“I liked him. I had a bet with Kathryn that he wouldn’t take the job. Kathryn didn’t want to take the bet until Isabelle stepped forward. Then it was a whole new ball game. It only took him a day and a half to get back to us. The plan is to meet out at the farm when he submits his report. I’ll pass this on to Isabelle as soon as I get to the office. Now, about Gus. Do you want some advice, or are you comfortable winging it?”
“Talk to me.”
“Well, your Christmas tree is up and decorated. Don’t you want to show it off? Of course you do, so why don’t you invite Gus to dinner? You said he’s allowed to leave the hospital if he has somewhere to go. Give him somewhere to go. In fact, send the Post car for him. No point in having a perk like that car if you don’t abuse it once in awhile. That’s another way of saying Annie will approve. So what if he brings his nurse or aide, or whatever he calls the people who surround him? Let them watch television or eat in the kitchen, and you two eat in the dining room. Be sure to use scented candles and a pretty tablecloth. That’s how I hooked Jack.
“Be up front. It’s pretty much all a matter of public record, anyway. The world knows the Post came down on the side of the vigilantes. You don’t have to protect us anymore, Maggie. And you are one of us. Tell him right up front. Then I would show him that gold shield. It’s when you try to hide stuff that problems surface. So, how many messages and texts did Gus leave?”
Maggie grinned. “Twenty-one.”
Nikki laughed. “Then I would say you have that boy hooked. Don’t call him, though. Send him a text. I like seeing the words as opposed to hearing them. I suspect Gus is the same. Just a gut feeling, Maggie.”
“Okay. Hey, thanks for talking to me. I didn’t mean to intrude this early in the day. Talk soon, okay?”
Maggie trudged home just as the dark turned to light. She stood on her little porch and looked across the street as lights started to peek out of the windows. The barren tree branches shivered in the wind just the way she was shivering. She scooted through the door, ran to the kitchen, made coffee, then headed for the stairs and her room, where she dressed for the day. Downstairs again in her kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She sat at the table and realized again how alone she was. That was when she finally realized it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to go to the paper. Here she was, dressed for the day with nowhere to go. “Crap,” she said succinctly.
As she sipped her coffee, Maggie pondered Nikki’s advice. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought as she sent a text message to Gus Sullivan, inviting him to dinner. When she was finished, she went back upstairs to change her clothes again. Back in the kitchen, she rummaged in the freezer for meat and frozen vegetables, which she dumped into a Crock-Pot. She threw in some herbs, some salt and pepper, a little canned beef broth. An hour before serving time, she’d toss in some wine and hope for the best. She had frozen dinner rolls, packaged greens for a salad, and a Boston cream pie she only had to thaw out.
With nothing else on her agenda, Maggie called for a cab and was told one would arrive in seven minutes. She dressed once again for the weather and walked out to her porch. She was sure Yoko could use her help at the nursery, and it was better to be busy than to sit around the house moping. In the cab, she sent a text to her driver to put him on alert to pick up Gus at Walter Reed if he accepted her invitation.
As Maggie climbed out of the cab at Yoko’s nursery, she was shocked to see Fergus Duffy. He greeted her with a hug. “I’m just helping out. Annie said Yoko could use all the help that’s available. Yoko put me in charge. Do you believe that? Having said that, I need to assign your work. How do you feel about making red velvet bows?”
Maggie shrugged. “I love red bows. There is something special about a big red bow. Anticipation, excitement, a sense of mystery, not to mention cheerful.”
Fergus smiled as he showed her the box of red velvet ribbon and a gizmo to wrap the ribbon around and through. The end result was a beautiful handmade-looking bow.
Maggie screwed up her first, second, and third bows and was starting over just as Isabelle Flanders rolled over in bed and debated if she should answer the phone or not. With a nudge from Abner Tookus, she clicked on the phone and listened to Nikki’s greeting, which was, “Sorry to call you so early, Isabelle, but I just spoke with Maggie, and we need you to get a message . . . well, it’s more like a request, to Abner Tookus, and if he accepts, Abner is to tack it on to his bill.”
She explained Maggie’s dream and wound down by saying, “So, we know that two initials are like finding leaves in the wind, but Maggie said Abner has special software that should work. How soon do you think you can pass this on to Abner?”
Isabelle giggled. “How about right now?”
Nikki looked down at her watch. She wiggled her eyebrows for her own benefit. “Oh,” was all she could think of to say. A grin stretched from ear to ear when she heard Isabelle giggle. In all the years she’d known Isabelle, she’d never heard her giggle. Not ever. “Well, I’ll hang up now. When you have time, give me a call and let me know what . . . what Abner’s decision is.” She broke the connection before Isabelle could respond.
“Way to go, Isabelle,” Nikki chortled to herself as she shuffled papers on her desk. She wondered if the other Sisters knew about Isabelle’s new relationship. Well, Isabelle’s love life was none of her business. Or was it? She hoped that Abner Tookus knew how lucky he was. If he didn’t, the Sisters would make him aware of it lickety-split. “Damn,” she said happily. Who knew?
While Nikki hustled over to the courthouse for an early morning hearing on a motion, Isabelle relayed Nikki’s request to Abner, who groaned. Isabelle laughed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. A long arm snaked out and drew her back under the covers. “This is where we pretend we’re kids again in the orphanage, and we’re waking up Christmas morning to this glorious Christmas tree whose lights I leave on twenty-four/seven. We have to imagine, for the moment, that there are hundreds of presents nestled underneath, with both our names on them. All of them are from Santa because we were both good all year. Close your eyes, and when you open them, squeal with pleasure. Can you do that, Isabelle?” Abner whispered.
“I can,” Isabelle said softly. When she opened her eyes, tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she still managed to squeal, a high-pitched keening sound that Abner echoed. She looked at Abner through her tears and saw that his eyes were just as wet as her own. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t find the words. She hoped she would forever remember this moment. Abner squeezed her hand. She squeezed his back. The moment was preserved. Forever and ever plus one more day.
The dogs barked on cue. Abner groaned again and got up. He threw on some clothes and his heavy jacket. By the time he got to the elevator, the dogs were waiting with their leashes. In spite of himself, he laughed. He couldn’t ever remember a time when he felt this good, so at peace with himself and his life.
Isabelle heard the elevator thirty-five minutes later, just as she flipped the last of the pancakes. “Just keep them warm till I brush my teeth,” Abner said, loping off to the bathroom.
They ate in happy silence, silly smiles on their faces.
“You’ll do it, right?” Isabelle said.
“Of course. It shouldn’t take long. I want to go over the final report on the other stuff, and then you can take it out to Ms. de Silva. What time is your morning meeting over?”
“Depends on the client. Some of them like to chat it up, you know, be reassured that the plans will be exact. Some of them don’t understand Murphy’s Law and inspections. To be safe, I’d say noon. I’ll come back here. By the way, why do you keep calling Annie ‘Ms. de Silva’? She likes to be called Annie.”
“She never told me to call her Annie, and she is my employer and as such deserves my respect. To be totally honest, I am worried about what Maggie might have said to you all.”
Isabelle looked Abner in the eye and said, “Maggie never ever said a ne
gative word about you. In fact, we never even knew your name until a month or so ago. Maggie holds you in the highest regard. She was very hard on herself where you were and are concerned.”
Abner seemed content with Isabelle’s explanation. “You go ahead and take the bathroom. I’m going to feed your latest request into the computers. I can shower and shave later. I’ll clean up, too.”
“Don’t forget to add water to the tree stand,” Isabelle called over her shoulder.
“Yes, ‘Mom.’” A moment later, Abner was off his stool and barreling down the hall to his workstation, where he typed furiously for several minutes, sat back, then typed some more. Two hours, tops, and he should have every JJ in the District of Columbia plus fifty miles around.
Abner pressed another button on a different computer and waited for the printer to activate. He watched, a smile of satisfaction on his face, as page after page flew out of the printer. Within minutes he knew he had more than a ream of paper. Translated, five-hundred-plus pages of background material on the four subjects he’d been hired to vet.
Now all he had to do was make sense of it all. He looked up at one of the many clocks that adorned his walls. He had plenty of time. He was, after all, a computer whiz, wasn’t he?
As he was stapling and sifting through the stack of papers, Isabelle appeared in the doorway. “I watered the tree. If I’m going to be late, I’ll call you, okay?” She wanted to go over to the stool where Abner was sitting and kiss him, but she held back. At that moment, he was in another world, a world that didn’t include her. She forced cheerfulness into her voice and said, “Bye.”
Abner looked up and over at the sound of her voice. Isabelle watched as the transition from computer world to personal world fought a battle. For a nanosecond, she thought she had lost the battle, but Abner scooted the stool he was sitting on across the floor and leaped off. A second later, she was in his arms, and he was kissing her so hard, she thought her back teeth were going to come loose. She’d never been kissed with such passion in her whole life. And she liked it. No! She loved it. She said so.
Abner laughed, a heartwarming sound that stayed with her all the way to her office.
Isabelle Flanders was in love.
Back in the loft, Abner scooted his stool back to his workstation, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to do what he was doing. He wanted to chase after Isabelle, grab her in his arms, and run somewhere far away. Far, far away. Maybe to Hawaii and that glorious beachfront property he’d purchased last year.
Abner Tookus, soon to be Dr. Abner Tookus, was in love.
Abner looked at his housemates, at the two Dobermans, who were watching him, and the Yorkie, who was clamoring to be picked up, at the cat, who was already in his lap, and said, “Holy shit, guys, I’m in love!”
Chapter 19
Ten minutes later, Abner was back in his other world, the world he’d lived in for so many years, a world that hadn’t included Isabelle Flanders and love. He was like a whirlwind as he moved from computer to printer, back to computer and on to another printer. The room hummed with sounds as he sifted and collated the papers, separating them into neat piles according to each government agency. Now all he had to do was sit down and read what he had in front of him. No small task, to be sure. He thought then about how much he was going to charge for this assignment. Satisfied that it would be enough to finish his cabin without his touching any other money, he let loose with a sigh so loud, Dolly, the big white Persian cat, leaped off his lap and hissed at him before she stalked her way out of the room.
Abner decided to go with the big gun first and pulled out the stack of CIA printouts. Adam Daniels’s, the money guy. He read through the file as it related to Daniel’s tenure at the CIA. A career guy with a paunch and a bad hairpiece. He studied the picture that accompanied his file from all angles. Married thirty years, two kids, a boy and a girl, who lived in New York. Three grandchildren. Lived in Old Town Alexandria, in a rather nice Federal-looking house complete with blue door. Beach house on the eastern seaboard, nothing elaborate. A five-year-old Boston Whaler that he kept in dry dock. No traffic tickets. Mr. Upstanding Citizen. Wife, Arlene, was a retired fifth-grade schoolteacher. Either Mrs. Daniels didn’t like to cook or wouldn’t cook, because credit-card receipts said they dined out seven nights a week. He wondered what the couple did for the other two meals of the day.
Abner continued to flip pages, scanning each intently before turning it over. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a thing. Not good for his image. Gold’s Gym. Two visits in the last five years. He’d played squash at the indoor cage at CIA headquarters with . . . Matthew Logan from the Department of Justice. Once a week Daniels went to the shooting range without fail. Excellent shot, won two awards from the NRA. He liked to shoot skeet with . . . Henry Maris from Homeland Security.
Daniels had put in twenty years at the Treasury Department before going over to the CIA. Abner sucked on his lower lip as he tried to figure out if he was missing something. Adam Daniels was just Mr. Ordinary. “Ahhhh, what have we here?” Abner turned over another page. Best friends with ex-Director Span of the CIA before the latter’s forced retirement. Span was best buddies with Hank Jellicoe, now rotting away in a federal prison.
Abner tapped at his chin with a pencil. Span and Jellicoe. All those lucrative government contracts he’d approved for Jellicoe back in the day. So much money one person couldn’t count it all. He plopped a paperweight on the papers, rolled across the floor to a computer against the far wall, and tapped furiously. Then he made two phone calls, waited, checked his e-mails, and tapped some more.
Ten minutes later, sheets of paper started piling up in the trays of three different printers. He tapped some more. Another printer went crazy as even more papers spewed out. Now he finally had what he needed. At least he hoped so. Director Span had okayed lucrative contracts to Hank Jellicoe for years and years, but if he remembered correctly, the amounts of money paid to Global Securities never added up when he snooped in Jellicoe’s bank records. If he remembered correctly, there was way too much money unaccounted for, with no trail to follow, and there were no “clients” at the time other than the government.
He made a mental note to tell Isabelle to get those files from Maggie, because he did not keep copies of anything once he turned the job over to the person who hired him. He preferred to be as pure as the driven snow where all that was concerned. Once he invaded—he hated the term hacked—a subject’s life, he made a point of never doing it again. So if Maggie or her boss hadn’t made copies, they were all SOOL.
Abner scooted all around his work area, gathering the papers from the various printers. He scanned them, collated and stapled them, and added them to his other files. There was something there. He was sure of it because the fine hairs on the back of his neck were moving. He scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad.
A break was called for. Abner loped off to the kitchen, reached for an apple, and crunched down. Just the act of chewing sometimes triggered something in his head. He’d never been able to explain it even to himself.
As he munched and chewed, he wondered if everyone but himself kept their lives on their computers. He had his life secured thanks to Suze Orman, the financial guru whom he’d trust with his life.
Five minutes later, Abner was back in his workroom. He fiddled and diddled, whistled to himself, tapped his foot as he punched the keys; then he was looking at Adam Daniels’s computer.
He’d broken the politician’s password the previous day. He typed it in and proceeded to go through Daniels’s files and e-mails again to see if anything had changed. He wondered what the fussy little man would think if he knew his computer had been compromised. Abner had the knowledge and the power to crash Daniels’s computer if he wanted to. Actually, he could bring down the entire computer system at the CIA if he wanted to. But not yet. Maybe soon, though. He shut down and rolled back to his stack of files.
Next on his list was Barney Gray of
the FBI. Gray was two years away from retirement. A widower with three children, all living in California, the land of orange blossoms and sunshine. He lived in the Watergate, saw different women occasionally, nothing out of the ordinary. Definitely not a playboy. Lived within his means, healthy, stable bank account. A consistent saver. Loaned money to his kids from time to time. Active Lutheran church member. No gym for him. Rarely charged on his Visa card. Used the ATM every other day but did not withdraw more than a hundred dollars at a time. Charged his groceries and gas on an American Express card that he paid off every month.
All his records reconciled. Played bridge twice a month but with neighbors, no government people. He liked to fish and hike and belonged to two different clubs, a fishing club and a hiking club. His three children, two boys and a girl, visited each year around the Fourth of July, when, as a family, they went camping or white-water rafting. No grandchildren to dandle on his knees.
The only interaction between Gray and the other three moneymen was either a meeting where the directors were present or by chance out somewhere. Nothing was prearranged. In Abner’s mind, Barney Gray was clean. That meant the FBI was clean. He separated the FBI’s files and scooted them over to a bare shelf. He plopped a sticky note on top that said “Clean.”
Next up was Henry Maris from the Department of Homeland Security. Well, if ever there was an organization that could rival a Chinese fire drill, the DHS was it. Maris was like dog poop in a park—he was all over the place. He was in debt up to his eyeballs, three months in arrears on his mortgage, and in danger of losing his town house; spent way beyond his means; charged everything under the sun. Liked designer clothes and custom-made shoes. As of the moment, his checking account said he had $345 in it. He had overdraft protection. He had tapped his retirement account three times in the last seven years and hadn’t paid back a penny of it. He drove a leased Mercedes-Benz and was two months behind in his lease payments. No unexplained cash deposits into his bank account.
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