Deja Vu

by Fern Michaels

“Yeah, sure, whatever. So, let’s hear your contribution to our plan, and it better not have anything to do with pumpkins,” Ted said ominously.

  Chapter 5

  Bert looked around the office as though he hoped for an idea to land square in his lap. He shrugged and waved toward Jack when there was no lightning bolt. “So, articulate, Mr. Emery. What kind of plan?”

  Jack looked around at the skeptical faces staring at him. He, too, shrugged. “I guess we just go for a walk around the White House and watch to see who shows up. It’s not exactly a plan, more like surveillance in my opinion. And, guys, we aren’t even sure that Elias is going to the White House. Nellie just thinks that’s where he was going because of the suit and polished shoes. I’m thinking we should be in position about three-thirty. If there is a meeting, no one wants to be late. Scratch that to three-fifteen, forty-five minutes prior to the meeting. They have to sign in, get rid of the junk they’re carrying, be escorted to an anteroom, where they wait for the president to see them. Actually, a full hour is probably more like it. Harry can do a few spins on his Ducati, and Bert and I can alternate going round and round while we all keep our cell phones turned on for easy communication. Ted will be the one who knows first where Elias is headed. If it even looks like he’s headed for the White House, we get in position and start our surveillance. That’s my input. You guys got anything to add, feel free to share it with us right now.”

  Ted stuffed a pastry into his mouth and mumbled something that sounded like, “That works for me, stupid as it sounds.” He licked his fingers and reached for another gooey bun, thinking, if Maggie were here, the pastries would be gone in the blink of an eye. He ate a third one, telling himself it was for Maggie.

  “Yeah,” Espinosa said.

  “Once we confirm that a meeting is actually going on and identify the attendees, what’s the next step?” Bert asked.

  No one had an answer to the question.

  “When are you guys outta here and what are you going to do when you close down the office?” Espinosa asked.

  “Two weeks, give or take,” Jack said. “Most of the cases and files have already been transferred to Nikki’s firm. Bert and I are just cleaning up a few pro bono cases Lizzie had on her calendar. It’s a good thing. I wasn’t cut out to be a defense attorney or a corporate attorney or any other kind of attorney except a prosecutor. Bert said he feels the same way. But to answer your question, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. My old boss is trying to win me back but … I don’t know, it isn’t feeling right.” He looked over at Bert to see what he was going to say.

  Bert threw his hands in the air. “I’m in the same place Jack is. After being director of the FBI, then going through that nightmare with Jellicoe … I’m kind of up in the air about which direction I want to go in. We’ve got nest eggs now, thanks to Lizzie. When I make my decision, I want it to be the right one this time around. You know how it goes, by the time you hit forty, you want to be settled for the long haul.”

  Harry startled everyone by saying, “That’s about the most intelligent thing I’ve heard since we arrived.”

  “Well, thank you, Harry Wong,” Bert and Jack said in unison.

  “Who’s moving into these digs once you clear things out?” Espinosa asked.

  “Another small law firm. Two lawyers—brothers, actually. Nice guys. They bought all the furniture, even the pictures on the walls. All they have to do is move in. Actually, they’re taking over Lizzie’s lease, which still has four years to run. That’s Lizzie, hedging her bets in case she ever wants to come back,” Jack said.

  “Well, as far as I can tell, guys, we’re done here. Espinosa and I better get on the road,” Ted said as he reached for the last pastry on the plate. “Thanks for the eats. Lunch would have been better, but beggars can’t be choosers.” He gathered up the backpack he was never without and headed for the door, Espinosa in his wake.

  “Starting at two-thirty, call, and we’ll arrange an open line,” Jack said.

  “You got it!”

  When the door closed behind Ted and Espinosa, Harry bounced out of his chair. “Something’s wrong here.”

  “No shit!” Jack said.

  “There’s always something wrong,” Bert said. “You got any clues, any insight into what that might be, Harry?”

  “Well, for starters, what business is it of ours where Elias goes? So we’re doing Nellie a favor by spying on him. That’s it. So what? We don’t even know if anyone else is going to the White House. Ted said it himself, that he wanted to know in case, the operative words here are in case, Maggie asked who else was there. This does not smell or feel like a mission to me, and furthermore, the girls are out of business, so the point is moot,” Harry said.

  “Son of a bitch!” Jack said, ticking off his fingers. “You just said eighty-seven words all in one breath. Way to go, Harry!”

  “Eat shit, Jack.”

  “Boys! Boys! Enough with the compliments. There is that little matter of… Annie and her date with Fergus Duffy. That’s important, but I don’t know why. Maybe because the guy never met her. Don’t give me any of that shit that he saw a picture of her and he’s lusting after her. I suppose he could be lusting after her money. Don’t get me wrong here, there’s nothing wrong with Annie in the looks department, and she does have a winning personality. What I’m saying is, why Annie?”

  “Maybe because Myra is married and the others are too young for him. Fergus Duffy is an old geezer. I’m thinking that might be the fly in the ointment in what’s going on or at the very least motivating the girls to help Nellie. Always bear in mind the girls only tell us what they want us to know. Always, always, remember that,” Jack said ominously.

  “They miss the action, the adrenaline rush,” Harry said.

  “Harry, you are absolutely amazing today. I cannot believe how astute you are. You’re absolutely right on that, too. To be honest with you, I kind of miss it myself. This,” he said, waving his arms about, “is about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

  “You are a witty man, Jack Emery.” Bert guffawed.

  Harry wisely remained silent.

  “Hey, Bert, I have an idea. You still have contacts at the Bureau. How about giving one of them a call and see if you can find out if the director has a four o’clock meeting at the White House today,” Jack said.

  Bert thought about the request and shrugged. “I can try, but that doesn’t mean my guy will even know, and even if he does know, he might not share his info with me. We’re talking FBI here, and the FBI does not have loose lips. He might have to do some hand-wringing and get back to me. It could be a hard sell, and I am persona non grata, as we all know.”

  “You won’t know unless you try, so just do it,” Jack said.

  Bert did it. Harry and Jack listened to what Jack later described as Bert’s version of sweet talking. The sweet talking consisted of the promise of two tickets to the first Redskins game, dinner at Wasabi for two, and sixteen gallons of free gas.

  “Well, boys,” Bert said as he powered down his cell phone, “I think I got more than I bargained for. My buddy just told me that Director Yantzy is indeed headed to the White House, and he is royally pissed—the director, not my guy—because … he is going to have to see Calvin Span, the director of the CIA, at the same meeting along with, are you ready for this one? Donald Frank, Secretary of Homeland Security. John Yantzy hates Calvin Span the way I hate rattlesnakes.

  “By the way, I was sort of hoping Span wasn’t going to return to the CIA after his open-heart surgery back before we joined up with Jellicoe. When they appointed Karen Star as his temporary replacement, I cheered her on. Langley loved her as much as they hated Span, but I see now he’s back in the saddle. He should have stepped down for good. I wish they’d boot his ass to the curb. So, there you have it. What say you all? Harry is so right, I’m smelling something here.”

  “And he just gave that all up with all those promises you made,” Harry scoffed.


  “Well, yeah. He did say everyone in the Bureau heard the director bellowing about the meeting, and he didn’t think it was a secret, so he told me. It’s so wonderful to have friends in high places. We have to divvy up on the promises I made. Three ways, boys, five hundred each should do it! Remember this—I am only as good as the promises I make and the promises I keep. Shell it out and smile while you’re doing it.”

  Jack and Harry handed over the money. Bert pocketed it gleefully as Jack immediately started to text Ted to bring him up to speed.

  “Wonder who else is in town that we don’t know about, aside from Fergus Duffy,” Bert mused more to himself than to anyone else.

  “Maggie might know. I can’t remember who the Post’s White House reporter is because they rotate them from time to time. Shoot, we should have thought to ask Ted. Now, if we were astrologers, we could figure out if the confluence of the planets is merging with the stars and what the outlook will be for this afternoon.” Jack grinned from ear to ear at the stupid look on Harry’s face.

  “You know, Jack, these little White House tête-à-têtes are nothing unusual. I used to have to go there at least once a month. The president just wants to be brought up to speed; then she dresses everyone down and everyone moves on till the next time. I do have to admit, though, that most of those meetings were with the locals.”

  Jack finished his text and looked up. “Explain Elias going to the meeting.”

  “That’s just it, I can’t. I can’t explain Fergus Duffy, either, assuming he’s attending the meeting,” Bert grumbled.

  Jack looked down at his BlackBerry and the incoming text from Maggie. “Alan Freeman is the Post White House reporter on rotation. They had a briefing at eleven o’clock this morning. Something about an energy bill, something about a diplomat in Pakistan, and the White House sprinkler system is on the fritz. The dog is doing great and is at the president’s side at all times. That’s it, boys.”

  “Now what?” Harry asked irritably.

  “Let’s head out. We’ll tell Alexis we’re going to lunch. I suggest a hot dog from one of the street vendors. I think better when my stomach isn’t rumbling,” Bert said.

  “Harry, you got your sprouts and seeds with you?” Jack needled.

  Harry pulled a plastic bag out of his trouser pocket to show that he did indeed have all the luncheon nourishment he would need. “If your arteries explode, I will leave you right where you fall.”

  “Oooh, like one little hot dog is going to do that! Get real!” Jack said, dancing out of Harry’s way.

  Harry stopped in the middle of the lobby. He held up his hand to get both Bert’s and Jack’s attention. “Just stop and think about what you already ate this week. Steak, fries, hot dogs the other day, burgers, and cheese. Egg muffins every morning. All that sugar in those soft drinks you guzzle. Ah, I hear it now, do you hear it? Click, click, click.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Bert said uneasily.

  “I don’t hear anything, either,” Jack said.

  “That’s because they’re your arteries clicking shut. We all know my hearing is extraordinary compared to yours.”

  “You are so full of it, your eyes are turning brown,” Jack sputtered.

  “Better my eyes turning brown than my arteries exploding,” Harry said, pushing at the revolving door.

  “Maybe we should head to that fruit bar on the corner and get one of those ultrasmoothies instead of the hot dog,” Bert said.

  “If we do that, he wins.”

  “Yeah, but he’s right. We do eat a lot of crap. Kathryn is always on my case about it. She eats healthy, unlike us. I’m getting the smoothie.”

  Jack was relieved that the decision to wuss out in front of Harry was taken out of his hands. So Harry was one up on him today. But in a good kind of way.

  While the trio waited for their smoothies to go through the blending process, Elias Cummings was tooling along listening to the stereo system in his car, his mind on other things. But he wasn’t so preoccupied that he didn’t see the black Saturn peel out of the gas station as he drove by. Because he was tall, he didn’t have to move his head at all to take a quick glance in his rearview mirror. He had a tail. He almost laughed out loud. And the tail had a name: Joseph Espinosa. He wondered whom he should thank later on. Nellie? The girls? More than likely that pest Ted Robinson, who—in his opinion—was the nosiest reporter he’d ever met. Maggie Spritzer’s right hand.

  Just because Elias was retired, out to pasture, so to speak, didn’t mean he’d forgotten the tricks of the trade. He knew he could lose Espinosa if he wanted to, but sometimes it paid to play the game. What was that old saying? Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the chimney. Yeah, yeah, that was it. Old dogs not knowing any new tricks. A load of crap if he ever heard one. Still, did he want to play the game? No, not really. Let Espinosa follow him. He wouldn’t be privy to anything that happened once Elias reached his destination, so in the end it really didn’t matter. All they—and there was a they, he was sure of it—would end up with was a report on his travel itinerary.

  Now, if it was back in the day when he himself did surveillance, he’d have arranged for a second tail the minute he hit the District. Maybe even a third tail. Ted Robinson would pick him up in the District, then Jack, Harry, or Bert would stick with him till he got to his destination.

  Elias felt pleased with himself. So much for memory loss. Well, he wasn’t going there, he didn’t want to think about that.

  This whole thing was beyond stupid in his opinion. He was retired. These last years he’d gone out of his way to ignore anything and everything that pertained to his old profession. Helping Bert out on occasion when he was director was a pleasure because Bert was like a son to him. And to be honest, Bert always arrived at the right decision even before he asked for his input. Elias had been just a sounding board. A confidence builder, for want of a better term. Screw it all. Maybe he should just turn around and go home.

  Elias felt his mind start to wander to why he even agreed to make this trip to the White House. The old, tired argument—the president is my commander in chief—wasn’t working for him right now. His foot tapped the brake when a maroon SUV in front of him put on its brakes. Great! Just what he needed, a traffic jam. Before he knew it, traffic was moving again, and he was back to thinking about turning around and going back home.

  But… he’d never turned his back on the Bureau or his commander in chief in the past. He was proud of his dedication to the Bureau. What could it hurt to sit in on a meeting and listen. He’d always been a good listener.

  Elias looked in his rearview mirror. There was Espinosa, three cars behind him. Well, he would be entering the District in about two minutes if the traffic kept moving. Then he’d know if he had a second tail. He laughed when he envisioned telling Nellie all about this little trip. Sooner or later, no matter how he tried, he knew she’d worm it all out of him. One way or the other. And to tell the truth, he’d be glad to share what this was all about. He hated secrets. Really, really hated secrets.

  Chapter 6

  Martine Connor gulped at the last of her cold coffee, draining the cup. She glanced out the window to see that it was what she would have called a glorious day in her other life. Life in the White House was different. Living here she had no time to enjoy glorious days. When she did find a few minutes during the day that she could call her own, she was too wired to do more than sit down and close her eyes. Never mind spending the time looking out a window to see if it was a glorious day or not. Vaguely, she remembered someone saying something about rain later in the day. Well, since it was coming up on four o’clock, and the sky still appeared to be cloudless, that had to mean it wouldn’t rain till later or the weatherman was wrong, which was often the case.

  When the knock sounded on the door, the president’s new best friend, Cleo, bolted upright and waited for her brand-new owner to give her a command.

  Cleo, a retired
K-9 dog, had adapted to her new owner and her surroundings within hours. The bonding was almost instantaneous. She nudged the president’s leg gently, the signal indicating that they should move toward the door. The president’s hand dropped to the shepherd’s head. “Okay, girl, time to sally forth. Your handler told me you were top dog when it came to judging people. I’m relying on you to do just that when we get into the room.” The huge dog looked upward as though she were listening and assessing her new owner’s words. “I’m counting on you, Cleo. I’ll be making decisions based on what you do.”

  And if this ever gets out, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. It’s kind of like making decisions based on fortune-tellers and the stars the way the press said Nancy Reagan did.

  As they walked down the hallway, the president kept up a low-voiced running “dialogue” with the dog at her side. Twice, the dog slowed and looked up at her and again seemed to be assessing her words.

  The president smiled and continued smiling when she recalled the conversation she’d had with Cleo’s handler. “I can’t explain it, Madam President,” he’d said when he got over his stage fright at speaking with the president of the United States, “but Cleo can anticipate, she seems to know what I’m thinking before I do. A half dozen times she stopped me from doing something I thought was right at the time. During her time of duty, she was always number one in the field trials. She never screwed up … ah … sorry, she never fouled up once. I just want you to know, Madam President, I did everything I could think of to keep that dog, but I’m going overseas, and they said no. She did her tour and deserves to be retired. That dog will give up her life for you if it ever comes to that, and I sure hope it doesn’t. Ah, could I ask a favor, Madam President?” And of course she’d said yes.

  “Don’t let her forget me. When I get back, can I come see her?” Again, she’d responded affirmatively, with a lump in her throat.

  The president stopped outside the door of the meeting room. She bent over and whispered to the big dog, “Make Gus proud of you now, Cleo.” The big dog raised her head, and President Connor was 100 percent certain that the shepherd smiled at her. “Good girl! Remember now, these guys are not exactly the enemy, but I sure as hell don’t like them.”