Collateral Damage

by Fern Michaels

  “Nope. It’s a sucker’s bet, Myra. I saw those pumpkins, too, and was wondering what they were for. I hope he saves a few so we can carve them. I think the girls need a little diversion. How is it that we lucked out on avoiding that ten-mile run?”

  Myra smiled. “I told Charles we’d do the time on the treadmill later this afternoon. Now, if we suddenly get too busy…oh, well.”

  Annie laughed. “Things have been quiet lately. Why do you suppose that is? Surely there are people out there who need our help.” She let the words hang in the air to await her friend’s response, since Myra had the inside track with Charles Martin.

  “Oh, there are, Annie. Charles has stacks and stacks of requests for our help both here and abroad. But each request, while it comes with a huge payout to us, isn’t always feasible. First and foremost is our safety. It’s not the actual mission itself but the planning, the getting in and getting away safely. I think,” she whispered again, “something is up. Charles received a call when he was packing up the picnic basket. He walked away out of earshot to talk. His whole body language changed when it came in. I think we’re about to go back into business. I could be wrong but I don’t think so.”

  Annie clapped her hands. “Ooh, ooh, that sounds exciting. I’m up for whatever it is. How about you, Myra?”

  Myra smiled as she opened the picnic basket. “You know what, Annie, I am. Like you said, it’s been exceptionally quiet of late and…I hear the girls!”

  Both women turned to one of the many paths leading down the mountain. The young women bounded into the clearing, whooping and hollering and, to Myra’s and Annie’s chagrin, barely breaking a sweat. They plopped down on the blanket, all of them reaching for the frosty bottles of water.

  “I can eat the entire contents of that basket,” Kathryn said as she swigged at the water. Kathryn Lucas had an enormous love of eating and a stomach that could handle any kind of food twenty-four hours a day. “What are we having? Please don’t tell me cheese and crackers.”

  The others groaned at the prospect of cheese and crackers.

  Annie clucked her tongue. “Shame on all of you. A picnic is a picnic. That means fried chicken, without the skin, of course, hard-boiled eggs, potato salad, melon and kiwi, sugarless sweet tea, and sugarless brownies. Charles said you can each have two. You know how he is about desserts.”

  “That’s because we’re sweet as honey as it is,” Isabelle Flanders said, giggling.

  At Isabelle’s words, Myra looked over at Nikki, who was staring back at her. Both women had strange looks on their faces.

  “What? Why are you two looking at each other like that?” Alexis Thorne asked in a jittery-sounding voice.

  Myra shook her head and reached up to catch a golden leaf that was sailing downward in the soft breeze. She looked at it for a moment before she replied. “It’s what Isabelle said, that we’re sweet as honey. A long time ago, when my daughters were young, they had a friend named Honey Sweet. She used to live on a neighboring farm, and because it was too far to walk, her mother would drop her off to play. They rode the school bus together.”

  “We stayed friends for a long time,” Nikki said, picking up on the story. “We went away to different colleges but stayed in touch with letters, calls, and cards on birthdays and Christmas. We lost track of each other after a while, but Honey sent us an invitation to her graduation. Myra and I both went. She graduated first in her class at the…at the FBI Academy!”

  The women reared up as one. “What?” they chorused.

  Myra’s eyes filled up. She ignored the outburst. “Honey came to Barbara’s funeral. She cried so hard. There was no consoling her.”

  “Honey changed her name, from Honey Sweet to Erin Powell the day she turned twenty-one,” Nikki said. “She said when she joined the FBI no one would take a woman with the name Honey Sweet seriously. She’s Erin Powell now. When we were little, we all had these imaginary friends, and Honey’s was Erin Powell. The name didn’t surprise me at all. I haven’t heard from her in years and years. I don’t even know if she still works for the FBI. I do know she got her master’s degree and was planning on getting her doctorate. We laughed about how Barb and I would then have to call her Dr. Powell. I wonder where she is these days. Have you heard anything, Myra?” Nikki asked.

  “No, dear, I haven’t heard a thing from her in years.”

  The others started to jabber all at once. The questions all ran together. “Does she know who you are these days? Are you saying she didn’t give you up to the fibbies? Whose side is she on? Why didn’t you ever tell us you knew someone inside the FBI?”

  Lawyer that she was, Nikki responded, “Because it isn’t pertinent to us. That was long ago, another life. Honey was a loyal friend. The three of us were like sisters. Old friendships are treasured. That’s the best answer I can give you. If any of you are thinking that Honey would spill her guts about us, think again.”

  “Nikki’s right,” Myra said.

  A sudden gust of wind whipped through the clearing, sending down a shower of golden leaves that the women tried to catch. The overpowering scent from the pine trees rushed about them at the same time.

  Ever suspicious, Kathryn demanded to know if the Honey Sweet connection meant anything in their current position. She reached for a thickly coated chicken leg and bit into it.

  “I don’t see how a memory can mean anything at this time. Isabelle said we were sweet as honey, and that triggered a memory Myra and I shared with you. End of story,” Nikki said. “I will say this, though. Knowing Honey the way I do, I’m sure she rooted for us every step of the way. FBI or not.”

  “I agree,” Myra said. “Now, let’s eat this wonderful food Charles prepared for us. The rule is we have to eat it all and take back an empty basket.”

  The women fell to it until the hamper was empty. As they munched and chewed, they talked about the glorious fall colors, the ten-mile run, and what lay ahead of them for the rest of the day.

  When it came time to clean up and fold the blanket, Annie called for silence. “I got a call a little earlier, actually it came through at 8:10. It looks like my offer to buy the Post is going to be accepted. Not to worry, ownership is buried so deep it will take years before anyone can figure it out. I was told there’s another week or so of paperwork to go through, after which the paper is ours. Say something, ladies.”

  As one, the women whooped and hollered out congratulations, their shouts ringing down and around the mountain.

  “This is a good thing?” Alexis asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Nikki said.

  “Now you can really kick some ass, Annie,” Kathryn said. “Are you going to be hands-on behind the scenes? What are you going to write for your first op-ed piece?”

  “That’s down the road. Right now I have to think about how I’m going to tell Charles. I’m a little nervous about ’fessing up to that,” Annie said.

  Tiny Yoko Akia waved one of her arms. “Do not give it another thought, Annie. I think Sir Charles already knows and is not saying anything so as not to spoil your surprise when he says, ‘And what else is new, Annie?’”

  The women burst out laughing, even Annie.

  “Time to head up to the Big House. Charles wants us to gather in the dining room at four o’clock. Today is Tuesday, so that means there might be mail. I for one can’t wait for the Christmas Neiman Marcus catalog,” Isabelle said.

  “That came out in July. Where were you, Isabelle?” Alexis laughed.

  The camaraderie was evident as the women trooped up the incline to the open area surrounding the compound. Murphy and Grady, Kathryn and Alexis’s dogs, raced up to the women, barking furiously.

  Murphy nudged Kathryn’s leg as he tried to head her off in another direction. Knowing the big shepherd wanted her to see something, she followed him, the others trailing along.

  “Oh!” was the collective comment as the women looked at the object of Murphy’s angst. A huge scarecrow was settled comfortably on one o
f the Adirondack chairs, which was surrounded by bales of hay and pumpkins. Spiderwebs with black silk spiders stretched across the entire porch. A huge, furry stuffed black cat sat perched on the windowsill. White-sheeted ghosts, hung from wires suspended from the roof of the porch, swayed in the breeze.

  The women clapped their hands in delight as they remembered their youth and similar displays at their own homes.

  Myra waved her arms around. “I guess I was right after all. And that has to mean we’re having all things pumpkin for dinner tomorrow. Come along, girls, we have to thank Charles for this wonderful display.”

  The dining room was a symphony of delightful smells. Cinnamon, nutmeg, baking bread, and baked apples. Even though they’d just finished eating, the women’s mouths started to water at what was to come for the dinner hour.

  Charles emerged from the kitchen wearing a snowy white apron, with flour on his hands and a smudge on his nose. “Ah, your timing is perfect, ladies. I just made fresh coffee. My pies and bread are baking. The leg of lamb is ready to go in the oven when they come out. So, give me five minutes to freshen up, then I have news for you.”

  The women, glowing from being outdoors, were effusive in their praise of Charles’s efforts on the porch. He smiled and thanked them, adding, “I saved seven pumpkins that you can carve this evening so you’ll have them ready for Halloween tomorrow.”

  Yoko set the picnic hamper on the counter and joined the girls at the table. Annie was setting out cups and saucers and the sugar substitute into a small cut glass bowl. One of Charles’s theories was that something one didn’t like was more palatable when served in something pretty to the eye. No one had the heart to tell him his sugar substitute sucked and that they all kept packets of real sugar in their pockets.

  Charles was as good as his word and took his place at the table in the allotted five minutes. He carried a small yellow folder that he slid onto the table. He waited until Annie poured the coffee. His eyes were like a hawk’s as he watched to see if any of his girls would try to sneak real sugar into their coffee. When he was certain everyone was obeying the rules, he opened the folder.

  “I had a call this morning from Bert Navarro. Director Cummings of the FBI has appointed a special task force of six agents. Yes, I know that his predecessor tried to do the same thing, and we all know what happened to him. This is different. Cummings has hauled out what he considers his secret weapon in his war to catch the vigilantes. His secret weapon is a young woman named Erin Powell aka Honey Sweet.”

  Myra bolted upright in her chair. “We were just talking about Honey while we picnicked. Nikki and I were explaining to the others how we knew her, and how we haven’t seen or heard from her in years.”

  “Well, if she has her way, you’re going to be hearing from her soon. This all happened a few hours ago. Bert is on loan to Ms. Powell. As you know, he’s Cummings’s number one. Now Ms. Powell has made him her number one. He is not enamored of two of the agents assigned to this particular task force. Supposedly the group is comprised of the best of the best.

  “According to Bert, Cummings appointed Powell lead agent and her orders are to use what firsthand knowledge she has about you and Nikki from her past relationship with you to figure out where you are and a way to get you where you can be arrested.

  “Bert said when he gets home this evening, he will send the other agents’ dossiers so we can see what we’re dealing with. As I mentioned, he’s very concerned about two of the agents—that’s Joe Landos and Doug Parks. Charlie Akers and Pete Mangello are okay guys and will work with Powell, whereas the other two will work against her. That’s all I have at the moment. Now would be a good time to talk this up.”

  Nikki shrugged. “Honey will never give us up even if she knew something to give up. Shoot, I keep calling her Honey, and I should be calling her Erin. What do you think, Myra?”

  Myra’s voice was thoughtful. “At first blush, I agree with you, Nikki. But we haven’t seen or heard from Hon…Erin in many years. She might now be a dedicated agent, and this would put her at the top if she could bring us in. We are, after all, breaking the law. She’s sworn to uphold the law. Right now, the best thing we have going for us is Bert, who has the inside track. If we’re lucky, we can stay one step ahead of the task force.”

  “Should we be worried about this?” Annie asked.

  Charles looked around the table. “We all need to be very worried. I never thought I would say that, but I’m saying it now.”

  “I’m not buying into it,” Nikki said. “In her heart, Erin is one of us. You can take that to the bank. Chalk it up to my gut instinct, Charles.”

  Charles’s face wore a serious expression when he said, “I hope those words don’t come back to bite your cheeks, Nikki.”

  “Ass, Charles. Say ‘ass,’ and it will carry more weight,” Kathryn admonished.

  Charles allowed a tight smile to stretch his lips. “Consider it said, my dear.”

  “Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish,” Annie said, smacking her hands together.

  “Are you aware that kettles of fish smell, Annie?” Nikki asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Chapter 3

  As Bert Navarro packed up his briefcase, he looked down at his watch to check the time. It was 6:45 P.M. Time to hustle to Harry Wong’s dojo. There were times when he resented the fact that he had to take Harry’s training, but it was an FBI edict, and he was glad he wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to Erin Powell. Jack Emery would be there, and they could talk openly.

  There was outrage in Erin’s voice when she barked, “You’re leaving? We haven’t even started!”

  “Look, Erin, I learned a long time ago that if you don’t keep reasonable hours, stick to your routine to the best of your ability, this job will dump you over the edge. By the way, those are the words of every director who’s sat on the throne. You picked my brain, there is nothing more I can do here tonight. I’ve been here since five thirty this morning. That means I’ve been here thirteen hours, and thirteen is an unlucky number, so I’m out of here.”

  Bert snapped the lock on his briefcase. “You should go home, too. Kick back and think about what exactly you want this team to do. You must still be reeling from the way it was all dumped on you. There are going to be a lot of eyes on you, Erin. You don’t want to make a mistake right out of the gate. I’ve headed up six different task forces, and it’s going to drain your blood, so be prepared. My advice, regardless of whether you want it or not, is to plan, delegate, execute, and be careful around Joe and Doug. Develop a set of eyes in the back of your head. Those two play for keeps.”

  Erin brushed back the hair from her forehead. She knew that what Bert was saying was true, but she was caught up in an adrenaline rush. She frowned. “Are you trying to tell me something, Bert?”

  “Actually, I am. Watch your back.”

  Erin felt her stomach juices start to kick up as she looked at the wild disarray on her desk. “I hate it when people talk around something, Bert. If you know something, tell me what it is. I like things out in the open. If you’re harboring any ill feelings because Cummings appointed me to lead this task force, spit them out right now so we can lay them to rest. I know you’re Cummings’s right hand, and you’re probably looking at this as a demotion of some kind. I didn’t ask for this assignment, but I’m stuck with it. If I’d had a choice, I would have turned it down.”

  Bert looked at the beautiful woman sitting behind her desk. He knew how hard she’d worked, how good she was, and he knew about the pool the guys had going on her. At that moment he felt sorry for her. God, if she only knew what a thankless job she had ahead of her.

  “You know what, Erin, you’re way off base. I’m happy to work here with you. Working with Cummings can be a real pain in the ass at times. The truth is sometimes I feel like the Bureau is wasting my time, and there are times when I actually feel guilty taking a paycheck for shuffling papers. I’m a field agent, and that’s where I belong.
This will give me a chance to get out there and do something. I don’t resent you at all. But to answer your question, what I’m trying to say is that Doug and Joe are not team players. Oh, they work well together because they’re birds of a feather, but they want all the glory for themselves. Both of them are damn fine agents. I can’t take that away from them, but they do have their own agendas. I’ve watched them over the years and know their style, so just be on your guard and tread lightly, or they’ll find ways to sabotage you every chance they get.”

  Bert reached for his jacket and slipped it on. “The only thing they heard the director say is that you have a history with two of the vigilantes. That’s what they’re going to go on. Trust me on this.”

  “What about you, Bert? What do you think about my history with Myra and Nikki?” Her voice sounded so bitter that Bert winced.

  “Personally? I think that history belongs in the past, where it’s lying right now. If you can make that history work for you, go for it. See ya in the morning.” He wondered if it was good or bad advice. Probably a little of both.

  Outside in the corridor, Bert heaved a huge sigh as he sprinted down the long hallway to the elevator.

  Fifteen minutes later, he blasted through the doors of Wong’s dojo to attend a class of two, Jack Emery and himself. The dojo was the perfect place to talk. He knew for a fact that good old Harry had his quarters swept for listening devices three times a day. He knew it because he’d provided the equipment.