Lizzie continued to smile. “I said no such thing. That’s your interpretation. Although the ladies did take on the Secret Service and came out on top. And if I remember correctly, that little neighborhood White House luncheon you sponsored didn’t go over so well, either. Your guests were more impressed with their ride home compliments of the Vigilantes than they were with your luncheon, the photo op, and their souvenirs.”
Martine Connor got up and carried the two luncheon plates to the sink. She scraped the plates and turned on the garbage disposal. Lizzie listened to the loud clunking noise and then a shrieking, grinding sound. “The plumbing leaves a lot to be desired,” Martine said.
“You could call a plumber,” Lizzie volunteered.
“It doesn’t work that way here. In the real world, yes. I can’t even describe to you what it’s like living here. I can’t step out and go to the drugstore to get shampoo. If I want to do that I have to notify the Service a month in advance. Then they have to empty out the store so I can shop. I can’t go to a bookstore. I can’t drive a car. I can’t use my credit cards or carry money. If they ever found out or find out I have that phone, they’ll probably pack me off to Outer Mongolia.
“You know what I miss, Lizzie? I miss going out to the mailbox for my mail. I miss all those catalogs I used to get by the pound. I always looked forward to Sunday afternoon, when I’d browse through them and order something. You know what else? I made potato pancakes one day. They came up here on the run and said I was stinking up the White House and not to do it again. They fucking told me I can’t make potato pancakes! It was the onion I put into it. I’m not excusing my language, either.”
For all of a minute, Lizzie almost felt sorry for her old friend. Almost. Then she burst out laughing. “Remember that old saying, be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. You wished for this, we made it happen for you at the eleventh hour, and now you have to live with it. And you have to honor your debt. That’s the bottom line.”
“God, Lizzie, how cold you sound. That’s the real reason you agreed to sign on, isn’t it? You’re here to protect your friends, and if it means taking me down, you’ll help them do it, right?” Lizzie just smiled.
“Goddamnit, Lizzie, say something.”
“Where I come from, Marti, and where you’ve been, a person is only as good as their word. I really should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”
Martine Connor turned to stop her furious pacing. Lizzie thought she looked great in a honey-colored suit with a copper-colored blouse underneath her suit jacket, which was open. Her haircut was stylish, and the feathery bangs falling over her forehead were new, too, since the last time she’d seen her. She looked presidential.
“But we haven’t had dessert, and I was going to give you the tour. Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’ll find a way, I promise you. Please, I need you to believe me.”
“It’s not me you have to convince, Marti. I’ll pass on your message. Six months. Not one day, not one hour, not one second longer. I’ll report in on January second. I hope you have a wonderful holiday. Are you staying here or going somewhere?”
“Camp David. I plan to sleep through the holidays. Do you want to hear something really sad? I don’t have a single soul I can invite to spend the holidays with me. Well, that’s not quite true. I had several people I was going to invite, but the Service said when they vetted them they were unsuitable. Unsuitable! That’s what they said. I’m whining, and I didn’t want to do that. I apologize.”
Lizzie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the president. She squeezed hard. “Six months, Marti,” she whispered. “Now, how do I get out of here? Is that guy with the ‘football’ still outside the door? Oh, one last thing—watch out for Baron Bell.”
Martine grimaced. “You mean the marine with the nuclear codes? Yes, he’s out there. You just walk past him, it’s that simple. One of my agents will take you home.”
Lizzie stared at her old friend. She could feel her eyes start to burn at what she was seeing on her old friend’s face. She lowered her voice to a bare whisper and said, “I wouldn’t want to be you for all the gold in Fort Knox.”
Martine Connor shed her personal persona, and in the blink of an eye she was the President of the United States the moment the door opened. “Thank you for that observation, and thank you for coming, Lizzie. I enjoyed our luncheon. I hope we can do it again soon. Happy Holidays to you and yours.”
“Don’t eat too much turkey, Madam President.” Lizzie flinched at the sound of the door closing behind her. She straightened her shoulders and walked alongside the agent escorting her to a black limousine, where another agent waited to drive her back to her home.
Lizzie kept her eyes closed all the way home, her mind racing as she sifted, collated, and made mental notes.
The moment Lizzie was inside her cozy little home, she shed her lavender suit and donned a pair of jeans and a fleecy, warm shirt. She had the crazy urge all of a sudden to make potato pancakes. But first she had to check things at her office, call her husband, and then call the mountain. Maybe she should call the mountain first. Or maybe she should wait, think about her visit some more, and make the potato pancakes first. Multitasking, so to speak.
Before she did anything, though, she was going to make herself a pot of strong black coffee to get her adrenaline going at full speed. While the coffee was dripping, Lizzie fiddled with her CD player and then slipped in one of Cosmo’s favorite CD’s. Frank Sinatra’s mellow voice filled her kitchen. She immediately felt the tenseness leave her shoulders. Then she made herself a sandwich, the kind of sandwich Cosmo raised his eyebrows over but later admitted was tasty. Swiss cheese, lettuce, fire-roasted peppers, and one slice of salami. That mess she’d mangled back at the White House couldn’t come close to the sandwich she was devouring. There wasn’t a crumb to be seen when she finished.
Lizzie moved then at lightning speed. She called the mountain; then she called Jack Emery and then her office. She had two calls left to make when she poured her coffee. The first call was to Nikki’s old law office, where she asked more questions than she answered. She had one call to go before she could call her husband. With business taken care of she could talk for hours if he had the time. At the crack of dawn she’d be winging her way to Vegas to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the holidays with her husband. A radiant smile lit her features.
Lizzie was huffing and puffing when she opened the doors of the fireplace, placed the logs just so, and then threw in a pile of birch kindling. The fire blazed instantly. She then moved a pile of silky red cushions near the hearth so she could curl up and be comfortable.
One more trip to the kitchen to replenish her coffee. She was walking through the dining room when retired judge Nellie Easter picked up the phone. “Lizzie, Judge. Several things. I want to wish you and Elias a wonderful Thanksgiving and a Merry Christmas. I’m leaving in the morning for Las Vegas.” They made small talk for a few minutes, with Lizzie asking about Elias’s new grandbaby and his other children before she got down to the real reason for her phone call.
“Nellie, tell me everything you know about Baron Bell. And ask Elias if he knows anything. Better yet, use the speaker phone if he’s agreeable.”
“Baron was always a gentleman in court. He fights to win for his clients. He and I belong to five or six of the same organizations. He’s been Man of the Year for so many years I’ve lost count. He used to do a lot of pro bono work. Lovely wife, kind of timid, stays in his shadow. Two grown children. One is a doctor at Georgetown, and one is a public defender in Georgia. Several grandchildren that he dotes on. No matter the cause, you can count on him for a donation, and he gives his time willingly to any worthy cause. He plays Santa every year for some children’s group—it always makes the paper. He always arrives in a sleigh with his helpers, be it on wheels or with horses pulling the sleigh, and he does it at his own expense. It’s usually quite an event. As far as I know, I never heard a hint o
f any kind of scandal. He’s quite wealthy, and, as you know, there are always a few who will take a swipe at you for that. Elias said there’s a file on him at the Bureau, but nothing bad is in it. There are those who are the recipients of his generosity who think he’s the Messiah. Why are you asking, Lizzie?”
“No one is that perfect, Nellie. What’s his flaw?”
“If you believe his court record and his PR, then he is that perfect. Why? What happened to make you ask these questions? Did I also mention he has a pass to the White House? That means he’s invited to everything. So he’s on your radar, eh?”
“A little under it, but he’s there. Do me a favor, Nellie—ask around, see if there’s anything of interest there. Then call the mountain and share it with them. Are you going to spend Christmas on the mountain or just Thanksgiving?”
“We are. We’re coming back Sunday night but will return the following weekend. Elias said his family is heading for a warmer climate. We both like the cold, and both of us are looking forward to spending the holidays with old friends. I’m sorry you won’t be joining us.”
Lizzie laughed. “Thanks, Nellie, and one more time, Happy Holidays!” She sighed happily. Now she could curl up and talk till she fell asleep. Business was taken care of. She’d packed before she left for the White House and was ready to go as soon as she rolled out of bed in the morning. Damn, she forgot to call Maggie at the Post. A minute later she had Maggie on the phone. She spoke quick and fast as she explained about her meeting with Rachel Dawson. “There’s something there, Maggie, I could feel it. It isn’t good, either. I’ll be working on her case while I’m in Vegas.” Her final words were, “The window of time is going to be short, Maggie. Make it work if you can. See you when I see you.”
Life was good, Lizzie thought as she settled into her nest of colorful cushions.
Across town, Maggie flipped open her Rolodex and then looked at the clock. Four o’clock. She punched in the numbers and waited for Abner Tookus to pick up. He did on the fourth ring. “I thought you said you were taking my name out of your Rolodex” was all the computer hacker said by way of a greeting.
“I lied. Just the way you lied to me about working for Big Blue, and even then you lied some more, saying you were going on a honeymoon. You snookered me, Abby. I want my pound of flesh.”
“Call someone who’s fat and can afford to lose a pound or two. I don’t have any to spare. I’m working. That means I have no time to do anything for you.”
“You better find the time, and this one is for free. F-r-e-e! That job you have, the one that is paying you in eight figures? That’s all compliments of me. I can take it away just like…that,” Maggie said, snapping her fingers.
“Go ahead, take it away,” Tookus blustered. “I hate nine to five. I hate wearing a suit and tie. You want to fall back and regroup and call me again like in twenty years?”
“Nah! I’m going to come over to those plushy digs where you work and rip the skin right off your face. What I can’t decide is should I do it before or after I sic the Vigilantes on you. Now, if you’re really nice to me I’m going to forget you challenged me. Truce?”
“Truce. What do you want?”
Maggie’s voice turned syrupy sweet. “Not all that much. I want everything there is to get on one Baron Bell. I want it from the moment he came into being in his mother’s womb until this very minute, and then I want hourly updates.”
“You gotta be kidding me, Maggie. Mr. Squeaky Clean himself! Mr. Man of the Year! Mr. Personal Buddy of every power broker in Washington! That guy is the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus all rolled into one. He is beloved and cherished beyond belief. What’d the son of a bitch do to put him on your radar screen?”
“Just never you mind, Abner. At the moment Baron Bell is under my radar but rising to the top. That’s all you need to know. I want this by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I do not care if you sleep or eat, is that clear? If you’re one minute late, you will find yourself skinless. Nice talking to you, sweetie.”
Maggie let loose with a deep sigh. She had no doubts at all that Abner would come through for her. But would he have anything worthwhile her friends on the mountain could use? Well, she was the master of spin, if she did say so herself.
Time to get ready to close up shop and head for the mountain with the others. She could hardly wait to sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings prepared by Charles. She smacked her lips in anticipation.
At least she wouldn’t be going empty-handed. Abby’s file would be her gift to the host. She laughed as she envisioned Charles’s expression when she handed it over.
Chapter 2
It was Thanksgiving eve, and the compound on Big Pine Mountain was quiet. The reason for the quietness was the late hour and the fact that snow had been falling for the past nine hours. A giant white blanket covered the mountaintop, making it picture-postcard perfect.
Charles Martin prowled the confines of his command center, his thoughts all over the map as he stared down at the paperwork Maggie Spritzer had brought with her earlier in the day. With the investigation his own people had done, he felt like he had a solid basis to move forward when the guests left on Sunday and they got down to the mission at hand. He walked out of the command center, slipped on a heavy mackinaw, and opened the front door. A blast of early winter air rushed through the room. He smiled at the high drifts of snow on the porch. He stood under the overhang and fired up his pipe. The smoke from the cherry tobacco in his pipe and the heady scent from the evergreens was an intoxicating mixture. He loved it. Loved seeing the steady snowfall, knowing all his chicks inside were safe and sound. For now.
Tomorrow they would all sit down to a huge dinner he would begin preparing in just a few short hours. They would all pray and give thanks for so many things. He hoped his voice didn’t falter when he offered up his own thanks. He thought about his son he’d never gotten a chance to know as he puffed on his pipe. He knew if he let the tears flow they’d freeze on his lashes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It wasn’t that he was banishing all thoughts of Geoffrey, more that it was unbearable to think about his son the traitor.
Charles listened to the silence around him. He wondered what it would be like to live in a world as silent as the one he was standing in. To never hear the sounds of laughter, never hear the wind rustling in the trees, never hear the birds chirping early in the morning. That was a bearable thought. He shifted his mental gears to the work at hand. Not that dinner was work; he could prepare a Thanksgiving feast with his eyes closed. What he couldn’t do with his eyes closed was figure out what was going on with Baron Bell. Or with his eyes open, for that matter. He whirled around when he sensed a presence. “Myra! What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I’m up because the bed got cold. Why are you standing out here, Charles?”
“The world looks so clean and pure right now. It’s so perfect I just want it to be like this forever, but that’s a foolish wish on my part.”
Myra reached out and nestled her hand within his. “It is beautiful. The snow came early this year. I’m ready to get married now, Charles. I thought maybe on New Year’s Day. I’d like Nellie to marry us. Say something now, Charles, because I don’t think I will get the nerve again to make this commitment.”
“But you didn’t ask me. You made an announcement. I’m supposed to get down on my knee and ask you.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Myra asked.
Charles dropped to one knee and reached for Myra’s hand. “Myra, will you marry me on New Year’s Day? If you say yes, I promise to love and honor you into eternity.”
“My answer is yes, Charles. Will you make the announcement at dinner?”
“If that’s what you want, then, yes, it will give me great pleasure to announce our betrothal. You just made me the happiest man in the world.” Charles moved his arm and wrapped it around his beloved’s shoulders. “What made you pick this moment in time, if y
ou don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, Charles, we aren’t getting any younger. In fact, we’re getting older by the day. If that isn’t enough of an answer, I realized I don’t like cold beds. And you’re right—this moment, right now, this instant, is so perfect it just seemed like the right time.
“I’m going to have Annie stand up for me. Who will you choose, Charles, to be your best man?”
“Elias. You don’t think the boys will be upset, do you?”
“No more than the girls will be upset with me choosing Annie.”
“I don’t have a ring for you, Myra.”
Myra laughed. “The ring isn’t important. Just ask Elias for one of his cigar bands. That will do nicely.”
Charles held his bride to be. “My life is now complete, Myra. I think we should go inside before we both freeze to death out here, and then there won’t be a wedding at all.”
“I think you might be right. Come along, my darling, I’ll help you get started with your Thanksgiving dinner.”
Charles pretended horror. “My dear, you are worthless in the kitchen. But you can watch me. Let’s have an early breakfast. You can brown the buns and make the coffee and squeeze the juice. We received a box of Baby Bell oranges with our food order yesterday. Wait till you see them. Each one is more perfect than the last, and to think you can only get them at this particular time of year. Amazing.”
Myra linked arms with Charles. “I’m going to learn to cook, Charles. I’ve been watching the Food Network.” Charles laughed all the way across the compound as he half dragged Myra through the deep snow.
Thanksgiving dinner was everything everyone hoped it would be. Good friends breaking bread together and giving thanks together. Chef Charles accepted the accolades heaped on him with a gracious smile. Conversation was light, at times bantering, but always in good taste. Even Murphy and Grady whooped their thanks at the heaping plates Charles set out for them, but instead of turkey they had roast chicken.
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