“It’s one o’clock in the morning, girls. I say we hit the sheets and convene first thing in the morning,” Nikki said.
“Then I’ll say good night and good-bye,” Charles said as he gathered up what looked like a fifty-pound briefcase. “I will call every few hours. Call me if you make any carved-in-stone decisions. And, no, I am not telling any of you where I’m going, not even you, Myra.” He kissed his wife and blew kisses to the others as he marched across the room and out the door.
“Charles, it’s one o’clock in the morning!” Myra said weakly.
“Best time to travel, old girl,” Charles called.
The Sisters grumbled among themselves as they gathered up their jackets and boots for the trek across the compound to their living quarters. Some of the comments were: “Charles never leaves the mountain, like in never.” “It has to have something to do with Lizzie. He’ll turn himself inside out for her.” “He never moved from the computer all day. It was like he knew what was going to go down before it did, and he was preparing for this.”
And then came the big question posed by Annie. “How long before the secret gets out and Lizzie’s name is worldwide?” When there was no response, Annie huffed and puffed her way across the compound, Murphy nipping at the tops of her boots.
Inside their quarters, Kathryn ripped at her outer clothes, tossing them in a pile by the front door. Murphy immediately claimed her down jacket as his bed for the night. “Who was the fool who said we should get some sleep? With all this going on, I’ll probably never sleep again. Well?”
“I think it was me,” Myra said.
“No, it was me,” Nikki said. “Look, we don’t have to go to sleep. It was just a suggestion. We can sit here all night and hash it out to death, but we don’t have enough information to do that. Until we hear from Lizzie herself or Maggie, there’s nothing we can do. We don’t have information, we don’t have a plan, and Charles is obviously up to something he thinks will help, so we can’t undermine whatever that may be. Ergo, the best thing to do is try to go to sleep.”
“Why don’t we try calling Maggie?” Isabelle asked.
“That’s not a good move,” Alexis said. “She might still be at Lizzie’s house or maybe even staying the night. Girl talk of the most serious kind. We can’t rock that boat right now. That’s my opinion.”
“Maggie will call when she has something to report,” Yoko said. “I don’t know if I should be happy or sad for Lizzie. She just got married, and she’s so happy. Now her world is going to turn upside down.”
“Lizzie can handle anything,” Isabelle said.
“No, Isabelle, Lizzie can’t handle everything. Did you forget that time Jack brought her to the mountain from the cemetery? She’d given up. The press is going to go back to the day she was born. They’ll bring in that whole Mafia thing,” Nikki said.
“But…”
“Nikki’s right,” Annie said. “This is just a wild guess on my part, but wherever Charles is going, I think it has something to do with Lizzie’s background. I want all of you to think about something. Then we’re going to bed, whether we like it or not. Right now, at this moment in time, we ourselves are outrageously famous. We can spread the word that we want Lizzie nominated. If we’re to believe our own press, politicians shudder and run for cover when our names are mentioned. Just the fact that we’re on it, so to speak, will speak volumes, and don’t forget Maggie and the Post. Now, if Lizzie decides to pass on the nomination, and the press and the Washington insiders go after her, we go after them. One at a time.”
Myra got up and started to wring her hands. “Annie, dear, when we broke into Baron Bell’s offices, what was the name of that senator you said had a thick file in that old safe?”
Annie’s eyes sparked. “Ah yes, Senator Lantzy. He sits on every committee and is quite powerful. He has a voice in the Senate, and his colleagues listen to him. And we have the file on him that Baron Bell made sure never saw the light of day! Ooooh, I’m starting to get excited, girls.”
“Ah, I’m suddenly seeing some light and perhaps the beginning of a plan,” Nikki said. She yawned elaborately. “I think I might be able to sleep now.”
The yawn was contagious as the others followed Nikki out of the room. Only Myra and Annie remained.
Annie reached down into the bowl of candy and popped a handful of M&M’s into her mouth. When she finished chewing, she said, “Cough it up, Myra. Where did Charles go? And don’t even think about telling me you don’t know, because if you say that, I am going to snatch those pearls right off you and drape them around Murphy’s neck. He will eat them, and there go your beloved pearls.”
“I think, and I say I think, he went to see Hank Jellicoe.”
“I need more than that, or those pearls belong to Murphy,” Annie snapped.
“Henry Jellicoe of Global Securities, also known as Hank to his friends. When Hank was known as HJ Securities and just starting out, he did the security for my candy company. When Charles came to the States, he took over, and Hank moved on to become Jellicoe Securities. Over the years he built the company, until today it’s known as Global Securities. He’s got offices all over the world. His yearly revenue, Charles told me last year, was in the billions. You want security, you go to Hank Jellicoe. He hires only the best of the best. Ex-FBI, ex-CIA, ex–Secret Service. Then he debriefs them and retrains them at some secret location. He pays his people astronomical sums of money, and there’s a waiting list to get hired. Anyway, he and Charles are great friends. Oh, did I mention his people also do, or at least they used to do, security for the White House when big doings are going on? Impeccable reputation. Oh, one other thing. He keeps files on everyone. You think J. Edgar had files. Ha! According to Charles, what J. Edgar had was kindergarten stuff compared to Jellicoe. You happy now, Annie?”
Annie nodded sagely. “Okay, you get to keep the pearls. By the way, Myra, I have yet to see you on the pole.”
“This might be a very good time for us to retire for the evening, Annie dear,” Myra said as she headed to the door to go back to the main building, which she shared with Charles.
“Why don’t you stay here this evening? There’s an extra bed in my room. You don’t want to be alone, do you?”
“Oh, Annie, I thought you’d never ask. You’re right. I hate being alone.” Myra hugged her old friend, and together they walked down the hall to Annie’s room. “About that pole…”
Three hundred miles away as the crow flies, Maggie Spritzer stared at Lizzie Fox. People, she thought, really did go into trances. Who knew?
“Lizzie, you need to say something. I don’t even care if you tell me you hate me for coming here and telling you all this. Just say something, okay?” Maggie watched, fascinated at the way Lizzie’s throat muscles worked and the way she tried to lick at her dry lips.
“I don’t know what to say. The whole thing is…bizarre. Why me? It must be some kind of trap. It has to have something to do with the vigilantes. They’ll hash that over forever. Then they’ll start digging into my background and run with my husband’s family. You know how that went down. Doesn’t matter if we were innocent bystanders or not. Cosmo. I don’t understand why…Oh, poor Cosmo, he must be in such turmoil. They’ll go on the attack and chew him up.”
Maggie laughed. “No, they won’t. You have the most powerful weapons there are on your side. You have the Post. You have the vigilantes. You have all of Vegas and all those important people Cosmo knows. I’m thinking they’re going to be treating you with kid gloves.”
Maggie leaned across the table and took Lizzie’s cold hands in her own. “The big question, Lizzie, is, do you want to be an associate justice of the Supreme Court? You know as well as I do, it’s not what you know. It’s who you know. The best thing you could have done was take on the job of chief White House counsel pro bono. Cosmo bought you that big, wonderful new house, so that’s out of the way. You two can commute just the way you’re doing now, if it’s what you want.�
�
“Oh, Maggie, if it was only that easy. I made a promise to the girls to get their pardon. I won’t be able to work behind the scenes to make that happen. I will be under such scrutiny. I do not like people watching me. Unless I want them to watch me. But to answer your question, I’ve always had this picture in my mind of myself in my black robe, sitting with the other eight justices. I was always sitting in the middle. I think every lawyer ever born sees himself sitting on the highest court in the land. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, I want that. But not at the girls’ or Cosmo’s expense. How long do you think I have before the word gets out?”
“I think you have plenty of breathing room, Lizzie. No one knows about Justice Leonard’s decision but Cosmo and the president, and, of course, the girls. The president is going to sit on it for a little while. Don’t forget, this is all new to her, too. Remember now, you can’t let on you know. That means you cannot call up Cosmo and talk it to death. At least not yet. The other thing is, do not get angry that Cosmo held out on you. I want your promise on that.”
Lizzie nodded.
“You know what? I think I’m hungry. No, I’m ravenous. What do you have to eat?”
Lizzie laughed. “My larder is full. Did you forget Cosmo was here? I have some of everything,” she said, jumping off her chair and running to the refrigerator. “I have ham, roast chicken, a potato-cheesy-onion casserole that Cosmo loves and made himself. All kinds of vegetables and fruit. Beer, wine, soft drinks, or coffee.”
“A little bit of everything. I’ll make the coffee. Are you going to join me?”
“Damn straight. We need to celebrate. Oh, Maggie, do you think it’s even remotely possible that one day soon I will be sitting on the Supreme Court, just the way Sandra Day O’Connor did? She was my idol, you know. Still is.”
Maggie turned away from the sink, where she was measuring coffee into the pot. She set it down and placed her hands on Lizzie’s shoulders. She looked deep into her friend’s eyes and saw only honesty, integrity, and hope. “Honey, us women are going to put you there if that’s what you want. As Annie would say, you can take that to the bank. You know the bank I’m talking about, the one that is owned by a woman in the District.”
Lizzie burst out laughing and almost dropped the ham she was holding.
The two women high-fived one another before Lizzie started to slice the ham.
One impossible dream coming up, Maggie thought happily.
Chapter 7
Even in the dark, with all the snow and the ground and tree lighting, Charles Martin thought it was the most beautiful spot in the entire world. He remembered thinking the same thing some thirty-odd years ago, when he’d been brought here as a guest of the owner.
Back then he’d been told this place was called Lord’s Valley by the owner. These days it was called Jellicoe Valley. There was even a quaint sign five miles back, right underneath the road marker, that said so. This time he was coming as an uninvited guest.
Charles sucked in his breath, knowing that all manner of eyes, human and electronic, were on him, even though the night was pitch-black. He wondered just for a moment if he should get out of his Hummer and wave a white flag, but he didn’t have a white flag to wave. He supposed a handkerchief would do it. On second thought, the wisest thing to do was probably just to sit there and wait for someone to come and get him.
The thought no sooner passed through his mind when he heard a light tap on the window. He pressed the power button and said, “You’re good.”
The man ignored the compliment. “Welcome to Jellicoe Valley, Mr. Martin. Mr. Jellicoe said to ask you what took you so long.”
Charles chuckled. “A little of this, a little of that. Thirty years isn’t all that long.”
There was no return chuckle. “Follow me, sir. Be sure to stay on my tracks. We don’t want any unnecessary explosions. Mr. Jellicoe is partial to quiet, especially at this time of night.”
Claymore mines. Unlike Fish’s spread in the Nevada desert and his pretend mines, Charles knew there were indeed mines surrounding Hank Jellicoe’s hundred-acre spread here at the foot of the Allegheny Mountains.
When he’d been here a lifetime ago, it was just wild brush, scraggly trees, and a rustic three-room cabin. As he bounced along behind his escort, Charles tried to remember exactly when he’d seen an architectural rendering of Jellicoe’s spread, as he liked to call it. Someone brave enough at the time had taken some aerial shots of the man’s property, then had the audacity to publish his drawings in Architectural Digest. Why he’d never submitted the actual photos he’d taken was something that was never explained. Nor was the man’s disappearance ever explained to anyone’s satisfaction. He had heard, but was never sure if it was the truth or not, that AD had paid through the nose for invading Hank Jellicoe’s privacy. Along with sending a note of sincere apology.
It was a wise man, or, in some cases, a wise woman, who learned that you did not bring down the wrath of one Hank Jellicoe, aka Jellicoe Securities, aka Global Securities. At least if you valued your life.
There were more lights now. To Charles’s keen eye, it looked like a winter wonderland with all the lighting, the shimmering snow, and the fragrant pine trees. Christmas-card perfect. The cabin was still there, nestled among a copse of pine trees. He turned to the right and saw the house. Gabled and turreted, it spread out for what, Charles thought, could be several city blocks. The house was lit up from top to bottom. And there was a light on on the front porch. And it was a porch, one that wrapped around the entire house, from what he could see. Just like Motel 6, Hank had the light on for him. Good old Hank.
Charles strained to see beyond the house and thought he saw a row of garages, a stable, which made sense because Hank loved to ride early in the morning. Hank also liked to swim, so he knew somewhere there was a heated indoor pool and probably one outside, too. A tennis court was somewhere. He was sure of it. Just the way he was sure there was an airplane hangar and a helicopter pad, and if there was any deep water around, a yacht would be moored somewhere. Hank Jellicoe had it all going for him.
The four-wheel drive in front of him came to a stop. The man climbed out, his AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Charles knew the drill. He remained in the Hummer until the man approached his vehicle.
“You can get out now, Mr. Martin. Mr. Jellicoe is waiting for you. He held dinner for your arrival.”
“Very sporting of him,” Charles said. He reached behind him for his bag, but quicker than lightning, his escort had his arm in a vise.
“No need to carry your bag, Mr. Martin. I’ll bring it up.”
As soon as you go through it, you mean. Charles slid out of the Hummer and made his way up the steps to the old-fashioned front porch.
The monster cathedral-style door opened, and there stood his host. “What the hell took you so long, Charlie? Thirty years is a long time.”
Charles winced at being called Charlie. If anyone else but Hank Jellicoe had called him Charlie, he would have decked him on the spot. The men shook hands the way men do, then pounded each other on the back the way men do, before Jellicoe led Charles into the main part of the house.
It was a man’s house, all leather and wood and polished wood floors. It smelled like a man’s house, too. The scent of burning wood, pipe and cigar smoke hung in the air, but it was not unpleasant.
“Come along before dinner is ruined. We’ve been keeping it warm until you got here. We have all night to palaver. Venison is on the menu. I remembered how you like venison. A bunch of other stuff, too. And I made the pie myself, Charlie. It’s every bit as good as yours. Wait till you taste it. Used the apples from the root cellar, so it’s as fresh as can be. Got a secret ingredient in there, which you are never going to figure out,” Hank Jellicoe said by way of greeting.
Charles looked at his host and grinned. “We’ll see.”
Henry, Hank to those near and dear to him, Jellicoe was a tall man, six-four or so, with snow-white hair, weathered skin bronze
d by the sun, wrinkles that were more like trenches, and the sharpest blue eyes ever to grace a man. His teeth, whiter than snow in his dark face, could light up the night. He boasted that his weight, 180 pounds, was the same as it was the day he turned eighteen. He was lean and rangy, sinewy from his neck to his toes. Dressed in his favorite garb of worn, tattered, and battered jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, with boots he had specially made for his size-sixteen feet. Charles knew for a fact he had the strength of an ox. But what Charles respected most about Hank Jellicoe was that he was an honest, fair, and generous man. The three traits Charles most admired in a man. Or woman.
Jellicoe escorted Charles to a long table set for two. “First things first, Charlie. I want to get it out of the way. Tough break about your son. I did what I could. I want you to know that.”
“I know you did, Hank. I tried to get word to you.”
“I got the word.”
And that was the end of that conversation.
Charles sat down and opened his napkin. “Has there been any…”
“Don’t go there, Charlie. That topic is not up for discussion.”
Charles looked into the sharp blue eyes and gave a nod.
Jellicoe shook out his own napkin and leaned back when his server placed a huge platter of food in front of him. “So you finally tied the knot. I have a wedding present in the hall closet. I hope Myra likes it. Heard you didn’t much care for that water bed in the Caymans.”
Charles burst out laughing. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Jellicoe grinned. “Nope. Does Myra know you’re here?”
Charles stopped chewing on the delectable venison and said, “I thought you just said you know everything. Myra is fine. No, she doesn’t know where I am, but by now I’m thinking she’s probably figured it out. There’s a special place in her heart for you, you know that, right?”
Game Over Page 5