Deja Vu

by Fern Michaels

Maggie knew she was going to choke any second. Her eyes burned with tears. A dozen witty comebacks flitted through her mind. Wisely, she kept them to herself. “I have to get authorization, you know that,” she managed to squeak out.

  Abner backed away from the desk and stood in the doorway. He watched as a single sheet of paper worked its way out of the fax machine. Lizzie’s agreement. Maggie motioned for Abner to pick it up. Abner didn’t move. He wiggled his fingers to indicate Maggie was to get up and hand it to him. She did, her hands trembling even more. Abner pretended not to notice.

  Maggie looked down at her BlackBerry. She read the brief message and nodded. “Your new employer has authorized payment. You are to go to the Sovereign Bank, and they will issue a bank check. All you have to do is show your ID. Thank you, Abner,” she said, her eyes shiny with tears.

  “This finishes us, Maggie.”

  Maggie gulped and nodded. Somehow or other, she managed to say, “I know.”

  The moment the elevator door closed, Maggie rushed to her desk and burst into tears. Her thoughts were all over the map. Even before she realized what she was doing, she removed her engagement ring and dropped it into her desk drawer on top of a pile of candy wrappers. She cried harder and didn’t know why. She didn’t know why she took off her ring, either.

  On his way to the Sovereign Bank, Abner kept swiping at his own burning eyes. The worst feeling in the world had to be loving someone with all your heart and soul and that person not returning or acknowledging that love.

  His banking done, the money deposited to his money market fund, Abner left the bank. When he returned to his loft, he’d write checks to his three colleagues, then transfer the rest to one of his secret offshore accounts.

  Life was going to go on no matter what happened. Abner picked up his feet, his smelly sneakers slapping at the pavement as he jogged to his loft instead of taking a taxi. He concentrated on the monumental task that was ahead of him as his feet continued to slap at the hot pavement.

  While Abner was jogging his way home, Maggie, tears rolling down her cheeks, perused the papers that Abner had slapped on her desk. She rifled through them and nodded miserably. A perfect job. As always. Abby had come through for her once again. But at what cost? She stacked them neatly into the fax tray, pressed in the number, and within seconds they were on the way to Pinewood, where Charles would pluck them out of the machine, make copies, and give them to the Sisters.

  “Yeah, Maggie,” she whimpered tearfully.

  “Oooh, here comes Charles. He looks like he’s been sucking on a lemon,” Yoko whispered.

  “Ladies! I come bearing information, compliments of Maggie. It seems her source for gathering information has some magical sources of his or her own. Her source was able to locate Virgil Anders. Even with all his records being erased or expunged. As I said, magical.” The sour lemon was in his voice as he handed out stapled files to each of the women. “Once you read through this as I have, tell me what your next plan of action is. In the meantime, I will make us fresh lemonade and some sandwiches.”

  The Sisters finished reading Maggie’s report at the same time. Nikki whistled appreciatively. “This is amazing. How in the world does her source do this?”

  “I don’t think we want to know that, dear,” Annie said. “We have it all, that’s what’s important.” There was no way she was going to tell the Sisters the papers in their hands had cost three million.

  “So, Virgil Anders lives in Cresfield, Maryland. The town is a Mecca for seafood lovers with the best blue crab and oysters, bar none. Small town with a hometown feel to it. Anders lives in a gated community on the water. He’s lived there in the same house for the past thirty-five years. He’s right on the Chesapeake Bay, off Tangier Sound. We can get there easily from here in a few hours. Just this past spring, I heard a commercial on the radio calling Cresfield the Crab Capital of the World,” Nikki said.

  “Virgil Anders is handicapped. He lives in a wheelchair. He has a specially equipped van with a hydraulic lift to get him in and out. His house, which is a Tudor according to Google Earth, is valued at $1.5 million. He has no visible means of income, but monies are deposited into his bank account on the fifth day of every month. The sum is always the same, $10 thousand. Out of that he pays for his food, a housekeeper, a male nurse, his car expenses, and his taxes at the end of the year. The money comes from an annuity. There is no mortgage on the house. He owns the specially equipped van outright. He has one credit card with a limit of $25 thousand. He appears to use it a few times a year, mostly for online shopping, some clothes, books, videos, that type of thing. His bank balance, or maybe his money market account, shows a balance of more than $600 thousand. I guess that’s money he saves from his monthly checks that come out of the annuity,” Kathryn said. “What kind of annuity pays that kind of money for all these years? This isn’t making any sense.”

  “The annuity is Hank Jellicoe would be my guess,” Myra said. “Mr. Anders was simply too young back when this started to have any kind of annuity that is so robust. My guess would be blackmail. Oh, girls, we really need to go and talk to this man, and the sooner the better.”

  “He’s not married,” Yoko said. “This picture of him standing in front of the Baltimore Sun’s building shows he was a handsome man in his youth. Did he become crippled when he dropped off the face of the earth, or did that come later?”

  “Look at page four at the bottom. He was in Angel Mercy Hospital for eighteen months. When he was released, that’s when he disappeared,” Isabelle said. “I wonder if he was in a car accident. There’s nothing in here anywhere that says what happened to him.”

  “On page five, middle of the page, it says he never gets company, never makes phone calls, and doesn’t receive any calls. His housekeeper is the one who said that, and she’s been with him from the outset. The only people who come to the house are the meter readers, the pool people in the summer, and people to clear away the snow in the winter. He’s had three different male nurses since he moved where he is currently living. Nothing suspicious about any of the three. The first two relocated down South and the third one, the current one, has been with him for twelve years. In short, the man is a recluse,” Alexis said.

  “Well, if he’s a recluse, why does he need a van that he is capable of driving?” Annie asked. “And where does he go when he does drive the van?” The Sisters shrugged.

  “What do you think, Charles?” Myra asked.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Charles said. “I’m beyond amazed at the thoroughness of this report in such a short period of time. I wish there was some information as to how the man became incapacitated. I realize hospitals thirty-five years ago must have kept records, but I’m sure they were destroyed by now. I’d like to see if we can find out anything from there, possibly one of the old record-keeping people might still be alive. I’ll work on that if you all agree.” The Sisters nodded.

  “Girls, how will we get in to see Mr. Anders?”

  As one, the Sisters burst out laughing. “We just show up. We simply say Hank Jellicoe sent us, and I think those gates will open like magic. We know good old Hank had to cut his losses and is on the run, so I don’t think we have to worry too much about Mr. Anders being able to reach him. I do wonder, though, what will happen to the man’s annuity,” Nikki said. “If we decide, down the road, that the man deserves it, then I say we help ourselves to some of Hank’s money we have stashed away.” The others agreed.

  “Let’s plan our strategy,” Annie said, clapping her hands gleefully. “I think we are onto something, girls.”

  Chapter 15

  Nellie’s breakfast and Charles’s luncheon were long gone, as were Nellie and Elias, when the Sisters trooped back to the kitchen and resumed their task of going through the files on Hank Jellicoe. “We’re doing this just to make sure there isn’t something else in here that can help us find that skunk,” Annie said, diving into her box of files.

  As the Sisters worked, they
chatted among themselves as to who was to go to Cresfield to seek out Virgil Anders. They batted it back and forth for over an hour when it was finally decided that it should be Annie and Myra since they were of an age with Virgil Anders and he might be more receptive to talking with them.

  “This reminds me of when we trapped Hank, Stu, and Fish in Florida,” Isabelle said. “Do you suppose or even think that if he is the one who set up Virgil Anders in Cresfield, and we don’t know that for a fact, possibly he has other houses in that gated community the way he had in Florida? Just another haven right out there in the open and a way to keep his eyes or someone’s eyes on Virgil Anders.”

  “For thirty-five years!” Nikki exploded.

  “It’s called long-range planning,” Myra said. “Charles explained that to me once. Covert agents always look to the future, when the day might come when they have to go to ground. We just talked about this all yesterday. If Hank established a house or even several houses in that gated community years and years ago, no one is even going to think of going there to look for him, assuming they even know about it. Back then, that particular community wouldn’t have been a gated community. Those things didn’t spring up until recently, when privacy became the name of the game,” Myra said.

  “You’re probably right. No one but us is looking for Virgil Anders, and the only reason we’re looking for him is that we have the FBI files. I think it’s definitely a feather in our cap that we’re the only ones who know about Mr. Anders,” Kathryn said. “This way, we won’t be tripping over anyone.”

  “Are you and Myra okay with going to Cresfield?” Nikki asked Annie.

  “Of course, dear. I think the question that is more important is are you girls comfortable with Myra and me going? I don’t have a problem with all of you coming along as backup if you want to do that. If we are successful in getting Mr. Anders to talk to us, we can wire up and, whatever he divulges, you all can act on it right then and there. I think that’s a plan if you all agree. Charles can arrange for a van that will hold us all. When we reach our destination, Myra and I can switch to a car and you all can go to ground somewhere. I always wanted to wear a wire. Myra does, too, don’t you, Myra?” Annie’s tone clearly said Myra damn well better want to wear a wire.

  “Absolutely, dear. I just can’t wait to say, ‘Over and out, this is vigilante number one calling vigilante number five.’”

  “You’re such a poop sometimes, Myra. Where is your sense of adventure?”

  “It went to ground along with the girls when we left the van for the car.” At the expression on Annie’s face, Myra burst out laughing.

  The rest of the day and into the evening found the Sisters sitting in the middle of the floor shaking their heads. “Nothing here to help us other than the Virgil Anders stuff,” Yoko said as she strapped tape around the boxes she’d been working on.

  “At least we got something. And we now have a plan. I suggest we trundle these boxes to the living room so Charles can take them back to the war room and secure them,” Myra said as she finished her last box of files.

  “I’m for bed myself, girls. I know it’s only nine o’clock, but Myra and I were up all night, unlike you girls, who managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep. If we plan to be on the road by seven-thirty, I want to be well rested.”

  Once the boxes of files were stacked neatly near the entrance to the underground tunnels, the girls filed up the stairs behind Myra and Annie. At the top of the steps they all splintered off as they trailed to their rooms.

  Tomorrow was another day.

  Promptly at ten o’clock, Annie pulled up to the security gate at Cresfield Villas. Both she and Myra were wearing wires under their linen jackets. They could have posed for anyone’s mother, grandmother, aunt, or sister, with their coiffed silver hair, subdued makeup, subtle perfume, and not-quite-haughty manner. They were driving a rented shiny black Mercedes. The Sisters were less than half a mile away and tuned into the listening devices.

  A guard stepped out of the gatehouse, a toothy smile on his face that his parents had to be proud of. “Can I help you?”

  “I certainly hope so. We’re here to see Virgil Anders. Before you can ask, no, he is not expecting us. His old employer asked us to stop by and give him some documents. I wonder if you could ring him and explain to him that it will only take a few minutes. Mr. Jellicoe needs his signature on several documents.”

  When the guard went back inside his little gatehouse, Annie and Myra both had a clear view of him speaking on the phone. The guard was frowning as he tried to relay all that Annie had told him. He came back out of the gatehouse, the frown still on his face, and said, “Mr. Anders isn’t seeing any visitors today. He said to tell you he’s sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Annie smiled. “Not as sorry as Mr. Anders is going to be if he doesn’t sign these papers. He will have to vacate the premises by noon tomorrow if he doesn’t sign on the dotted line. Try explaining that to Mr. Anders, please.”

  The guard returned to the gatehouse. He was clearly distressed at what he was saying and hearing on the other end of the phone. Annie, trying to play it cool, shifted into reverse and was about to back up the Mercedes when the guard held up his hand. “Mr. Anders said it was all right to let you in. You will have to leave your car over there in the parking lot. One of my people will drive you in a golf cart to the house. It’s standard procedure. The association doesn’t like cars parked on the roads. It will just be a minute. I called up to the clubhouse to send down a cart. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “It appears to be,” Annie said. “How are we to get back here to our car?”

  “Mr. Anders will call the clubhouse for you. Have a pleasant day, ladies.” The bar lifted, and Annie drove to the visitors’ parking area, which held no less than a dozen cars.

  The golf cart was driven by a chubby little blonde who looked to be about ten years of age. She prattled on and on about what a wonderful place Cresfield Villas was during the summer months, when all the tourists arrived to savor the pleasures of Cresfield. When she stomped on the brake five minutes later, Annie and Myra were jolted forward. “Ooops, sorry about that, this is only the second time I’ve driven the cart.” She hopped out and offered her hand, first to Annie, then Myra. And then she was gone.

  “Nice,” Myra said, indicating the exquisitely manicured grounds that led up to what looked like a solid mahogany door. Before they could even ring the bell, the door was opened by a pleasant-looking white-haired woman wearing an apron. Her voice was as pleasant as she looked when she invited Myra and Annie indoors.

  “Follow me; Mr. Anders is on the lanai. He likes to take the morning sun with his coffee.” The woman, who said her name was Marion, opened the French doors, announced the visitors, then withdrew, closing the doors behind her.

  The lanai was awash in colorful flowers and flowering vines, trailing from the overhead cedar beams that deflected the sun. Virgil Anders sat literally in the middle of the flowering space. “Ladies,” he said by way of greeting. “Obviously, I can’t get up.” He extended his hand to be shaken, the grip powerful. Both women gave back as good as they got. He nodded approvingly. “I had no idea you were coming. Who are you?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m Myra Rutledge, and this is Anna de Silva. We lied to the guard, Mr. Anders, and I do apologize for that. Mr. Jellicoe did not send us. But he is the reason we’re here.”

  “We need your help, Mr. Anders.” Annie carefully related the details on how they came to find him.

  “I really believed Jellicoe when he said no one would ever find me. I really did. All these years later, and suddenly, here you are. I never thought it would happen. What do you want from me? If that man finds out you’re here, it won’t be good for you. It will be worse for me. You do know that, right?”

  “Are you saying you don’t know Hank Jellicoe is on the run? Haven’t you followed his demise this past year?”

  “Yes and no. People like Hank Jellicoe make their own
rules. You might think he’s on the run, but he isn’t. He’s holed up somewhere waiting for just the right moment to strike. He’s one hell of a strategist, I will give him that. As to following the man … I’ve done nothing but do that for the past thirty-five years. I am sitting in this wheelchair because of him. You really have to leave. I can’t talk to you. If I do, I could lose all this,” Anders said, waving his arm about. “I shouldn’t have agreed to allow you in here, but with him, you never know. I couldn’t take the chance that you were legitimate. Like I said, who the hell are you? Oh, Christ, I know who you are! I thought you looked familiar. You really have to get out of here. Please.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Mr. Anders. I personally guarantee it. All I have to do is make one phone call and you will have twenty-four seven security beyond your wildest imagination. No one will be able to get to you, not even the infamous Hank Jellicoe. I want you to believe me,” Myra said.

  “Guaranteed?”

  “Guaranteed,” Annie and Myra said as one.

  “Make the call.”

  Myra hit the speed dial on her phone. She quickly explained the situation, then went quiet as Charles told her what to do. She powered down, and said, “Your new security will be in place by the time we leave here. Do you want to wait for it to be put into place, or should we begin our discussion?”

  “Where’s the rest of your posse?”

  “A half mile away. We took a vote, and we all agreed you might be more apt to talk to Annie and me since we’re of an age. We know most of your story,” Myra lied, “so just talk, and we’ll fill in the blanks.”

  Anders leaned back in his wheelchair and closed his eyes. “Journalism is in my blood. I knew that when I was ten years old and started my own school newspaper and sold it for two cents a copy. When I graduated from college, I went to work for the Baltimore Sun, doing all the crap you have to do at entry level. I finally worked myself up to reporter status and from there to investigative reporter. I did okay for myself, too. Today I would be called a rising star. I was also full of myself, another today term. My ultimate goal, as it is with all reporters, was a Pulitzer. The big one, the one that makes or breaks you.