byplay as he made his way to his workstation. He eyed the gun in Annie’s hand but said nothing. He did his best not to stare at the disheveled sisters, who all sported bruises, bumps and lumps.
He flicked a switch and the wall-to-wall plasma television screens came to life. All were tuned to the American 24-hour news channels. The sound was muted. He waited patiently. He hoped he looked calmer than he felt.
Myra stood up to face her longtime lover and spoke. “We do not accept your resignation, Charles. We’ve agreed to mend our ways and we in no way blame you for our current situation. We are again entrusting our lives to your care. We’re ready for our next mission whatever it may be. In closing, we offer you our sincere apologies for our…for our—”
“Shitty attitudes,” Annie chirped.
“Ah, yes, our…our shitty attitudes,” Myra said.
Charles straightened his shoulders before he slipped a CD into the CD player. “I accept your apologies. Right now I want all of you to pay attention to what you are about to see. We’ll discuss your observations at length when it’s finished.”
When the CD came to life, the women collectively gasped in shock.
Chapter 10
It was a beautiful evening with twinkling stars and a gentle breeze that was just strong enough to make the new leaves on the tree-lined street whisper to one another. Even though the hour was growing late, Jack could make out his neighbors, none of whom he knew by name, walking their dogs. He longed suddenly for a golden retriever. Maybe one day when his life returned to some kind of normalcy, he would get one.
Sitting on the stoop of Nikki’s town house, Jack glanced down at his watch. Almost midnight. The witching hour. He wondered if anything would happen at the stroke of midnight. Probably not. He knew they were out there waiting for him to do or say something. The infamous Gold Shields, the president’s special agents. The same special agents he’d managed to trick more than once. The same special agents that had beaten him to a pulp and almost killed Ted Robinson. Top-notch, answering to no one except the president and Charles Martin, those guys with the special gold shields had been dogging and tailing him longer than he cared to remember.
Just for the hell of it, Jack whistled and then shouted, “Come out, come out, wherever you are, you son of a bitch!” He had to continue to play the game, according to Charles. Now that was a crock of crap if he ever heard one. Still, if it meant the safety of Nikki and the other members of the Sisterhood, he would do whatever Charles told him to do.
Jack nonchalantly fired up a cigarette just as a dark figure stepped out of the shadows.
“Do you want to say good night, Mr. Emery?” The agent didn’t advance past the sidewalk but continued to remain in the shadows between two parked cars.
“Well, hell, yes, Mr. No Name Special Agent to the President and Charles Martin. I wouldn’t dream of going to bed unless I said good night and extended an invitation to tuck me in, at which point I will tell you to kiss my ass and to get the hell out of my house. So, you want to go for it or not?”
“Testy this fine evening, aren’t we, Mr. Emery? If there’s any ass kissing to be done it will be by you. Listen up, mister. I have you by the short hairs and don’t you ever forget it. You’re running on the debit side and we who carry these special shields have not forgotten what you did to one of ours. Or should I say three of ours? Three of the president’s most loyal are now without their spleens, all thanks to you. Don’t think for one minute that I’ve forgotten that gold shield you stole. I’ll get it back with your hide stuck to it. You’re on shaky ground, Mr. Emery.”
Jack whipped his sport jacket to the side to let the agent see the gun nestled in the holster under his arm. As district attorney, he had every right to carry it. He drew it out, clicked off the safety and pointed it at the man standing in the shadows. “Did I tell you I qualified in the gun trials and came out number one? Uno! That means my draw is a tad faster than yours. And I now have a black belt so I can whip your ass nine ways to Sunday and not break a sweat. W
hat do you have going for you, hotshot?”
“A deep-abiding hatred for you. That’s all I need. Anytime you want to bring it to a test, say the word.”
Jack almost laughed aloud but caught himself in time. “There’s a time and a place for everything, asshole. Fortunately, this isn’t the time or the place. When I decide to take you on, it will be on my time and I’ll pick the place. Write that down so you don’t forget, you asshole. Good night, Special Agent Asshole.” Jack clicked the safety on the gun and then shoved it in the holster under his arm. Without another word, he walked into the house. When the door was closed and locked, he swiped at the sweat dripping down his forehead.
Jack turned on the alarm, knowing it wouldn’t save him for one minute from a guy like the one he’d just threatened. It had been all bravado on his part. If push came to shove, he’d be a lamb going into the lion’s den with those guys with the special gold shields. All he really had going for him was his new martial arts expertise.
Jack climbed the stairs to the second floor on tired legs. His shoulders drooped, and not even the thought of seeing Nikki in a few days could lift his spirits. He hung up his jacket, stripped down and then pulled on the bottoms of his pajamas. His cell phone rang, startling him. He looked down at the little window that announced his late-night caller. Mark Lane, good friend, ex-FBI computer programmer. Mark Lane, who knew everything about the Sisterhood except the fact that his good friend Jack Emery was a bona fide member of the clan. Jack intended to keep it that way.
Mark’s voice was cheerful when he announced himself and asked, “You weren’t in bed, were you, Jack?”
“Not yet. What’s up?”
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