"I thought I would stick my nose into the Post's business and pester Maggie. I can just see several rip-roaring headlines with my byline underneath. Now, that's a goal to aspire to, Myra. I think I'll make an excellent roving reporter. I'll go dancing with Tee and blow his socks off. When I get bored with him, I'll head to Vegas and take a shot at running my casino. Cha-ching! I'll dally around with Fish and teach him a thing or two, assuming I learn something along the way. If nothing else, Myra, I'll be limber, and I'll be living, not stagnating. Ah, here come the girls!"
Myra digested Annie's dialogue and had to admit Annie's new life, if she managed to make it happen, did sound exciting. She wondered when her old friend would sleep. Knowing Annie as she did, she'd probably go on the Net and find a tutorial about power naps. She smiled at the thought.
A flurry of activity followed as the girls shed their ski boots, skis, and poles and stashed them under the mountain of dead evergreen limbs that now housed the snowmobile.
"It's snowing harder. I thought by the time we got off the mountain, it would have let up," Nikki said, worry in her voice. "Someone call Charles and tell him we got down safely."
"I'm doing it now," Alexis said.
"Our ride is here," Yoko said, pointing to a white van that was almost impossible to see through the swirling snow.
The Sisters climbed in the van and settled back for the ride to the nation's capital.
Martine Connor, the president of the United States, Marti to close friends, Madam President to those who worked for her, and POTUS to the Secret Service, with the code name Chick, stood at the window, coffee cup in hand, staring out at the snow. It was a winter wonderland for sure. She wondered how much snow had fallen during the night. Six inches, she surmised. And it had just started to snow again a short while ago. In a way she was glad it was snowing, because it would make the annual children's Christmas party hosted by Baron Bell and herself that much more exciting for the little ones.
Martine had already performed her early morning presidential duties and had a few free hours to herself. Her secretary had told her that, because of the inclement weather, cancellations were coming in for all the ten-minute interviews and photo ops that had been scheduled for the day. That was fine by her. She needed some downtime.
She walked back to her kitchen and poured more coffee and returned to the window. She liked to stare out the window at the outside world and just let her mind wander in whatever direction it wanted to go. Just then, it was going in Baron Bell's direction. She had met the man only once and hadn't really formed an opinion of him. Lizzie Fox hadn't seemed enamored of him, that was for sure. Yet the man was in and out of the White House on a regular basis. Or so Lizzie had said. As Martine sipped her coffee, she tried to remember what she'd read about the lawyer over the past months. Nothing earth-shaking. A philanthropic attorney in the District. A lover of children.
An itch settled itself between her shoulder blades; then her eyes narrowed. Had Lizzie been trying to warn her about Bell that day she came to lunch? Had she missed the signal, whatever the signal was? Her eyes narrowed in thought. Before she could think twice, she moved over to the in-house phone and buzzed her secretary, Connie Quintera. "Connie, I want you to stop whatever you're doing and go through the visitors' logbook. I want to know how many times Baron Bell has been to the White House this past year. I want times logged in, times logged out, and who he met with while he was here, and I want it ASAP. I'm in my quarters, so bring it to me as soon as you have it. Thanks, Connie."
The president went back to the window to stare out at the falling snow. Always when she was in a reflective mood, she thought about how she'd gotten to this place in time. And then she thought about who it was that had put her here at the eleventh hour. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was in some deep trouble if she didn't come through with the promise she'd made to the vigilantes. She shivered at the thought of what could and would happen if she didn't make good on that promise very, very soon.
It wasn't that she hadn't tried. She had, but she'd been shot down from so many directions, she'd had to fall back and regroup. She was still too green, too new at her job, to fully appreciate that, within certain limits, she could do whatever she wanted.
No matter what anyone said, no matter how much they professed to be on her side, Connor knew she was dealing with the good ol' boys, and the good ol' boys still didn't cotton to a woman president. Especially her chief of staff, Aaron Lowry. In private, she called him a pit bull. He always showed just the right amount of respect for her position, but she knew he didn't like her. How she'd become saddled with him was still a bit of a mystery to her.
Not coming from the world of Washington, a virtual outsider to politics in a year when the public was demanding that the foxes guarding the henhouse be put out to pasture, she found herself having to create an administration from scratch. And, somehow, when Lizzie had at first refused to come on board, she had acquired Lowry as her chief of staff. It was one of so many things here in this exalted house that were mysteries to her, and that was another reason she wanted Lizzie Fox in the White House to watch her back. Her eyes narrowed again. She was a woman of her word. Always had been, always would be. She'd grant those pardons or die trying.
Connor walked back to her little private desk and pressed the button that would summon Aaron Lowry. Her back stiffened when she heard his voice. "I'd like you to come up to my quarters now, Aaron."
"Madam President, if it's not an emergency, can the visit wait an hour or so? I'm up to my neck in some tricky--"
"I said now, Aaron." She broke the connection before the COS could utter another word.
Fresh coffee in hand, she sat down on one of the chairs she'd arranged in a small informal setting. She waited for one of the Secret Service detail to fetch the COS.
When Lowry finally bustled in, huffing and puffing, he looked at her with disdain. "Did something happen? Is there some emergency I'm not aware of?" he grated.
"No. Please, Aaron, sit down. You appear winded. We have an excellent gym here. You should take advantage of it."
"I would if I had time. Unfortunately, I work sixteen hours a day, so that leaves little time for gyms. What did you want to see me about?"
"Several things. One being your long hours. That's going to stop the first of the year, when you will work nine to five. Lizzie Fox will be here by then to lessen your workload. I'm also going to switch up your assistants. By the way, none of this is negotiable. If there's anything I'm about to tell you that you don't like, feel free to tender your resignation. Now, tell me what you and Baron Bell have in common."
Whatever Aaron Lowry had expected to hear, a question about Baron Bell was not it. "He's got the ear of just about every politician on both sides of the aisle. One of the Joint Chiefs is his cousin. He knows everyone. Always offers sound advice. A good man to have in our corner. Why are you asking?"
"Because I can. I'm the president. Did you forget that?"
"No, Madam President, I did not forget that."
Connor looked at the little toad of a man and felt herself wince. She was almost certain he had a Napoleon complex. "You don't like me, do you, Aaron?"
Lowry pretended horror. "What? Why would you ask me something like that, Madam President? Of course I like you. I'm here to serve you. I try to do it to the best of my ability. If there's something I've done or something you think I should have done and didn't, you should tell me."
"I don't like you, Aaron." Good Lord, did I just say that? Obviously, she did, because the man's face turned brick red. Connor leaned forward to pick up a cigarette and fired it up. She blew a perfect smoke ring upward. The look of horror on Lowry's face made her take a second puff from the cigarette she didn't even want.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Madam President. Do you want me to resign? Is that what this is all about?"
"No. I am more than capable of working with people I don't like. I realize this is not a perfect world. I just want you
to know where I stand. From this moment forward, you will clear everything, and I mean everything, through me. If you so much as order a roll of toilet paper for the staff bathroom, I want to know about it. Are we clear on this?"
"Yes, Madam President."
"Good. Now, how are we doing on the presidential pardons for the vigilantes?"
The COS immediately bounced up off his chair and looked down at the president. "We aren't doing anything on the pardons. We discussed that months ago. If you do that, if you even try, it will be political suicide for you and this administration."
Connor stood up and towered over Lowry. "That's what you said. I said to proceed. I admit to a certain laxness where the matter is concerned, but now I want it done. As far as you are concerned, however, it no longer makes a difference, since Lizzie Fox will handle the matter. That will be all, Aaron."
"But, Madam President--"
"I said that will be all, Aaron."
After a shocked and dismayed Aaron Lowry left, Martine Connor walked back to the window, minus her coffee cup. The cigarette was still in her hand, however. She stuck it between her lips and dusted her hands together. "I think that went over rather well," she muttered to the steamy window. She used her index finger to trace the word vigilante on the window. "One pardon coming up, ladies. Just be patient."
Chapter 11
Kathryn Lucas stared out of the van window at the snowy landscape. She was sitting next to Nikki, who was texting Jack. At least that was who she thought she was texting. In actuality, Nikki was texting the office manager at her old law firm to get the latest update via Lizzie Fox.
The driver of the van leaned his head back and shouted, "We're forty minutes out of the city. Pick your drop-off spots, ladies."
The van came alive with sound as the Sisters started to jabber to one another. In the back row, Myra and Annie sat upright to try to get their bearings.
Annie's voice was cheerful when she said, "I don't know about you, Myra, but I'm getting a certain sense of deja vu here. This is like the last time we came into the District, were dropped off, then made our way to the apartments of credit-card thieves Bonnie and Clyde."
Myra chewed on her lower lip. "We made it happen, Annie. There's no reason to jinx us now with that kind of talk."
Annie's voice was still cheerful when she said, "I'm just saying, Myra. I always like to go on the record with things like this."
Myra fingered her pearls. "Yes, I know, dear. Annie, about that...uh...lighted dancing pole. Why do you want it to be lighted?"
"Myra, don't you read? It's not just a light. Well, it is, but it changes colors. You know, like in one of those disco dance halls. It just makes it more...official somehow. I'm all atwitter just thinking about it. You should be all atwitter, too, Myra, but I understand you're busy thinking about your wedding and all. We have time, so don't fret about it."
Myra blinked. "I'm not fretting. Time for what?" she asked nervously as she plucked at her pearls.
"To get into the swing of things. This is your chance to show off your tat."
"Tat?"
"That's the lingo for tattoo. You are so not with it, Myra." Annie patted Myra's arm the way she would if she were consoling a child. "We're partnering up, Myra. That's because the girls think we're old, and we are, but I so hate to be reminded of my age. Each of them is going off on her own while we partner. If you don't feel comfortable with me, you can go with one of the others, and I'll go alone."
"Don't be silly, Annie. I wouldn't dream of leaving you to your own devices. Besides, I feel very comfortable with each of us watching the other's back. We work well together. Sometimes you are just so outside of the box, I don't know what to think."
"Your answer is don't think. Just go with the flow and the moment. Everything is instinctive, you know." Annie dropped her voice to a whisper. "Myra, we can do anything the girls can do. We really can."
"No, we can't, Annie."
"Okay, we can't. But we're wizards at improvising. Can you accept that?"
"Yes, dear, I can accept that. Now, put on your boots. We get dropped off first. I wish Charles had called."
"Yes, Mama," Annie said, tongue in cheek. "I imagine he has his hands full at the moment, Myra. We know what to do, and, like you said, we can think on our own if things go awry."
"First stop, ladies. Dupont Circle," the driver said thirty minutes later. "Careful now. That step has ice on it."
Annie shot the driver a withering look as she jumped down into almost a foot of snow piled on the side of the road. She reached for Myra's hand, but Myra shook it off as she, too, landed in the snow in an upright position. They waved airily to those left behind in the van. They managed to cross the road, holding on to each other for safety's sake.
It was beyond a winter wonderland. Annie kept mumbling over and over that it was the North Pole, and it was going to be a white Christmas, after all. Myra ignored her as she concentrated on slogging through the snow.
There were few people out and about, though; as always during a storm, a few hardy souls braved the elements. The few cars that could be seen were slipping and sliding on the roads, which the sand and salt trucks couldn't keep up with. The nation's capital appeared to be in lockdown mode. A few more daring souls were ahead of them, trudging through the snow, their heads burrowed into the collars of their coats.
Annie pulled Myra into a vacant doorway with a canvas canopy that looked like it would collapse any minute from the weight of the snow. Her teeth chattering, shivering inside her down jacket, she said, "Myra, I think, but I'm not sure, because I can't really read the street signs through the snow, but I think we're about two and a half blocks from Baron Bell's office. We're a block west, possibly a block and a half, from the Post apartment. Take a look around you. Bell is not going to be in his office today. He just isn't. How about we go there now, just you and me? If the weather gets any worse, we might not be able to get over there once it turns dark. And, when it gets dark, law enforcement will be out watching over things. If the weather lets up, we'll be more noticeable. I'm thinking right now is the perfect cover. What do you think, Myra?"
"I suppose it makes sense, and I'm game, but I think we need to tell the others what we're doing."
"That would work if it was a perfect world and cyberspace cooperated, but alas, dear heart, we lost all reception on the cells. Even Charles's handy-dandy, one-of-a-kind, no-one-can-penetrate phone isn't working. We'll be on our own. Are you worried that Bell might be there? Don't be. Between the two of us, we can render him helpless in...in whatever time it takes us. Decide, Myra. I'm freezing here."
The last thing Myra wanted to do was go to Baron Bell's office in the middle of a raging snowstorm with inoperable cell phones. "I'm your girl," she said sprightly.
Annie grabbed Myra's arm, and off they went. "Sometimes you just rock, Myra," she said as she got a mouthful of snow.
Forty-eight minutes later Annie announced that they had arrived at their destination. "I say we go around the back and through the door that leads to those first four floors that Charles told us about. The one where the architect has his offices. If we make it that far, we can then take the elevator to the twelfth floor and pick the lock on Bell's door. I'm an expert now, Myra."
Myra sighed. All she wanted was to get warm, and if it was in Baron Bell's office, picking his door lock and breaking into the man's safe, so be it. "Let's do it, partner!"
"I love you, Myra."
Myra wasn't sure if she loved Annie at the moment or not. She was too cold and tired to care much about anything. "Aren't you just a little worried about the guard downstairs, Annie?"
"Not one little bit. He probably worked a double shift, and his replacement didn't make it in. There doesn't appear to be anyone in any of the offices. Relax, Myra. If he shows up, we'll just...uh...take him down and truss him up like a turkey. After we turn up the heat in Bell's office. Look, Myra, we're in. Now all we have to do is make our way to the twelfth floor. Pay attent
ion, dear. I'm locking the door behind me. That means we're safe. Check your cell phone and see if you can get a signal."
Myra did as instructed. She shook her head. "Maybe Mr. Bell's landline is working. We can call Charles from here. What do you think, Annie?"
"Sounds like a plan to me. Let's see if we can make it work for us."
Within minutes they were on the twelfth floor. The elevator swished open, and they stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
Myra reached for Annie's arm and pulled her backward. "Look!" she hissed as she pointed downward with her finger. "Water. And it's leading to...Baron Bell's door."
Both women tiptoed forward to the suite of offices that was down one suite from the elevator.
"There aren't any lights on inside. You can see through the opaque glass," Annie said thoughtfully. "There are several possibilities, Myra. One is the guard was outside, then came in, but that sounds pretty lame even to me. The other is either Bell or Newsom was here and left. Or maybe the secretary made it in and left early. I say we give the door a try."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. First, though, why don't you try the knob to see if it's open before you start destroying property?"
Annie thought about Myra's comment and tried the knob. The door opened without making a sound.
Myra rolled her eyes.
"I'm going to give you that one, my friend," Annie whispered. "The fact that this door is open tells me someone other than Bell was here and didn't care about locking the door when they left. Damn it, Myra, someone beat us here." Annie stepped into the dimly lit office. "Yoo-hoo!" she trilled. "Anyone here?"
"I don't think anyone is here, Annie. Look, there are wet footprints leading across the reception area and, it looks like, across the hall to that office where the door is half open. Some light would be a good thing."
16. Deadly Deals Page 12