High Stakes

by Fern Michaels

  Dennis reached for the check and counted out some bills while Toby gathered up his rucksack and the bag of food. “You want to walk or take a cab?” Dennis asked.

  “Let’s take a cab. Less exposure, if you know what I mean.”

  Dennis did know what he meant. From time to time, along with the others, he’d operated in the shadows when they were on a mission. The only difference was, he hadn’t been in fear of his life the way Toby was.

  “Let’s do it, then.” Dennis slid out of the booth and began making his way through the milling crowds, jostling and apologizing at the same time.

  Thirty minutes later, Dennis paid the cabdriver and waited for Toby to slide out of the cab. “This is the front of the building. If you look across the street, that’s Ding’s, where we met. Even though this is the front and has a door, we never use it. We have to walk around back. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, do you?”

  “No. What does BOLO stand for?” Toby asked as he stared at the polished brass plaque under the coach light.

  “BOLO is a law-enforcement term. It means ‘be on the lookout.’ That’s sort of, kind of, what we do here.”

  Toby stuck to Dennis like glue as the reporter hiked around to the back of the building, where he pressed in a code that opened a monster iron gate that then closed within seconds after they had slipped through.

  “Other businesses also use this alley, because they are all located in one structure. Our building is a stand-alone. There’s a gate at the other end, too. No one can get in or out without the code. Like I said earlier, you’ll be safer than Fort Knox here.”

  At the massive special door, Dennis leaned over the retina scanner so his eyeball could be photographed. The door beeped, and a small light turned green at the bottom of the scanner. Toby’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He took a moment to wonder if he’d jumped from the frying pan into another fire. What the hell is this place? He shivered when he heard the special hydraulics lock into place when the door closed behind them. There was safe, and then there was safe.

  Dennis adjusted the thermostat, removed his jacket, and started to prepare the big Bunn coffeemaker, explaining that the guys and one girl did like their coffee. “If you aren’t going to eat that shrimp, you should put it in the fridge. Then make yourself at home. It’s going to be at least an hour before Jack, Fergus, and Charles can get here, since they have to come all the way from McLean. The others will be here shortly.”

  “Ah . . . Dennis, aside from reporting the news, is this some kind of . . . vigilante group? Like those women a few years ago who turned this town upside down? I don’t care if you are, and don’t worry about me ratting you out. I would never do that. Never. I’m loyal to the core. I mean that. That guy Jack, the one you said lived in McLean, is he the one you told me about who knows everything there is to know about women?”

  “Yep, that’s the one. He’s a great guy, even if he is a lawyer. Just so you know, there are eleven of us. Including one woman, my colleague. She earned her place here. We have another member, but at the moment he’s in China, helping to build a new casino in Macao, so he’s off the grid for now. So that means we’re down to ten.”

  Dennis slapped at his head. “Crap. I forgot one of our most important members. Cyrus. Smartest damn dog in the universe. German shepherd. He’s smarter than some people I know. He can answer the phone, fold towels, make his bed, and he can even buckle his seat belt. As if that isn’t enough, Jack taught him to unset the alarm so he can let himself out in the morning. We all defer to Cyrus, because he’s one of a kind. Well, not really. There’s Cooper, but we won’t go into Cooper right now. Cyrus can spot a bad guy a mile away and lives for the day Jack lets him bite someone’s ass. If he doesn’t like you, Toby, you are toast. Someone is at the door.”

  The door flew open to admit Ted Robinson, Joe Espinosa, and Maggie Spritzer. Dennis made the introductions.

  “Jack’s on his way with Fergus and Charles, but they’ll be last men in,” he announced. “No point in going through Toby’s plight until everyone is here. I made coffee.”

  “And I brought doughnuts,” Maggie chirped. “Did I understand you right, that Jack Sparrow is attending? I thought I saw him pulling out of his driveway when Ted picked me up.”

  “Yep. I think he needs to be in on this,” Dennis responded.

  “Isn’t that the . . . ?” Toby asked, his eyebrows shooting almost to his hairline.

  “Yep, the director of the FBI. You’re associating with some heavy-duty company here, mister.”

  Toby gave Dennis his deer-in-the-headlights look.

  “It’s okay. He’s a friend and . . . um . . . associate,” Dennis said between clenched teeth.

  The retina scanner beeped. Company.

  The door opened to admit Abner Tookus, Harry Wong, and Jack Sparrow. Introductions were made again.

  Toby, a dazed look on his face, nodded at Harry and said, “Isn’t he . . . ?”

  “Yep. The number one martial-arts expert in the world,” Dennis said.

  Toby slumped in his chair. What have I gotten myself into? They all looked so . . . normal. And yet...

  “What? I’m chopped liver?” Abner growled.

  “I was saving you till last, Abner.” Dennis looked over at Toby and said, “Abner is CIA, and he can’t tell you what he does, because if he did, then he’d have to kill you. You okay with not knowing, Toby? Speak up now, or forever hold your peace.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you bet I’m okay with it.” Definitely from the frying pan into the fire. Oh, shit. Toby just closed his eyes and didn’t move. He wished he could make himself invisible.

  Small talk continued. Maggie said she was going to go by Yoko’s nursery to get some pumpkins for her front stoop and asked the group if they wanted her to pick one up for them. Everyone raised his hand.

  “Okay, then, I’ve been thinking about having a Halloween party this year. Full costume. I think we all need some fun for a change,” she said. “You guys up for a party?”

  Again the group’s hands shot in the air.

  Toby winced. Halloween party ? He was dying here, and they were talking about a Halloween party. Maybe they were just trying to get him to relax. He risked a glance at Jack Sparrow. He looked so . . . ordinary, just like a regular guy, but the power behind him made Toby break out into a hard sweat.

  Then there was that kung fu expert, or whatever he was. The kind of guy who could kill you with a flick of his pinkie finger. To Toby, he had the look of a killer. Then, shit, there was that CIA guy, who didn’t say much but was capable of killing. Man, he’d really stepped into it. Already, he could feel his blood starting to freeze in his veins. He could hardly wait to lay eyes on the expert on women, and his dog who could fold towels. The urge to bolt was so strong, Toby felt his feet start to itch.

  Harry wiggled his fingers in the air. “Jack’s here!”

  Toby couldn’t help but notice that no one disputed the comment. He hadn’t heard a thing. The knot in his stomach tightened.

  The massive door opened, and all Toby could see was the huge dog that bounded into the room. He barked so loud, Toby thought his eardrums were going to burst. He sat rigid in his chair, waiting for the big dog to notice him. He looked kind of playful as he made his rounds to each person, getting a tickle and a treat. The big guy, the expert on women, was pouring a cup of coffee. The two older gents stood next to him, waiting their turn at the coffee urn. Scotland Yard and the other guy so British he made his eyeballs stand at attention. He didn’t know why, but he sensed that the geriatric duo was the brains of this outfit.

  And then the monster dog was staring up at him. All Toby could think was this dog knew how to fold towels. He blinked. He felt a treat being slipped into his hand by someone. Damn. This was one fearsome-looking dog, who could also make his own bed and answer the phone and buckle his seat belt. He believed it all implicitly.

  “Ah . . . I’m Toby.” Tentatively, he held out his hand. Cyrus raised
his paw and slapped it down onto Toby’s palm. Toby handed over the treat. Cyrus backed up and moved over to where Jack was standing, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. Dennis made the introductions.

  “Any friend of Dennis’s is a friend of mine,” Jack said.

  Fergus and Charles nodded.

  “Welcome to the BOLO, Toby. Let’s get to it. Conference room, everyone!” Jack said, exuberance ringing in his voice.

  It was a nice room, Toby thought as he plopped down on a chair next to Dennis. While he waited for the others to settle themselves, he looked around. He liked and recognized the Jackson Pollock prints on the wall. Someone obviously had a green thumb, because the two ficus trees in the corner looked lush and full. There were no computers in here, no fax machines. The only digital appliance was an elaborate telephone console sitting on a credenza, next to a twelve-cup coffee machine. A mini-fridge was nestled under the credenza. Dennis did say this group, whatever the hell this group was, did like their coffee.

  Yellow legal pads, pens, and tablets appeared out of nowhere, along with a crystal bowl of dog treats. Obviously, the monster dog was an important member of this group. Toby made a mental note not to forget that little fact.

  “Looks like we’re all here, so let’s get started and yield the floor to Dennis, who called this special meeting,” Jack said. Cyrus barked to show he was on board.

  Dennis cleared his throat. He hated being the center of attention. “I’m going to go with the quick version. Then you all can question Toby. For starters, Toby and I go way back. We’ve been friends for many years. We lost touch for a while, until a few years ago, when we met up by accident across the street at Ding’s. We promised to stay in touch, but that never happened. Life got in the way, as they say.

  “Toby is Dr. Tobias Mason. He’s an economist. He worked in New York, at the American Baylor Institute. He was engaged to be married, but his fiancée wanted to relocate to Washington to be a part of the political scene. Toby gave up his job, and they moved here. Shortly afterward, to his chagrin, his fiancée decided she didn’t want to be his fiancée any longer. She booted him out, took all his money, and hooked up with a rich, middle-aged lobbyist. Toby was living out of his car when we met up at Ding’s. That was the last I heard of Toby until today. Here we are.

  “Toby met up with me today. He’d been trying to get in touch with me, but, as you all know, Maggie, Ted, Espinosa, and I were out of town on an assignment,” Dennis said. He pointed to Toby. “This guy is not the old Toby. I have a picture on my phone for you all to see the old Toby.” Dennis worked his thumb over his phone until a picture of Toby and him at Ding’s appeared. He passed it around the conference table.

  Toby wished he could fall through the floor.

  “This is the new, buff Toby. He has a job. He is a dancer at the Supper Club. The flagship Supper Club. The Supper Clubs are owned by a couple named Gabriel and Pilar Sanders. The wife, Pilar, discovered Toby at the supermarket where he was working. He said after more than two weeks of carrying her groceries out to the car, she approached him and offered him a job. He’s worked as a dancer for a little under two years now and is paid extremely well. He had to learn how to dance, had to work out at the gym, take all kinds of classes. The man you see sitting here is the new Toby. And, by the way, he is scheduled to be Mr. December for the Supper Clubs’ yearly calendar.

  “A while back, possibly five or six months ago, Toby said he felt like he was being watched and followed. I’ll let him explain what he thinks is going on. He got in touch with me because he knows I’m an investigative reporter. My gut is telling me my friend needs our special brand of help. And he does not want to go back to the house he’s been living in. He fears for his life. That’s why I brought him here and called this meeting. We have to keep him safe. That’s my side of it. Toby, you up for some questions?”

  Toby took a huge, deep breath and exhaled in a loud swoosh of sound. “Ask me whatever you need to ask. Just be mindful of the fact that I probably won’t be able to answer most of them. The Sanderses run an extremely tight ship, and by that I mean they tell us nothing. They do not confide in any of us. They pay extremely well. Their rules are stringent, and if you don’t obey them, you are out.”

  Charles nodded. Pen in hand poised over his yellow tablet, he asked the first question and all the rest. Toby answered as best he could until Jack called a halt a full hour later.

  “It’s not enough. At this point in time, the case does not qualify for a mission,” Jack observed.

  The others nodded, with the exception of Dennis.

  “What isn’t enough?” Dennis queried.

  “Just because someone thinks he is being followed does not mean he really is being followed. Ever hear the word paranoia? So the December winner receives a gift at the end of the pageant, or whatever it is, but that doesn’t mean there are drugs in said package. There is no proof that the Sanderses are drug traffickers. The winners, as you stated, are never heard from again. Can you prove that? You said yourself there were no friendships among the dancers. How do you know the Sanderses didn’t arrange for other jobs for the winners? Have any missing person reports been made? You don’t know. We don’t know. Before we can even consider taking on this mission, we would have to run all kinds of background checks, and that takes time. All of you who agree with me, raise your hand.”

  Every hand in the room shot in the air except for Dennis’s. Cyrus barked his vote.

  Toby looked around at all the faces staring at him. His last hope, and they had just shot him down. Now what was he supposed to do? Even the damn dog was against him. He looked over at Dennis, his only ally. Whatever he saw in his friend’s expression caused a knot in his stomach. “I’m not paranoid. I take my life seriously, and I know what I know and feel. I am damn well in danger!” Toby was surprised at how strong and forceful his voice sounded.

  Jack Sparrow stared at Toby. “I think what Jack is trying to say is we can help you, but not right this instant. We don’t work that way. We strategize, we make plans, and we cover our asses up one side and down the other. That means you have to cooperate with us. I know Charles has something he wants to say. Are you willing to listen?”

  “Of course I’m willing to listen. This is my life we’re discussing here. That’s why Dennis brought me to all of you.” Toby wished he didn’t sound so belligerent, but what the hell? This was his life these people were talking about.

  “I want you to think about something, young man,” Charles said in a voice he would have used to discuss the weather. “How do you feel about going back to the house where you live tonight? We’ll arrange security for you. We need to create a legend for all of us so that we can help you. We have a top-notch security detail at our disposal twenty-four/seven. Off the top of my head, I’d say we can come up with a young lady who will pretend to be your new girlfriend to drive you home. This will account for any lapses in time where you shook your tails today, if you are being followed, as you suspect. If your people really are stalking you, it won’t take long to get a handle on it. With what Dennis has told us, you seem pretty adept at eluding anyone following you. Would you be agreeable to going back and pretending all is well? I can personally guarantee nothing will happen to you. You will also have the entire FBI watching your back.”

  Toby looked over at Dennis, who nodded. “Yeah, sure. Just tell me what I need to do.” Oh, God. Did he just agree to go back to the lion’s den?

  “Right now, nothing. We will get to work and see what we can come up with. While we do that, perhaps you could take Cyrus out for a walk in the alley.”

  The moment the shepherd heard his name, he was on his feet, then at the door, where he stopped to wait.

  “Uh, does he bite?” Toby asked.

  “Only if you bite first. He’s good for fifteen minutes. Cyrus, watch this guy.”

  At Toby’s look of horror, Jack hastened to explain. “No, I didn’t mean you were going to do anything. I meant for Cyrus to protect y
ou. You might not know the difference, but Cyrus knows, and that’s all that is important.”

  The moment the hydraulics locked into place, the group got down to business, with the first order of the day being a call to Avery Snowden to show up with a young, attractive operative who would, over the following days, play the part of Toby Mason’s main squeeze.

  “So, then, we’ll take Toby’s case?” Dennis asked.

  “Once our due diligence is complete, if it warrants our help, then of course we will take it on. For starters, tomorrow night or the night afterward, I want all of you to hit the Supper Club to observe.”

  “We can’t do that, Charles. Those Supper Clubs are for women. We’ll stand out like warts on a baby’s behind. You need women for that, and Maggie is out, because someone might recognize her picture since it’s always in the paper. Ditto for me and Espinosa. I see that look on your face, Jack. Don’t go there. We are not going to go disguised as women,” Ted said.

  Jack laughed out loud because that was exactly what he had been thinking. “Well, Mr. Intrepid Reporter, if we don’t go in disguise, then that means we have to call in the girls to do it for us. Who wants to make that call?” When there was no response to his question, Jack smirked and said, “I rest my case.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Charles said. “Avery said he would have someone here within the hour, and his operatives are all on standby. That was our first immediate hurdle. Now for assignments. But before I get to that, a thought just struck me. What if we have Bert Navarro get in touch with the Sanderses and invite x number of dancers to Hong Kong for the big grand opening, which is just around the corner? That would be the big time for the Supper Clubs. Tons of free press, thanks to Maggie and the Post. And everyone knows what China has to do with drugs. If young Toby is right, and they are onto him, it might take some of the pressure off all of that if they think they’re on to bigger and better rewards. As I said, let’s let it simmer for a bit and get back to it.”