Payback

by Fern Michaels

  “I’m going to feel naked, Myra. I never wore a strapless gown in my life. Are you sure it will stay up?”

  Alexis giggled. “I’ll make sure it stays up. It’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Nikki’s gown was black shot through with silver threads. Isabelle ooohed and aaahed over her white crepe gown with spaghetti straps and a flare at the knees. Alexis reached for her gown that was the color of sienna. It too was strapless.

  “Show us yours, Myra. What color did you choose?” the women asked all at the same time.

  “I chose dusty rose and my gown has a hip length sheer coat. Silver shoes and bag. I’m so glad you all like your dresses. It was so hard to choose.”

  “Who is the designer?” Kathryn asked, peering at the label.

  “No one famous. Yet. I expect she will be after Saturday night, though. Be sure to tell the press your outfits were designed by Callie. That’s the name she goes by. Her real name is Calista Cole. She’s a client of Nikki’s. I think we should be getting back to Charles. We certainly don’t want him upset today of all days.”

  “No, we certainly don’t want to do that because then he’ll serve us wieners for dinner. I hate wieners. Isn’t today the day…?”

  “The day Charles drops the first bombshell to the tabloids on Mitch. Yep,” Julia said happily as she led the way down the steps and across the hall to the living room where Myra opened the secret door to what she called Charles’s Lair.

  The women filed into the war room and took their seats. Their thoughts, however, were back in Myra’s bedroom with the Callie fashions they would all be wearing in a little over thirty-six hours. They came back to reality when Charles homed in on Julia. He didn’t say anything but waited for her to speak, his eyes full of questions.

  “I haven’t actually spoken to Mitch, Charles. He’s called numerous times and left messages. The last message he left said he is the definite choice although he and the governor are the only ones who know that. The official announcement and his acceptance will be made on Saturday evening. They always pretend no one knows but everyone inside the Beltway knows before it even happens. Some of his messages weren’t too nice but then Mitch isn’t very nice these days. I did leave one message saying I would be home this evening. I really don’t want to go until tomorrow. The less time I have to spend with him, the better.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine, Julia. I don’t want you to put any undue stress on yourself. Our first little tidbit will hit the airwaves around noon today. I already sent an anonymous E-mail to one of the tabloids. It goes without saying that the senator will be unavailable for comment. He’ll call the charge scurrilous and say it was put out by the other side. A dirty tricks campaign. By next week it will be a free-for-all. Now, have you all come up with a plan of action?”

  “We have, Charles, but we need to know the location before we can put it into play.”

  Charles pressed a button on his remote. A blueprint sprang into view. Charles clicked the remote again to enlarge the print on the screen. “This is the floor plan of the Monarch house in Manassas. I considered several choices but in the end this one won out. Because, just in case anyone sees the truck or the limo entering the estate, it will be OK. Everyone got invited back to the Monarch home for drinks after the party. There’s nothing unusual about that at all.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging vacations for the help. All six of them, a housekeeper, cook, chauffeur, gardener and two maids will board Myra’s Gulfstream for a fully paid three week vacation in the Caribbean. The Monarchs have always been more than generous with their servants so this will not raise any eyebrows. They will board the plane right after the Monarchs leave for the party, having been told by the new chauffeur that their employers are going to Europe for a month.

  “I’ve engaged the services of several operatives whom I trust implicitly. They will open the house, clear the alarm system, deactivate the security gates outside and then put us in a lock-down mode until our mission is completed. Are there any questions?”

  There was only one question, posed by Yoko. “What about Jack Emery?”

  Nikki was about to reassure her when Charles quietly responded to the question. “ADA Emery has taken a thirty day leave of absence. He is under surveillance and will remain under surveillance for the next thirty days. If he goes anywhere near any of you, we’ll know in an instant and in that instant we will be forced to make a decision. Do you all understand what I just said?”

  Nikki looked everywhere but at Charles.

  “Would you care to divulge your plans for the senator and the Monarchs?” Charles asked as though he was inquiring about the weather.

  “Actually, Charles, we’re winging this one. We want you and Myra to come back here after the party. That means you’ll have to engage two limousines for Saturday night. I’ll dismiss the driver who takes Mitch and myself by saying we’re going with friends for drinks. No details.”

  “That’s not a problem. You’ll all have your secure cell phones and we will be available should you need us.”

  “Charles, would you mind bringing up that blueprint again and printing it out for us. There’s a home theater in the house, isn’t there?”

  “Complete with popcorn machine. And a bowling alley and an indoor pool.”

  “What about computer equipment?” Nikki asked.

  “They have it all, Nikki.”

  “A safe?” Alexis queried.

  Charles smiled. “Several, as a matter of fact. One vault. I marked them with big red Xs on the original copy. If your next question is where do they keep their business records, the answer is in the floor safe in the laundry room. The Monarchs cart those records with them everywhere they go.”

  The women eyed Charles with baffled expressions.

  “How do you know this?” Yoko squeaked.

  Charles smiled. “Let’s just say I know, and leave it at that.”

  “Which safe holds their personal bank records? I’m assuming you know that, too, right?” Isabelle asked.

  Charles chuckled. “Of course I know the answer. The box spring in the guest bedroom on the second floor, the second room going down the hall, has been hollowed out in the center. The records are right there just waiting for you. The Monarchs seldom have guests while they’re in Manassas so the maids aren’t overly zealous in their cleaning duties.”

  Kathryn’s eyes widened in awe. “And you know this…how? Never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

  Charles smiled. He loved it when he could surprise the sisters. He reached across to the printer for the copies of the Monarchs’ floor plans and passed them around the table. He was back at his computer station in a second. He turned the volume up on one of the television monitors.

  The women looked upward and gasped.

  “Can this be true?” someone named Jared on the FOX network asked a visiting guest.

  The guest, a retired something-or-other, the way most of FOX’s guests were, grimaced as he shrugged his shoulders. “I think this is Washington political spin. If you’re asking me if Senator Webster is a philanderer, my answer is I have no way of knowing. You could ask him for a comment.”

  Charles risked a glance at Julia who was biting down on her lower lip, her hands clenched into fists on the table.

  “The senator hasn’t been available for comment. His aide said it was hogwash and just spin because his boss is on the short list.”

  A second retired something-or-other spoke up. “Where there’s smoke there’s fire. I would be interested in the women’s comments. I understand one name is already public and up on Matt Drudge’s Web site. Hey, we’re talking about the veep nomination. The ghouls are out there. Both sides do the same thing. They have specialists who dig up dirt; we all know that.”

  Jared looked from one to the other of his retired guests. “What do you think something like this will do to his nomination?”

  The first retiree spoke up, “Depends whether Webster comes out and makes a comment.
It’s usually best to be front and center and bite the bullet. If he waffles and the press comes up with proof, he’s dead in the water.”

  The second retiree smirked. “All the senator needs to do is admit to a little dalliance, with his wife on his arm saying she knew and forgave him a long time ago.”

  Jared looked into the camera and said, “Thank you, gentlemen, I’m sorry to cut you short but we’re heading into a hard break.”

  Charles turned down the volume on the television. “Any comments?”

  Julia looked sick at what she’d just seen. “Mitch won’t make a comment. He’s too arrogant. He’ll call it bullshit smut being dug up by the other side to embarrass him. Or, he might accuse me of leaking it all for my own personal reasons. One thing I know for certain, he will be absolutely livid. Ah, my phone is vibrating.” Julia reached to her belt where her cell phone was clipped. “Yes, it’s Mitchell. Obviously, I am not going to answer the phone.”

  “Having said that, I suggest we get down to work, girls,” Alexis said. “Charles, are we going to the party under our own names or are we using aliases? Do we have invitations? Do we need to alter our appearance?”

  “Yes, to everything. Aliases of course. I created copies of the invitation from Myra’s original. And, yes, ladies, you all need to alter your appearance, not that you aren’t beautiful as you are. Nothing drastic, slight changes so if anyone is asked to recall any of you, their description at best will be vague. Myra and I will be going as ourselves since we will be returning here after the party. We always go to these functions so we’re not going to appear out of place. I’m going to leave you for a while to do whatever you have to do. I’ll start dinner. Myra, keep your eye on the oven. Oh, one last thing. Julia, let me know when you leave. I want to make sure you’re not followed and I want you kept safe. Promise me.”

  Julia felt a lump form in her throat. “I promise.”

  Seven

  Mark Lane cursed as he wedged his way into traffic, three cars behind the shiny black Mercedes. He didn’t like a three-car lead; two was best if you didn’t want to lose the person you were tailing. Since he had Dr. Webster’s home address, he wasn’t too worried that he might lose her in late Friday night traffic. Still, Jack would pitch a fit if he did lose the woman and she went somewhere else. Where the hell would she go in the pouring rain? Women didn’t like to get their hair wet. Nah, she was going home. He called Jack who was somewhere on the same road he was, tailing the big rig with the two women who had left earlier.

  Mark reached over to the passenger seat for his cell phone and worked his speed dial. “Where are you, kemosabe?”

  “Sitting in traffic. Where are you?” came the response.

  “Tailing the doctor. Do you believe this rain? I’d probably make better time if I got out and started to swim. She’s three cars ahead of me. Don’t worry, I’m not going to lose her. I have eyes like a hawk. Where’s that rig going?”

  “Alexandria would be my guess. The Asian girl buys in volume from that particular nursery. Why she’s going there at this hour of the night is beyond me. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she isn’t doing the decorating at the armory for the shindig tomorrow. You can fit a lot of plants in back of one of those rigs.”

  “Listen, Jack, I have to hang up. It’s raining harder and we’re coming up to a few exits. If I can’t see in this glop, I might miss her.”

  The wipers on Lane’s Pathfinder worked furiously against the driving rain. Visibility was almost nil with a low fog starting to roll in. Mark cursed again until he saw the Mercedes inch to the right. Good, she was getting off the highway. He wasn’t sure but he thought he left the fog behind. If there was one thing in life he hated, it was fog with a bunch of asshole Washington drivers.

  He was behind her now and within minutes knew she was indeed headed to Georgetown. He followed her as far as Dumbarton, parked, got out and ran back to the street where the doctor lived. Mark pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt as he pretended to be on his way home. He passed the senator’s driveway aware that the doctor was just sitting in her car with the lights off. What did that mean?

  Mark continued walking to the corner, then doubled back. Ah, she was getting out of the car and walking toward the front door. He stepped behind a firethorn bush and tried to ignore the rain dripping down his neck. Looks like the senator is home, too, he thought as he peered through the leaves of the firethorn bush at a spiffy Porsche sitting right next to the Mercedes. These people paid more for their cars than he’d earn in five years, maybe seven. Shit!

  He watched as Dr. Webster started toward the house. A sensor light came on and he could see her clearly. She looked tired and unhappy. She also didn’t look like she was in a hurry to enter the house. As she drew closer he saw something else he wasn’t expecting to see. He saw the doctor raise her hand and bless herself before she entered the house. Son of a bitch!

  Mark raced back to where he’d parked his car on Dumbarton. He worked his speed dial a second time. Jack sounded tired when he responded.

  “OK, buddy, our bird’s in the nest. Listen, I have to tell you something. Our bird is scared out of her wits. I was this close to her, behind a bush. Her feet were dragging. She didn’t want to go into that house. She also made the sign of the cross before she opened the door. I don’t feel right leaving but I’m not supposed to be here. My section chief will string me up by my balls if he finds out. Should I go home now?”

  “Yeah, go on home, Mark. I owe you. We’re just observing. We can’t interfere. For starters, I live in Virginia. Yeah, yeah, you fibbies supercede us dicks. But I don’t want you getting your ass in a sling with your boss either. You sure we’re covered for tomorrow night? I don’t want to show up and get my ass bounced outta there.”

  “Section chief approved it. We got more than a dozen guys out with some kind of crud. The gig tomorrow night is considered a big shit detail. My boss hates these things and is grateful for your help. I don’t know how grateful he’d be if he knew why you wanted to be at the armory tomorrow night. Tobias approved you and signed off on it. I have the papers right here in the car. We’re supposed to show up at four-thirty. We’re teamed together and working the parking lot. If it rains, we’re screwed.”

  “It’s not going to rain, Mark. The rain is supposed to clear out by morning. My girls are doing just what I thought they were doing, loading the truck with plants and flowers. I’m going home now myself. Make sure you’re back at Myra’s by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Listen, Jack, I don’t feel right about leaving. I’m worried about that woman but I guess you’re right, we can’t get involved.” Mark made a right-hand turn and drove through a mini pond. “Jack, did you hear the news today?”

  “Is somebody bombing us? If not, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yeah, you do. They’re saying Senator Webster had some extra-marital affairs and the women are going to come forward to confirm it. I heard it on the FOX network this afternoon. How’s that going to play out tomorrow night?”

  “Jesus! Are you sure it’s Senator Webster?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. The senator wasn’t available for comment. You have to wonder if Dr. Webster knows. Maybe she knows all about it and that’s why she’s spending so much time at Pinewood. Women consoling women. That kind of thing. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t anxious to go in the house. I bet she knows.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning. I need to think about what you just told me. By the way, what did you find on Charles Martin?”

  “Give me a break, Jack. I was going to work on that when I got home. My home computer is tied into the one at the office. You have me going in six different directions. I can tell you this, the guy didn’t exist prior to his employment at the Rutledge candy company. I did get that far.”

  “What the hell does that mean, Mark?”

  “It means your guy doesn’t have a background. No trace of him up to the day he started to work as head of security at the Rutledge
business. I’ll check Interpol. I have a few contacts abroad. Listen, I’m home. We can talk in the morning.”

  “Wait a minute, Mark. Run a check on Myra, too, way back to when she was born, OK?”

  “Sure, why was I stupid enough to think I need sleep.”

  Ten minutes later, Jack parked his car in the first parking space he could find. He needed to think about what Mark had just said. He racked his brain as he made his way to his apartment in the pouring rain to remember everything Nikki had ever said about Myra’s live-in companion. The only thing he could come up with was Charles should be anointed for sainthood. He was a gourmet cook, he loved Myra and Nikki and he had loved Barbara, too. He ran security at the candy plant. He had all kinds of talents. He knew Myra when they were young. Myra had gone to England with her father, and they met and fell in love, and then something went awry. What went awry? Did Nik ever tell him? If she did, he couldn’t remember.

  Was Charles British? For some reason, he thought so. He’d been in his company twice to his knowledge. Did the man speak? Shit, he couldn’t remember. He should know that. Yeah, yeah, he was British. Nik said he made Beef Wellington all the time but no one liked it but Charles. He liked to drink PIM’s too, a British drink.

  Screw it all, he was going to bed. Tomorrow was another day.

  Eight

  Out of sorts, unsure what was bothering him, Mark Lane changed into dry clothes and took his place at the computer. He polished his glasses, cracked his knuckles and stared at the blank screen in front of him. All he could see was the fear on Dr. Julia Webster’s face as she prepared to enter her house where Senator Webster awaited her.

  Dr. Julia Webster wasn’t his business or FBI business. All he’d done was help out an old college buddy who had a few screws loose.

  Mark cracked his knuckles again. He was no longer a field agent due to a heart attack at the young age of thirty-two. These days he was a desk jockey who ran computer programs for the Bureau. He missed being in the field which was why he’d agreed to help Jack. What was a little clandestine surveillance? His field instincts were just as good as ever. He hadn’t lost those with his surgery. Something was wrong in the Webster household. Maybe Jack wasn’t as paranoid as he originally thought.