Game Over

by Fern Michaels

  “I do. I would move heaven and earth for that lady. In part, she’s responsible for who and what I am today. I don’t forget things like that. And the…girls?”

  “For someone who knows everything, there seems to be a few gaps in your intel, Hank. The girls are fine, but we find ourselves in a bit of a quandary at the moment.”

  Jellicoe nodded.

  “So, are you on a hiatus, vacation, what?” Charles asked. “I remembered you always liked to be home for Christmas and took a wild chance I’d actually find you in residence. What do you call this place these days?”

  Jellicoe laughed. “I call it my house. One of my operatives said it reminds him of a mall. I like space, Charlie. Lots and lots of space. Don’t know why that is. It just is. I do love Christmas. I had a big tree with colored lights. Did the whole drill, wreath on the front door, candles in the windows. Presents under the tree for the help. It was depressing as hell. How’s things on the mountain?”

  “It gets confining at times, but we’ve adjusted. Every so often we develop a raging case of cabin fever. What’s the word on Pappy?”

  “Contented on that mountaintop in Spain you swapped out. I’ve been trying to entice him back into the fold, but so far I’m not having any luck. You want to do an intervention?”

  “No. He has three youngsters these days. Kids need to know their father and see him every day. You and I both know that. Leave him alone, Hank. How long are you going to be here before you trot off somewhere?”

  “Well, the plan was for me to leave here at the end of the week, but when I found out you were on the way and the why of it all, I put those plans on hold. We’ll get to that later. You ready for my pie now?”

  “I feel like I should loosen my belt, but, yes, I’m game. You still think I won’t be able to figure out your secret ingredient?”

  “Ha! I would have made a hell of a pastry chef, but this crazy-ass sweet tooth would do me in. I try to limit my sugar. We aren’t getting any younger, you know. Now you have to watch your triglycerides, your good and bad cholesterol, all that crap. Just so you know, mine are all within normal boundaries. How are yours?”

  “Perfect.”

  “My ass they’re perfect. Look at the weight you put on, Charlie. All you do is sit behind a computer.”

  “When I get back to the mountain, I’ll fax you my medical report. Like I said, they’re perfect, which leads me to believe yours are not.”

  Jellicoe flinched. “You always were a show-off, Charlie. Well, here’s our pie. It’s my turn to show off. Eat hearty, my friend.”

  Charles did eat hearty and savored every bite of the delectable flaky pastry. “Almost as good as mine, Hank.”

  Jellicoe threw his head back and laughed. “I guess we could have a bake off if you hang around here long enough. So, what’s the secret ingredient?”

  Charles snorted. “Pomegranate. Did you really think I couldn’t taste it? Maybe, I’m thinking, a quarter cup of the pulp.”

  “Son of a bitch! How did you figure it out?”

  “I tasted it, you son of a bitch!”

  Jellicoe was still pretending to be outraged when he said, “Coffee and brandy in my study and a really good Cuban cigar.”

  “I’m your man,” Charles said, pushing back his chair.

  Settled in front of the fireplace, which rose all the way to the ceiling and held half an oak tree, which sent sparks shooting up the chimney, Hank Jellicoe poured hundred-year-old brandy into a snifter and handed it to Charles. “To the best of the best,” Jellicoe said, clinking his glass against Charles’s snifter.

  In spite of himself, Charles was flattered. “At pie baking,” he quipped.

  Jellicoe roared with laughter. “That, too! So, talk to me, Charlie.”

  “It’s about Lizzie Fox. Lizzie Fox Cricket these days.”

  Jellicoe roared again with laughter. “Now, who in the world would ever think old Kick could get himself a filly like Miz Lizzie? Sure as hell not me. I have to tell you, I was dumbfounded. I sent a smashing present to the newlyweds. Got a sweet handwritten note from the new Mrs. Cricket. I love that little lady like she was my own daughter. You know that, Charlie, and I think of Kick as a son. But then you know that, too. Articulate and fill in all the little ifs, ands, and buts. I’ll take it from there.”

  Charles talked. For an hour. With no interruptions. The 140-proof, hundred-year-old brandy bottle was down to the quarter mark. The oak log was still burning as brightly as both men’s eyes.

  Jellicoe reached for a second cigar, clipped the end, and handed it to Charles. He did the same for his own. Both men puffed contentedly. “The big question, Charlie, is this. Does Lizzie want to go to the Supreme Court? If she does, we have the power to put her there. If she doesn’t, this is all moot.”

  “Lizzie never puts herself first. She’s worried about the vigilantes. She’s worried about Cricket. There’s the commute from Vegas to here. She might want it so bad she can taste it, but she won’t lift a finger to help herself if she thinks it will cause one iota of trouble for the vigilantes or her new husband. That’s why Lizzie is Lizzie. Ten years ago, when you needed her, she pulled it together for you and didn’t take a fee. At least that’s the story I heard at the time. She said—correct me if I’m wrong—‘I might need a favor someday, and I expect you to come through for me.’ We both know she’d never ask, so it’s up to you to honor that favor, don’t you think?”

  “You son of a bitch! Where do you get off telling me I would even think about not honoring the favor, and I know she’d never ask? Do you hear me? I know that, Charlie.”

  “No need to get your knickers in a twist, Hank. I’m just saying. Do you still walk in and out of the White House like it’s your summer home?”

  “Well, yeah, when I’m in town,” Jellicoe drawled. “I like the new president. We get along just fine. She told me to call her Marti. I’m Henry to her. She likes biblical names for some reason. But she did say Hank suits me. Yep, we get along just fine.”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me, you old reprobate?”

  Jellicoe grinned from ear to ear. “Back to business. But first off, did you ever sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom? I did, and it sucked. But the company more than made up for it.”

  “That’s more than I needed to know, Hank.”

  “No. You needed to know that.” Jellicoe was all business now. “Game over, Charlie. You want Lizzie on the Supreme Court, she’s there. Anything else?”

  “Well, I think I might want to know what the fallout is going to be.”

  Jellicoe pretended horror at the statement. “And what makes you think there will be fallout? Have you ever heard of any fallout from anything I’ve ever done over the years?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Jellicoe said, “No, you have not, and there will be none this time, either.”

  It was a guarantee, pure and simple. Charles accepted it.

  “No sense in letting this fine brandy sit in the bottle. We might as well finish it and head for bed. Tomorrow is another day. Actually,” Jellicoe said so quietly, Charles had to strain to hear the words, “there is one other thing, Charlie. I personally saw the pardons on the president’s desk. I just wanted you to know that. Now, when and how she’s going to handle it, I don’t know. Let me clarify that. At this precise moment I do not know how she’s going to handle it. Tomorrow or the day after might be a different story.”

  Charles nodded and got up. He tossed his cigar into the fireplace. “Cosmo will come out of this intact?”

  “Better than ever. He’ll be a household name. What? You doubt me, Sir Malcolm?”

  “Not for a minute.”

  Both men slapped each other on the back as they made their way out to the hall, where there was a moving sidewalk that would take them to the west wing, which housed the bedrooms.

  “Were you drunk when you designed this house, Hank?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I was thinking more of my declining years and bad knees and the lik
e. Got four elevators, three moving sidewalks. Works for me.”

  Two moving sidewalks and one elevator ride later, Jellicoe opened the door to a massive suite of rooms. “When I had this room designed, I had Myra in mind. I always hoped she would come to visit someday.”

  “All you have to do is invite her, Hank, and she’ll find a way to make the trip. This is just a wild guess on my part, Hank, but Myra is the one you should talk to about—”

  “Good night, Charlie.”

  “Good night, Hank.”

  Chapter 8

  Stuffed to the gills, Maggie tossed and turned in Lizzie’s guest room, the cell phone that was live—with Abner Tookus on the other end—clutched in her hand. “You there, sweet cheeks?”

  Maggie strained to hear a mumbled response. “Where do you think I’d be at this hour of the night? Why aren’t you sleeping, anyway?”

  “Because I don’t want to miss anything. Do you have anything?”

  “Of course I have something. I do not run a Mickey Mouse operation. You know that. I hope you didn’t call me just to chitchat.”

  “Well, what do you have?”

  “Stuff. I have stuff. I am not giving it to you in dribs and drabs, because it won’t make sense, and that’s not how I work. You know that, Maggie.”

  “That Porsche is starting to look like a Kia, Mr. Tookus.”

  “You win some. You lose some. Go to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep. That’s why I’m calling you. This is important, Abby, and I’m only as good as my sources, who, I might add, rob me blind.” When there was no response, she said, “Okay, okay, I’m going to sleep, but if you get anything, shout. I’m a light sleeper, and I’ll hear you.”

  Maggie reached up and turned off the light. Then she turned it back on. She pulled out her other phone from under the pillow and called Ted. When she heard his groggy voice, she said, “Did you remember to get the cat food?” She thought she heard Ted mumble something; then she heard him snoring. She looked over at the little digital clock on the nightstand—3:20. She realized she was hungry. She didn’t think Lizzie would mind if she went down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. If she spent thirty minutes eating, another twenty taking a shower, she could call her driver and be at the paper before it got light out. She shook her head as she pulled on her clothes. She’d never been able to sleep in a strange bed, no matter how comfortable it was.

  She crept quietly down the stairs and headed for Lizzie’s cozy kitchen. She blinked when she saw Lizzie sitting at the table, coffee cup in front of her. Maggie backed up and was about to leave to go upstairs so as not to invade Lizzie’s private time when Lizzie motioned for her to sit down.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Maggie said. “Guess you couldn’t either, huh?”

  “I doubt I’ll ever be able to sleep again, Maggie. I have never in my life been in such a turmoil.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Maggie asked as she poured the last of the coffee into a cup.

  “No offense, but no. I was just sitting here thinking about how Cosmo and I made a promise not to keep secrets from one another. Now he has one, and so do I. I don’t know how it’s going to be once I show up at the White House. The game plan has now changed, with what you told me. Even though no one is supposed to know, I’m not sure I believe that. You and I both know there are no secrets in this town. The White House leaks like a sieve. I’m still getting my feet wet at Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue.”

  “Lizzie, you took three cases all the way to the Supreme Court, argued them, and won all three. That tells me you can handle this. Is there something in particular worrying you?” Maggie asked as she sipped at the coffee in her cup.

  “No, Maggie. It’s just such a shock. I need time to…to, you know, think about it, let it sink in. I’ll be fine. Like I said, once I get on with my day and the shock wears off, I’ll come down to earth.”

  Maggie smiled. “Why would you want to come down to earth? You should be soaring with the eagles and enjoying every second of it. This is like winning one of those big lotteries where the odds are a kazillion to one. Lizzie, look at me. Stop worrying about everyone else, and enjoy this moment in your life. Don’t blow it. Don’t take the edge off it, either. Enjoy every single nanosecond of it. Promise me.”

  Lizzie sat bolt upright in her chair. She laughed then, the tinkling, melodious sound she was known for, as both her clenched fists shot upward. “You’re absolutely right, Maggie. Thanks for bringing me up short. I promise. I think I’m going to wear yellow today. You know, spring, sunshiny, flowers blooming, that kind of thing.”

  Maggie grinned. “I looked out the window before I came downstairs. I saw snow flurries under the streetlight. There’s a flower shop on Independence Avenue that opens at seven o’clock. Stop and buy some tulips for your desk.”

  “Well, aren’t you Miss Sunshine herself this morning! I’ll do it. I love tulips, especially at this time of year.”

  “Well, now that we have the immediate problems of the world solved, I think I’m going to head home, since I’m already dressed. I might try for some springy attire myself. Thanks for the hospitality, Lizzie.”

  The two women hugged one another before Lizzie headed up the steps to the second floor while Maggie called her driver to pick her up.

  Twenty minutes later Maggie was settled in the back of the luxurious Town Car and headed to her house in Georgetown. She spent the entire ride home wondering what surprises the new day would bring.

  Lizzie Fox drummed her fingers on her desk, her gaze on the window and the lightly falling snow. She tore her eyes away from the wintry scene to look at the spring tulips sitting on her desk, her thoughts a million miles away. She’d bought several bunches of the colorful blooms, one for the president, one for Jackie Hollis, the president’s private secretary, and the last for Tobias Daniels, the president’s chief of staff. She’d been rewarded with smiles and effusive thanks. But that moment was gone, and she had a full day’s worth of work piled on her desk.

  Lizzie removed her jacket to reveal a bright summer yellow silk shirt. It was a yellow day, no doubt about it. As long as you didn’t look outside.

  It was midmorning when Lizzie looked up to see Jackie Hollis standing in the doorway. Lizzie scribbled a few more notes but motioned for the elderly woman to come in.

  Jackie Hollis was the mother of six and a grandmother of eight. Her office was decorated with pictures of her brood in every possible setting. She had unruly gray hair, cut very short, twinkling eyes, and a firm jaw. She wasn’t exactly a dragon guarding the portals of Martine Connor’s domain, but she came close. She played no favorites and donated to homeless shelters all the goodies people heaped on her in hopes of a tad of favoritism. She dressed conservatively, in suits of beige and gray, with colorful blouses. Lizzie suspected she had dozens of suits, in different styles, but she never ventured outside of the gray and beige color range. If she had a fault, it was that she smoked and was known to sneak outside with the help of the Secret Service agents, who, as she put it, covered her butt, with no pun intended. On more than one occasion the president and her closest ally scurried off to some unseen location to take a few quick puffs, with no one the wiser.

  “I thought you might like some coffee, Lizzie,” Jackie said, holding out a cup with the presidential seal emblazoned on the side. “I just made it.”

  Lizzie smiled. “I never turn down a cup of coffee. If you have time, sit down, and we can chat. I’m overdue for a break.”

  “I do have about ten minutes,” the older woman said as she settled herself in Lizzie’s one comfortable chair. “Do you think it will ever stop snowing?”

  Lizzie laughed as she tried to figure out if Jackie Hollis was privy to the president’s secret, her secret now. If she was, she was wearing one of the best poker faces she’d ever seen. “The weatherman said it’s snowed every day since Christmas.” Was it her imagination, or did Jackie look uncomfortable?

  Never a paranoid pe
rson, Lizzie realized she had become one. Secrets could be a terrible thing. Then again, there were secrets, and there were secrets. She crossed her ankles under the desk and hoped she wasn’t giving off any kind of bad vibes or signals to the woman sitting across from her.

  The two chatted a few more moments about Jackie’s Christmas with her grandchildren and how they’d frolicked in Rock Creek Park with their new sleds and sled boards.

  “Lord love a duck, I almost forgot why I came down here, Lizzie.”

  In a pig’s eye you forgot, Lizzie thought. She smiled.

  “The president asked me to have you pull the contracts for Global Securities and bring them up to me. She said there’s no big rush, but I sensed there is a rush, so when you have time, get them to me. It won’t be a problem, will it, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie almost fell off her chair at the mention of Global Securities. She knew Hank Jellicoe. Back in the day, she’d handled his legal work. When he went global, it had become a 24-7 job and had left no room for other clients. She’d worked for months, parceling out work to attorneys she trusted to give Hank the service he demanded and needed. To this day, she still handled some of his more private matters.

  “Not at all.” It would be a problem, though, because she had no clue where outside private contracts were kept. She knew without anyone having to tell her that Global Securities’ contracts were private and best kept that way, private. She knew they would be somewhere under lock and key, that was for sure.

  The fussy little lady paused in the doorway, turned, and said, “Thanks again for the lovely tulips, Lizzie. You really brightened my day today. And before I forget, you look like a splash of summertime sun. I love color. As famous and wonderful as this house is, it’s a dark place. I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time this morning.”

  “Not at all, Jackie. I welcome a break from time to time.”

  Now, what was that all about? Ah, yes, contracts. Ever mindful of the unseen eyes and ears that surrounded her, Lizzie went back to what she was doing, but her mind was not on the job at hand. Clearly, she was going to go out to lunch today, snow or no snow. She needed to call her husband to talk about Global Securities and one Hank Jellicoe, one of Cosmo’s oldest and dearest friends, and she didn’t want to do it from the White House. Cosmo might be able to give her some feedback because, while she had a professional relationship with Hank Jellicoe, Cosmo had a personal relationship with the head of Global Securities. Global oversaw all of Vegas’s internal security, even though most people thought it was casino security. Interestingly, when the vigilantes cleaned up the situation at Babylon, during which time Lizzie met and fell head over heels in love with her wonderful husband, Global was preparing a sting of its own to root out the corrupt security operation in that casino. When you talked billions of dollars a day, you called Global Securities to protect those billions.