16. Deadly Deals

by Fern Michaels

  "Right here," Maggie said, holding up her left hand. "Just tell me when he's covered and hanging from the shower rod. I'm putting him on the front page!"

  "Will you stop this crap already? You're just trying to scare me! Well, guess what? Baron Bell doesn't scare!"

  "Guess what, Mr. Bell? This vigilante never says anything she doesn't mean." A load of tar hit the mark just as Kathryn finished speaking.

  Myra noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Charles standing in the doorway. His face was whiter than the snow outside. "Not now, Charles. We're rather busy at the moment."

  Charles turned and fled back to the bedroom.

  "Flip him over, girls!" Kathryn said, dipping her brush into the bucket of tar.

  Chapter 17

  Bert Navarro, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, looked out at the sea of white that greeted him as he prepared to exit the Hoover Building, where he'd been a virtual prisoner, along with all the other agents in the building, since the snow started falling twenty-four hours ago.

  He adjusted his aviator glasses against the blinding whiteness that surrounded him. He hated being out and about with a day's worth of beard, his clothes rumpled, his white shirt less than pristine. Considering the circumstances, he decided not to give his appearance a second thought.

  Normally, he had nerves of steel, was great under pressure, and demonstrated clear thinking whatever the situation. This storm, though, with the power outages and resultant loss of communication with the outside world, had thrown him for a loop. He was worried about the vigilantes, especially Kathryn, and he was more than a little concerned about Jack and the others. He consoled himself with the fact that Jack was good at improvising, and he had Killer Harry on his team. Robinson and Espinosa always came through in the clench, so he shelved his concern for his friends. He had done what he could and hoped the others were doing the same thing.

  Until the storm, Bert hadn't realized how much he depended on his cell phone to communicate with the outside world. He'd always taken power and convenience for granted, something he would never do again. Candles, flash-lights that depended on batteries simply didn't do the job in his line of work.

  Bert actually grinned when he heard his cell chirp inside his pocket. Hoping it was Kathryn, or possibly Charles or Jack, kept the grin on his face until he realized one of his least favorite people was on the other end of the line. He growled a greeting of sorts and waited for Mark Paterno, the head of the Secret Service detail at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, to state his case. For all the good it was going to do him. Bert pressed a button on his special cell that would allow him to record the conversation. It was a given that Paterno was doing the same thing.

  Bert decided to wait out the agent. Finally he said, "You called me, remember. So what is it you want, Paterno?"

  "It's not what I want, Mr. Director. It's what the president wants."

  "Then have the president call me." Bert clicked off the cell and counted, one-two-three. He clicked it on and waited again. "Don't ever hang up on me again, you asshole." Bert snapped the phone shut and put it on vibrating mode.

  Bert Navarro carried three cell phones: his work phone, the special phone from Charles Martin, and his own personal phone. The Charles Martin phone took that moment to ring. The Bureau phone kept vibrating in his pocket. He ignored it as he concentrated on what Charles Martin was saying. "Got it. I'm waiting for my transportation." He listened again. "I'm outside in the pavilion. Nothing is moving. The city can't keep up with this storm. I heard a report as I was leaving that this is being billed as the storm of the century, and yet the White House is going ahead with the children's Christmas party. Have you heard how things are going over there?" Bert listened again, and asked, "What about the babies? The boys have it covered! I'd pay for that visual," he said, laughing. Bert went on to explain about hanging up on the head of the Secret Service. This time it was Charles who laughed.

  "Do you care to tell me what the next step is?" Bert asked as he strained to look up and down the street to see if there was any sign of transportation coming his way. All he could see was a teenager carrying an inner tube, a man carrying a little dog, and two cars that were stuck in a snowbank. Most of the traffic lights appeared to be out. He brought his attention back to Charles and what he was saying. "Now that's a plan, Charles!" He listened again, then laughed so hard he doubled over. When he slipped the cell back into his other pocket, he was still laughing.

  Bert stomped his feet to keep warm, the cell in his pocket vibrating continuously as he waited for the transportation that would take him to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

  Back at the Post apartment, Baron Bell was screaming his head off, while Adel Newsom stared off into space, resigned at what was to come. The two surrogates, their eyes red from crying, were still huddled together, praying.

  "A little late with the prayers, aren't you?" Isabelle snapped. "What makes you think God is going to be in a forgiving mood at what you did to your own babies, selling them to the highest bidder? Right now you need to worry about what we're going to do to you. He's not doing so good," she said, jerking her head in Baron Bell's direction. "It is so not manly to squeal like that."

  The surrogates cried harder.

  Isabelle looked away in disgust in time to see Kathryn dip her brush into a second bucket.

  "Make sure you get all those nooks and crannies." Nikki giggled.

  "I hear you!" Kathryn giggled in return. She wiggled the brush she'd just dipped into the second, restaurant-sized bucket, which was full of chocolate pudding with a licorice base. "Make sure you understand, Mr. Bell, once I seal up your rectum with this tar and that other stuff you have going on...in the front, you will probably implode in about ten hours. Come on, girls. Spread those flabby cheeks so I don't miss any of the nooks and crannies."

  "Yuck," Yoko said.

  "Oooh, he's so hairy back here!" Nikki grimaced.

  "STOP! Okay, you bitch. I'll tell you what you want to know," Bell grunted.

  "Too late," Annie said. "You snooze, you lose! Slap it on there, Kathryn! Seal him up tight!"

  "Jesus, God, stop. Please," Bell begged, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  "Listen to him," Adel Newsom pleaded. "You'll see he was the brains of this...this enterprise."

  Kathryn stood up from her half crouch, the dark pudding dripping on the plastic tarp. The real tar she'd spread earlier was starting to harden up. She smiled. "Start talking, Mr. Bell."

  "It's all there on my money clip. It looks like a money clip, but it's actually a Memory Stick. All my files and bank information are on it."

  "Well, lookie here, girls," Nikki said, holding up a sheaf of bills attached to the Memory Stick. She ripped off her latex gloves, ran to the dining-room table, and inserted the Memory Stick into the laptop sitting there. "Wallah! It's all here. At least it looks like it is. Ooooh, this is good. The man is rich!

  "Maggie, I'm going to upload these files. You'll have them in a minute. Wait! Where and how much money do you want me to transfer for all those adoptive parents?"

  "We have an escrow account at the paper. Just a second. I'll send you the number of the account. Pick a number you're comfortable with, and it's a done deal. Remember, it is Christmas, so be generous. Babies are expensive. That means, be generous.

  "And be certain to include funds to reimburse the parents they sold the babies to. We have to follow through on the promises we made when we explained that they had been the victims of a swindle. That the children they thought they were going to be able to adopt legally could not be adopted, because even though the surrogate mothers had signed off on the adoptions, the biological fathers had not and would not. That the babies were going to be returned to the families that had arranged for their conceptions and births, but if the 'buyers' would just not raise a fuss, not only would their money be returned but, more important, private adoptions through reputable parties would be arranged within the next year."

&nb
sp; "Gotcha," Nikki said as she tapped at the keys on her laptop.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Baron Bell snarled. "Stop that! I told you what you wanted to know. I said, stop it, goddamn it! Liars! You can't trust a woman no matter what."

  "That is so true, especially with people like you," Kathryn said. She dipped her brush into the bucket of real tar and proceeded to paint the lawyer from the neck down. Myra and Annie were painting Adel Newsom, who just cried and sniveled. The two surrogates stared with unbelieving eyes at what was going on as they wondered if they would really be turned loose or strung up on the shower rod with the two lawyers.

  "You are all going to be overnight sensations once we put you on YouTube," Yoko said. "I bet you'll get so many hits, the site will have to shut down."

  "Just die already, all of you," Bell shouted as Kathryn continued to paint his body with tar and Nikki transferred his money to where it would do the most good.

  "Yoo-hoo, Mr. Bell. I'm leaving fifty thousand dollars in your household account to see your wife through the year," Nikki commented. "I'm right now, right this second, processing a transfer of title to that palatial estate you once lived in. Mrs. Bell will have to sell it, and she'll be set for life."

  "Piss on you!" Bell shouted.

  "That does it!" Kathryn shouted as she demanded the lawyer be flipped again. She dipped her brush in the bucket of pudding and slapped it on his penis. "Now, let's see who is going to be pissing on whom. One more word out of you, and I'm stuffing your ears and nose with this stuff. That means shut up! Anything else, Nikki?" she called over her shoulder.

  "Should we write Mrs. Bell a letter? You know, so she has something to look at from time to time when she thinks about that scumbag she was married to. What's your feeling on sending her some pictures?"

  "That's a very good idea, dear," replied Myra. "I know I'd feel terrible if someone sent me pictures of Charles in...that condition. However, I really don't think it's going to be much of a shock to Mrs. Bell. Women always know in their hearts when their husbands cheat on them. She chose to ignore his philandering, from what we've been told, rather than confront him. So, no, I don't feel too sorry for her. Make it a kind letter."

  "Okay, Myra, you're the boss," Nikki said cheerfully as she tapped away at the speed of light.

  "Done!" Kathryn cried dramatically. "How's he look, girls?"

  "Spectacular!" Yoko said.

  The others agreed.

  "Then let's hook him up!" Kathryn urged.

  Charles poked his head into the doorway.

  "Not now, dear!" Myra said when she spotted him.

  Charles was gone in a flash.

  "Boy, this stuff is sticky," Alexis said as she pulled the feather pillows out from under the dining-room table. "The tar, I mean, not the pillows."

  "We knew what you meant, dear," Myra said as she fit the plug to the hair dryer into the electrical outlet.

  Holding two feather pillows by the corners, Annie, a devilish grin on her face, said, "One has to take one's fun wherever one can find it. Do you agree, girls?"

  The Sisters nodded solemnly.

  "Okay, Myra, on the count of three, let's rumble. Turn that baby on, and let's watch the feathers fly!"

  Suddenly the room was a sea of white as feathers flew in all directions, most of them landing on the two tar-covered forms of Baron Bell and Adel Newsom. The Sisters swatted at the flying feathers as they settled in their hair and on every inch of their bodies.

  "Spectacular!" Yoko chortled.

  "You need to come up with a better word, dear," Annie shouted to be heard over the high-speed drone of the super-duper deluxe hair dryer, which, according to the box, promised to dry a full head of hair in forty-five seconds.

  "We should have kept our raincoats on. We'll be picking feathers out of our ears for days," Kathryn grumbled.

  "Oh, who cares? This is fun!" Alexis giggled. "Even the dogs are having fun!"

  The Sisters turned to look at the two canines, who were jumping in all directions to catch the elusive feathers. They turned to view their handiwork the moment Myra turned off the high-speed hair dryer.

  "They look like mummies! Very artful, if you like this kind of art." Myra turned to the door, knowing that Charles was there even without seeing him. "Not yet, dear, but soon."

  Nikki and Isabelle helped the others drag Baron Bell into the bathroom. "How long before it all hardens up?" Nikki asked curiously. "Do you think the feathers will speed up the process?"

  "Oh, yeah. It's hardening up as we speak." Kathryn cackled. "I sure hope that rod holds their weight. How about this? Since he's the heavier of the two, let's dangle Bell from the showerhead we rigged up to carry the weight of the two surrogates. Then Newsom can go on the rod all by herself. What'ya say?" She spit out a feather and laughed uproariously.

  "That sounds awesome," Isabelle said. "Yoko is right. They do look spectacular."

  "That means we have to loop a belt under his arms so we have something to hook onto the showerhead," Kathryn said.

  "One belt coming up," Alexis said, running out to the dining room to return with Baron Bell's own belt. "Hoisted by his own petard. I love it, girls! Just love, love, love it!"

  "Wow, it works! Look! If you touch him, you can make him swing around. This is way beyond clever. Next!" Kathryn shouted.

  Myra and Annie, with Nikki's help, dragged Adel Newsom into the bathroom.

  "If she gets bored," Nikki said, "she can swing her legs and slide back and forth on the rod. I had to borrow Charles's belt. He seems...out of it, poor thing. I finished the letter, and it will get sent sometime this afternoon. I checked three o'clock to be on the safe side. We should be far away by then, and Snowden and his people will be here to...take care of business."

  "What are we going to do about the two surrogates?" Isabelle asked.

  "I say we lock them up in the other bathroom and let Snowden turn them loose, with some very dire warnings of what will happen to them if they so much as breathe a word of what went on here. Before I came in here to help out, I had them sign all the legal forms. Those babies now belong to the Evanses and Dawsons forevermore," Nikki said.

  "We need to make tracks, ladies," Annie said. "Time is marching on, and we don't want to be late for our gig at Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, now do we?"

  "God forbid we should be late for something so momentous, Annie!" Myra said, tongue in cheek.

  The Sisters scurried as they gathered up their belongings amid the sea of feathers. It was Annie who later said she didn't know why, but she stopped to listen to the conversation of the two surrogates. Her eyes popped wide at what she heard.

  "Talk about Lady Luck smiling on us," Donna Davis said. "I thought it was all over when they found out about that BMW I bought. I can't believe you didn't spend the money they paid you, Joan!"

  "Look, I did it for all the right reasons. I needed the money for my tuition. My parents are not wealthy like yours," Joan Olsen replied. "I never wanted to take the baby back. I believed those evil people when they said they would put us on YouTube. That would kill my parents, and I'd never get a job. I've worked too hard to let those evil people ruin my life. I never had any intention of spending that money. In fact, I was trying to come up with a way to give it to the Evans family and the baby as well, then get out of town to study for the bar exam back home as soon as I graduated. I don't ever want to practice law in DC."

  "You're stupid!" Donna Davis said.

  "I'd rather be stupid than be someone like you, Donna."

  Quicker than lightning, Annie had the door open and was dragging a protesting Donna Davis into the dining room. "One more. Give her the works, and don't spare the tar! I'll explain later."

  The Sisters went to work as Maggie snapped picture after picture. Each time she moved, a flurry of feathers sailed upward and sent the two dogs into a frenzy of barking and jumping.

  "Where do you want this one to go?" Kathryn asked as she pointed to Donna Davis, who was scr
eaming at the top of her lungs.

  "After what I heard, the bathroom is too private for her. How about we suspend her from the dining-room chandelier? We'll just hook her up, and her feet can rest on the table. If she moves, the chandelier will come out of the ceiling and she could get fried. Yep, I think that will work. Let's do it," Annie said.

  "Kitchen, ladies," Myra said. "We have something important to decide."

  With the Sisters, Maggie, and Charles assembled, Myra said, "Now that we have Bell's records, which go back for years, a lot of kids' lives could be ruined if they become public. The same is true for the records Maggie sent copies of to Nikki's old law firm. So I propose we get rid of all the records other than those we have already acted on. I do not want to be responsible for making hundreds of children miserable as they are torn from the only homes they have ever known. I know that it's unfair to the parents who lost them, but why make the kids suffer? What do you say?"

  Every hand in the room rose in agreement.

  "Myra," Charles said as the others started to make ready for their departure, "now I know just why I love you as much as I do."

  Chapter 18

  "This is a horse, Agent Thomas," Bert Navarro said, pointing to the animal waiting patiently for her new rider.

  "Boss, you said transportation. You did not say what kind of transportation you required. Delilah--that's this horse's name--was the only game in town, and I had to steal her from some local cop. You might...uh...be hearing about that later today or tomorrow. Look around, boss. There's nothing on wheels moving."

  Bert eyed the snorting steed, then his agent. He finally shrugged when he realized that Delilah was the only way he was going to get to Georgetown. "Okay, Thomas. You look dead on your feet. Go on up to the office, grab some z's, and get something to eat."

  "Okay, boss. Listen, boss, stick to the middle of the road. Delilah goes where she wants to go, and she doesn't like to be crowded. Just give her reins a little tug if you want her to go right or left. Otherwise, she just goes straight. She's not good at backing up either."