The Jury

by Fern Michaels

  “If I had known this hot dog stand was what you meant by lunch, I would have declined. Those things will kill you. Do you have any idea what’s in a hot dog?” asked Moody.

  “No, and I don’t want to know either. When I leave an order for you to call me on the hour, I mean on the hour. I don’t want to have to chase you down.”

  Moody grimaced. When he spoke it was as though he were talking to a backward child. “Jack, Robinson was tailing you and I was tailing Robinson, so in actuality, I was tailing you, too. Think about it. Did you really want me calling you and have Robinson see you talking on your cell when you were somewhere you probably weren’t supposed to be to begin with? And for your information, Jack, I had a tail on me, too. We were a regular fucking parade out there in Kalorama. Under the circumstances, I used my best judgment. Fire me. See if I care, but pay me first.”

  “Where and when did you pick up Robinson, and when did you notice your own tail?” Jack shoved the rest of the hot dog in his mouth and motioned for the vendor to make him another one. Moody opted for a salted pretzel.

  “I picked up the news hound at his apartment and followed him to where you’re staying in Georgetown. We followed you when you left. I didn’t pick up the tail until we were almost at Kalorama. Whoever they are, they’re good.”

  Jack chomped down on his second hot dog. It was every bit as good as the first one. Now he was going to have heartburn all afternoon.

  “I might need you tonight, Moody. Stay available and keep your cell phone on. It will be a last-minute thing, if at all. You got that?”

  “I’m not stupid, Jack, I got it. Stay available and keep my cell phone on. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse.” Jack eyed the hot dog vendor and couldn’t make up his mind if he should go for a third dog or call it quits. “Gimme one of those hot pretzels.”

  As he walked back to the courthouse, Jack wondered if there was a way for him to track the NSA’s movements. It was a stupid thought. He needed to call Nikki but the last four times he’d called, she hadn’t answered her cell phone. He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what that meant. They were going to do their thing tonight.

  And where did that goddamn nosy reporter get off tailing him?

  Twenty

  The ladies of Pinewood scurried to their chairs when the time appeared on the Fox Network screen in front of them. Charles had pressed the mute button, so no sound emerged. The time was one minute to six. As one, the women sucked in their breath. When the time rolled over to precisely six o’clock, they exhaled. The minutes ticked by. The silence in the room roared in their ears. At seven minutes past six, Charles’s phone rang. He listened, his expression blank. All he said was “thank you,” before he ended the call.

  “Mrs. Woodley had to leave a message. Before you can ask, let me explain about the call to the NSA. Because he has the ability to trace the call, my people bounced the call off a satellite. There is no way he can find out where the call came from. Maybe a year from now, if his people worked on it twenty-four-seven, he might come up with it, but I doubt it.” Charles chuckled. “Mrs. Woodley is safe. What we don’t know is what time the NSA will check his messages. With nothing going on in the news, I take it to be a slow day, security-wise. I rather imagine he will check them shortly. I have one of my people watching both entrances to his office. I’ll know within minutes if he leaves. He left the White House a little after two this afternoon and has been in his office since.

  “Mrs. Woodley volunteered a few tidbits. I think you’ll find them interesting. There is a yellow light over the walk-through garage door. It was Mrs. Woodley’s job to turn it on at twilight. If the light is on, as it always is, the security drive-bys during the evening know everything is all right. Be sure to check to see if it’s on. The second thing is that the NSA does wear a security bracelet but it’s on his ankle, under his sock. It has a spring lock, quite easy to remove, according to Mrs. Woodley. The panic button, for want of a better word, is under the spring clasp. You’ll want to remove that posthaste. This,” Charles said, withdrawing a hypodermic syringe, “will literally freeze him in a nanosecond. It lasts two minutes. That’s all the time you have to remove the bracelet. You can jab him anywhere. Do not ask what this is or where I got it,” he said.

  Nikki felt her heart give a little jump when Charles handed the syringe to her. She pocketed it without changing her facial expression. “What if that reporter, or maybe those high-security people, are prowling around out there? Our license plates can be checked.”

  Charles sighed. “There are two cars sitting outside our gates right now, right this minute. One is a Mustang with a Minnesota license plate. The identical plate that is on Carolyn Movani’s car back in Minnesota. Miss Movani was one of Mrs. Woodley’s fellow Olympic gymnasts from years ago. The other car is a Chevy Suburban with an Ohio license plate. Identical to Betty Ann Openhimer, Mrs. Woodley’s best friend in college. I’m sure the NSA will recognize both ladies’ married names. If not, their first names will register. The important thing is that if the plates are run, they match to the names.”

  “How do you do that?” Isabelle demanded.

  Charles smiled but he didn’t answer.

  “I think it’s time for dinner,” Myra said. “We’re eating light this evening. Sandwiches on fresh homemade bread. My tip.” She gurgled with laughter. “I can hardly wait to taste that bread.”

  The others laughed as Myra led the way out of the war room and into the kitchen. They all pitched in, with Kathryn slicing ham, Alexis cutting the fresh bread, Isabelle setting the table, Nikki making coffee and Myra spreading the bread with assorted condiments. Charles, his cell phone to his ear, walked around as he listened to someone on the other end.

  Finally, Charles took his place at the table and reached for a sandwich. “I will be joining you this evening. More or less. I will be stopping by to thank the lovely lady for the tasty loaf of bread Myra brought home. At least, that’s my plan at the moment. As you know, things change rapidly when we’re down to the wire. The lady does make good bread,” Charles said as he reached for a second sandwich.

  After they’d eaten, the women worked together to tidy the kitchen. From time to time, one or another of them would let her gaze go to the digital clock on the stove. Charles’s cell phone remained silent. Myra poured coffee into clean cups, not so much because anyone wanted coffee, but because they could toy with the cup, twirl it around on the saucer to give them something to do. Time was moving too slowly. There didn’t seem to be a need for conversation. The time was ten minutes past eight.

  “The fact that my phone isn’t ringing doesn’t mean anything, ladies. The NSA could very well have gotten his wife’s message. Perhaps he can’t get away as quickly as he would like. I will call you if I receive a call once you’re on your way. Remember, from here on in, anything can go wrong, so be prepared. Pay attention to your instincts and remember the kind of person we’re dealing with. Now, it’s time to make the necessary changes to your appearance. Alexis, you have exactly thirty minutes,” Charles said, looking at his watch.

  Alexis went to work. It took her exactly five minutes to turn Myra into a buck-toothed harridan with corkscrew gray hair, thanks to two mini wiglets. Tinted glasses that she perched on her nose jiggled when she moved. Isabelle was transformed into a street girl with a skimpy spandex dress that she could have stuffed in her ear if she needed to hide it. Her makeup was theatrical, as was the jewelry that she wore by the pound. She clinked and clanked as she moved around. The black fishnet stockings had a hole in the right knee.

  Kathryn’s cheeks were filled with cotton balls, a small adjustment that changed her appearance completely. She now wore a blonde wig that swirled and twirled when she moved her head.

  With a little spirit gum and a black kohl pencil, Nikki’s eyes took on an Asian cast. Her wig was long and shiny black with a severe row of bangs down to her eyebrows. She looked nothing like N
ikki Quinn.

  Yoko stepped forward to slip into a sack dress the color of putty. A skullcap made of shimmering silver slipped down over her head and matched her new huge silver glasses that covered almost her entire face.

  With eight minutes to spare, Alexis raced into the bathroom off the laundry room to alter her own appearance. When she returned, everyone gasped. Her chin was longer, her eyebrows more pronounced, her bosom larger. She now sported inch-long fingernails that looked like talons. Her dark hair was now a mysterious shade of orange-brown to match her orange-brown eyes. Hollywood had missed a bet when they cast Halle Berry as Catwoman.

  Charles looked them over carefully. He nodded with approval as he held the door for them, careful to lock it behind him. Murphy barked sharply, angry at being left behind.

  Charles’s cell phone was still silent. He sat in his car and waited for the gate to open. He could see the two cars with the out-of-state license plates go down the mile-long driveway.

  The ladies of Pinewood were on the move.

  Jack Emery ran around, turning on all the lights in Nikki’s house. He looked at his watch just as the doorbell rang. He raced to open it. Mark Lane entered, carrying a bag of food and a six pack of Heineken beer. The next guest to arrive was Moody, also carrying a six pack of beer: Budweiser. Five minutes later, Carmody showed up carrying a shopping bag of food and a six pack of Coors Light. Boys’ night in. Well, almost. This boy was leaving as soon as he could get himself together.

  “You know the drill. Make a fire in the living room. Those guys will see and smell the smoke. An indication we’re in for the evening. The drapes are closed in the living room. Will it work? I don’t know, but I gotta get out of here with no one seeing me. I’m going out the laundry-room window. I turned off the lights in the kitchen and the laundry room. Be sure to answer the phone in case I call. On the first ring. You got that?” Three heads bobbed up and down in unison. “Where’d you park that pickup truck, Moody?”

  “On Dunbarton. Here’s the key.”

  Jack pocketed the key. A minute later he was out the window, closing it softly. He dropped to the ground, barely making a sound. He was dressed all in black, so he knew he blended with the dark night. He yanked at the black watch cap, pulling it down over his ears. He waited till his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness before he took off, running through the neighbors’ yards. He was almost to Dunbarton when he stopped dead in his tracks. Why the hell was he doing this? Ted had a date with Maggie Spritzer tonight. Christ, how could he have forgotten that? Overload, that’s how. Good old Ted wasn’t going to be out in Kalorama freezing his ass off. Right now the only thing on Ted’s mind was how to get Maggie back to his apartment and into his bed. That left only the shields to worry about. They were out there somewhere; he knew it as surely as he knew what his destination was. Well, there were only three of them.

  Jack eyed the battered pickup with the lawn-mower and six bags of peat moss in the back. He climbed in, turned the key and listened to the engine grind and protest. It took him five tries before the truck sputtered to life. Even with the windows closed he could smell the junk spewing from the tailpipe. It would be just his luck to get a ticket for polluting the air. He peeled away from the curb at a rousing five miles an hour. He knew in his gut that if he tried goosing the truck past fifteen miles an hour it would stall out on him, never to be started again. As he chugged along he tried calling Nikki again and again. A generic voice finally came on and said the customer he was trying to reach was out of the area.

  “Out of the area, my ass.” He knew that Nik must have turned her phone off.

  It was five minutes to nine when Jack hit Kalorama. The first thing he saw was Ted Robinson and Maggie Spritzer sitting in a champagne-colored Honda Civic. He chugged past them, turning his face to the right so they wouldn’t see him. Shit. If Ted was here that meant the shields were here, too. So much for trying to elude everyone. He felt like a jerk. He chugged to the corner of Calvert and Unlaw and parked. He climbed out and headed for Benton, careful to stay in the shadows. He was three doors away from the NSA’s house, hiding under a thick evergreen tree, when he saw a Crown Victoria turn into the Woodleys’ driveway. Must be the NSA, he thought. He held his breath, waiting to see if it was Woodleys’ driver or Woodley himself. In the still night he heard a door close and then the headlights of the Crown Victoria swept across the yard as it backed up and went down the street. It looked like the NSA was home for the night. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

  Was he here on a wild goose chase? Jack poked his head out of the spreading yew to see if he could spot anything. The street was dark and silent. He decided to wait a few more minutes before melting into the backyards that would take him back to the ancient pickup truck. That’s when he saw the two cars almost bumper to bumper on the street behind him. The moment both cars turned on 39th, he knew who it was. Surely they’d do a drive-by. Surely that’s what they would do. He was counting on Nikki’s honed instincts. He clenched his teeth in frustration as he waited.

  The cell phone was in Jack’s hand a second later. He dialed the local police and said, “This is Harry Davis at 3244 Benton Street. There’s a suspicious car parked on the street and it’s been there since it got dark. There are two people in it. I’d like you to check it out. Like now, officer.” He was told a patrol car would be on the street within minutes. From his position under the spreading yew, Jack could see the red and blue flashing lights on the street behind within minutes. Then he heard the siren. He saw the two cars that he was sure held the ladies of Pinewood pull to the side of the road to allow the cruiser to take the corner.

  “C’mon, c’mon, drive by, Nik.” He almost fainted in relief when he saw the two cars continue down Unlaw Road. He turned back in time to see the police cruiser swerve in front of the champagne-colored Honda Civic. A moment later he saw Ted and Maggie exit the car. He almost laughed. Some date this was.

  Now, if he could just figure out where the shields were, he could go home happy. Maybe he lucked out and they didn’t know he was out here. Oh, yeah, and pigs fly. He watched as Ted and Maggie got back in the car and drove away. He knew Ted was cursing up a storm. Maggie probably was, too. They’d get over it.

  Jack sat back on his haunches. The women would be back because they had a plan. He just wasn’t privy to that exact plan. He yanked out his cell phone, squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember the number he’d called the night he’d visited Ted in the hospital. “My house, forty-five-minutes.” He dropped down lower into the spreading yew and continued to whisper. “Are you sure you got all this? OK, I’ll be waiting. Here’s the address. I left the laundry-room window unlocked. Try not to be late.”

  Nikki wiped at the sweat beading on her forehead. “Damn, that was close.” She pulled into the Mobil station, parked and waited for the car with the Ohio license plates to park alongside her.

  Isabelle poked her head out the window and said, “Charles called and said the NSA is home. The yellow light is on over the door. The cops won’t be back for a while if they’re on patrol. Let’s just go for it! He’s waiting for his wife so he’s going to open the door. Remember, Myra said the storm door at the back was locked so we can’t sneak in and he probably has his alarm system turned on. The front door is our best bet. Bold as brass. Just have that needle in your hand.”

  Nikki thought about it for a full minute. “OK, let’s do it.” She backed up and waited for a break in traffic before she pulled out on to 37thStreet, Alexis right behind her.

  “Thith ith tho exthiting,” Myra gurgled as she tried to get her tongue to work around the chipmunk false teeth. Nikki burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Kathryn pounded her on the back but she was laughing herself.

  “For God’s sake, Myra, don’t talk or we’ll blow this gig by laughing our heads off,” Kathryn said.

  Myra offered a thumbs up as she nodded.

  “Here we go. Everyone out on the count of three. The porch light is on. He’s
expecting his wife.” Nikki cut the engine at the same time Alexis did. “One, two, three, and we’re out of here.” The syringe in her hand, the cap off, Nikki led the parade up the walkway and on to the small front porch. She drew in her breath as she pushed the doorbell. She could hear it chime inside. She counted the seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The door opened. Her first crazy thought was that he was a pissant and probably the ugliest man she’d ever seen.

  “Mr. Woodley, I’m Betty Ann Openhimer, Paula’s friend. We brought her home.”

  Woodley’s voice was a deep baritone. “Well, where is she?”

  Nikki looked over her shoulder. “Paula, honey, your husband can’t see you.” Quicker than lightning she moved forward, the needle going into the NSA’s neck, just under his ear. He tilted forward but Kathryn caught him and dragged him backward into the house. The others piled in. It took two seconds to shove him on to the foyer settee, another three seconds to remove the ankle bracelet and another three to lock and bolt the front door.

  “Damn, we’re good. We have time to spare,” Alexis said. “OK, let’s get him over to the couch. Who has the flexi cuffs?”

  Nikki yanked the flexi cuffs out of her pocket and tossed them to Alexis. The NSA was cuffed and dumped on the couch within seconds. “OK, scatter, ladies, and let’s check out this place. Ten minutes. Alexis, give me that panel and the X-rays. I’ll set it up on the mantel. There’s an electrical outlet just above it. I can do it myself; do what you have to do. He’s coming around. Quick, cuff one of his legs to that pine table.” Nikki tossed a second set of flexi cuffs to Alexis. She finished just as the NSA started to shake his big head like a wet bear.

  “What the hell…! Is this a home invasion?”

  Alexis, all six foot three of her, stood at attention. “I prefer to call it a par-tee. A sort of come-to-Jesus meeting. Shut up and speak only when we address you.” To make her point, she whacked him across the face so hard his big head rolled backward.