Blindsided (15 page)

“I understand, you bastard. What you need to understand is I don't have Zander's home telephone number. None of us have it.”

“Surprise! Surprise! Here it is.” Sparrow rattled off the numbers to Palance's dismay. He tapped in the numbers, aware that Sparrow had pressed the button that activated the speakerphone.

The moment the phone was picked up after eight rings, Palance went into his spiel. “Boss, things got out of hand. You need to come here right now. And you need to come alone. We got blindsided. They want you.” Palance broke the connection, sweat dripping down his face. “Satisfied?” he snarled.

“Only if the son of a bitch shows up. One more thing. Where's the money?”

“What money?” Palance tried to bluff. Harry took a step forward. “Okay, okay, it's in the back of the justice's SUV.”

“How much? Where did it come from?”

“Ten million. As to where it came from, you'll have to ask Zander. All I know is that it's clean, unmarked money. You can't trace it anywhere. At least that's what he told us.”

“Justice Barnes, can your little organization use five million dollars?”

“Yes, sir, we can, and my people will be forever in your debt,” Pearl said smartly.

“It's yours,” Sparrow said. “Okay, guys, squat and form a circle. On your knees. Someone knock those damn lights out. Leave one set burning. Everyone else, get into position. Zander should be arriving momentarily, depending on how fast he drives.”

Fourteen minutes later, a low-slung sports car roared up the rough road, rocks and debris spitting in all directions. Gun in hand, Luther Zander approached his men, his face a mask of fury as he cursed in several different languages. “Answer me, goddamn it. What the hell happened here?” When none of his agents responded, Zander turned around and set off a deafening volley of shots high in the air.

“Well, that certainly got my attention, Zander,” Jack Sparrow said, coming up behind him. Bert swooped in from the left and kicked the gun out of the assistant director's hand. Sparrow grabbed his arms and jerked them backward. The assistant director howled in pain and outrage. Sparrow drove him to the ground, then hauled him to the middle of the circle, his legs straight out in front of him. “Now, I'm going to tell you once, and once only. Tell these fine agents how you railroaded me for your own purposes. Those that don't know, that is. Three by my count. All the rest lied the way you did. And tell these same fine agents how you planned on doing the same thing to Justice Barnes so you could step into the director's chair.”

“You're insane. A court of law found you guilty. I demand that you release me and my men immediately. Do you hear me, Sparrow?”

Sparrow's gun spit; he hit Zander's left kneecap straight on. Zander screamed. “One more chance.” When there was no response, Sparrow's gun spit a second time and blew out the assistant director's right kneecap. The agents in the circle stared, mesmerized at the pain they knew their boss was going through, wondering if their own kneecaps would be blown out. “The next shot is going to go through your foot—they'll have to amputate it, and you'll have a stump to walk around on. Talk, you son of a bitch! And make sure it's loud and clear so we can all hear what you're saying. Robinson, front and center. Make sure you get his permission to tape what he says.”

Ted obliged.

The agents listened, their eyes as wide as saucers. Barry and Palance couldn't believe that their boss was throwing them to the wolves. Then the cursing started all over again.

Sparrow reached into his hip pocket and yanked out a piece of paper that he'd typed up earlier with Zander's, Barry's, and Palance's confessions. He handed out five more and told the agents to fill in their own names on the blank affidavits. “Sign it, boys!”

“Like hell!” Barry blustered.

“Don't be like that, Agent Barry.” Sparrow brought his gun up, and said, “Center mass, and you're dead. No one will grieve for you. Sign the damn paper.” Whatever the agent saw reflected in Sparrow's eyes made him rethink his words. He nodded that he would sign the paper. Jack Emery removed the flex cuffs, and all three men signed their names. The remaining five followed suit.

“Now what?” Bert asked.

“Now we load all these guys in that big old yellow bus. I do believe that a man named Avery Snowden is waiting down the road to . . . ah . . . take his passengers somewhere that I am not privy to. Think of it as a relocation service.”

“My people are on the way,” Pearl said, hugging the man she thought of as her savior. “What will you do now?”

“My boss,” Sparrow said, jerking his head in Bert's direction, “said I can take a week's vacation. I'm thinking Monte Carlo sounds good. Give me some insight I can take back to Bert. You're good, Justice Barnes. Call me if you even think you have any problems, and I'll be there. You know, like the song says, call my name, and I'll be here.”

“Harry, Jack, nice seeing you again. Bert . . .” He shrugged, not sure what to say.

“By the time you get to the airport,” Bert said, “there will be a private jet waiting to take you wherever you and your friends want to go. By the way, Barry lied to you; there was twelve million dollars in the SUV. I liberated some for you. After the justice takes her five, I thought we'd use the rest to provide for these schmucks' families. Anonymously, of course.” Bert tossed Sparrow a canvas bag and turned to leave.

Bert, Harry, Sparrow, and Jack Emery moved off to the side.

“You okay with all this, Sparrow?” Bert asked. Sparrow nodded. “Good. I'm going to call Lizzie Fox and have her handle the FBI. She's an expert when it comes to those guys. And get this, she and her husband, Cosmo Cricket, are in D.C. for some symposium in regard to a foundation for children they set up. She'll hop right on this, and, Sparrow, you are home free. I for one am proud to shake your hand. Be honest with me, okay? It goes without saying the Fibbies will give you your job back now if you want it. Do you?”

“Hell, no! I can't believe you asked me such a thing. All I wanted was to be cleared, and the
Post
will do that for me. Thanks for helping out. I owe you, Bert. Harry, what can I say? Thanks. Jack, there's no one better I could ever want to watch my back. So, thanks to you, too.”

It was clear to everyone that the party was over. Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis West stood alone outside the circle of light.

Espinosa was holding up Dennis West and grinning from ear to ear. He'd downloaded every last picture and knew he'd struck the mother lode. Ted was preening like a peacock. “Biggest sting since our last one, Espinosa. This will make four special editions to our credit. That's if you're counting, and I, for one, am counting. What's wrong with you, Dennis?”

“Who are those people? Where are they taking those agents?”

“Dennis, Dennis, Dennis. If I tell you, then I'll have to kill you. Do you still want to know?”

“Of course not. But just so you know, Mr. Robinson, I have a very active imagination.”

“I do, too, kid. I'm seeing you with two blown-out kneecaps, bald, and hooks for hands. That means in my vision you can't text and you can't e-mail. So, what say we grab some breakfast and head back to Baywater. We should get there just as the sun comes up. Maggie is going to be so livid.”

“Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus. How can you even think about eating?”

“Because I'm hungry, that's how,” Ted and Espinosa said, as they each grabbed the young reporter by the arm and dragged him down the makeshift road to where they'd hidden the
Post
van. They shoved him inside, then climbed in.

“Doncha just love it when the good guys win?” Ted cackled as he settled himself behind the wheel.

“I don't know how you can tell the good guys from the bad guys. They shoot guns, they threaten and . . . and . . .” Dennis babbled.

“Eat young cub reporters for breakfast. That means shut up, Dennis, and go to sleep. We'll wake you when we get to Baywater and you, my friend, are springing for breakfast.” Ted continued to cackle. Espinosa rolled his eyes as he grinned from ear to ear.

That, Dennis decided, as his eyes started to droop, had to mean only one thing. He had passed his initiation and was now one of the guys. Jesus. How lucky could one guy get?

A
nnie de Silva sprinted across Myra Rutledge's parking lot like a young girl, the strong blustery October wind pushing her forward. She had a stack of newspapers under one arm and was waving another in the air. Myra opened the door and slammed it shut.

“
Special edition,
ladies!” Annie shouted to be heard over the barking dogs. The ladies each grabbed a copy and immediately started ooohing and aaahing over what they were reading.

“Where's Pearl? I thought she would be the first one here. She must be one happy camper today. Damn, I wish I had been there for that takedown,” Nellie said.

“She's on her way. She needed to get some sleep,” Myra said, as her eyes devoured the newsprint in front of her. “I wish I had been there, too,” she mumbled.

Marti weighed in. “I knew I did the right thing when I allowed Bert to convince me to pardon Mr. Sparrow. I'm so glad he's exonerated now. Sometimes the end does justify the means. Looks like another shake-up at the Bureau. Wonder who's going to handle things until a new director can be appointed.”

Nellie started to laugh. “I have the scoop on that. Just as I was leaving the house the president himself called Elias and begged—I'm saying
begged
—him to sit in until that can all be arranged. The current director can't take the stress and was admitted to the hospital a few hours ago. As you know, Elias was director a few years back.”

“Is he going to do it?” the women all asked at once.

“At first he said no, but the president wore him down. He finally agreed to six weeks, and the president accepted that. He was on his way to town when I left to come over here.”

“Nellie, what about . . .”

“His early Alzheimer's? Elias didn't see fit to mention that. What he did say was he couldn't screw up things any worse than they are right now, even with his handicap.” Nellie giggled like a schoolgirl, and the others giggled right along with her.

“Where do you think those men are going to end up?” Marti asked.

“This is where we do not ask questions. It's all being taken care of. That's one of our rules—when a mission, either run by us or others who are helping, when it's over, we simply move on. Nothing will ever come back to bite anyone. Over the next few days, there will be a dozen different spins put on what happened. The only thing we make sure of is that the families are taken care of, and they will be. They'll all be given new lives somewhere with no financial worries, so the children and wives won't be targets of the media. Shame for something that is no fault of their own is a terrible thing for children to have to endure,” Myra said.

The dogs reared up and raced to the door. Myra looked up at the monitor. “Pearl's here.” She opened the door, and a swirl of leaves blew in. The dogs tried to catch them as they tumbled over one another.

Pearl slammed the door shut and burst out laughing. “We did it, girls! Oh, I wish you could have been there. It was kind of crazy for a while. Mr. Sparrow had his people synchronized down to the last sync. In a way, it was almost effortless, but in reality, it was just a well-executed plan. There are no words to tell you all how grateful I am that we can continue to help all those women and children. As we speak, forty-two women and children are being moved to safety. I'll get back into the swing of things when we return from Baywater. Anything new on that?”

“Plenty, Pearl, but right now we need to get on the road. We're expected in Baywater by two o'clock. You're going to ride with Nellie. Annie and I are driving together, and Marti is driving alone because she's going to be driving to Florida when she leaves Baywater. She wants to experience the freedom and the open road. We'll be our own little caravan, so make sure we stay together. No hotdogging on the highway. We roll into town together. Nellie will fill you in.”

“Okay, girls, saddle up!” Annie said. “I always wanted to say that, but somehow the appropriate time just never came up. Everyone go to the bathroom
NOW
so we don't have to make pit stops. Myra made each of us a thermos of coffee, so don't walk out without it. Take a mental check. Do you have everything you're going to need?”

“You sound like our old first-grade teacher, Annie. It's yes to everything. Now, can we get started?” Myra said tartly.

Annie huffed and puffed. “You, Myra, are the worst offender. You always forget something, and you're always the first one who wants to make a pit stop. I like to think ahead.”

“Everyone out, so I can settle the dogs.” The minute the door closed behind the women, Myra sweet-talked and petted her beloved dogs. She thought they looked sad, and they were, so she doubled up on the treats. Then she blew kisses. Tails wagged and thumped. “I'll be back before you know it, I hope,” she muttered under her breath.

The caravan left Pinewood. The time was 12:15.

 

 

Judge Eunice Ciprani slipped into her coat. She eyed the clock on her office wall. If Lyzette wasn't too busy and could fit her in, she would be able to get a minifacial, eyebrow waxing, and still have time to pick up Cee's dry cleaning and her own and be back in time to hear her first afternoon case.

Normally, she would walk to Henry's Salon from the courthouse, but because she needed to go to the dry cleaner's, she opted to take her car. The fact that she didn't have an appointment at the salon didn't bother her at all. Appointments were for people who had time to make schedules or did not lead busy lives. She, on the other hand, had to do things when opportunity knocked.

Eunice parked her car in the rear of the lot and entered the salon through the back door. She knew she was a snob but didn't care. The facial room and the eyebrow-waxing corner were in the back, separated from the main part of the salon by a beautiful beaded curtain. She liked it because she didn't have to gossip or make small talk with the citizens of Baywater. She had absolutely nothing in common with any of them, so it was better that she stay aloof. She wisely refused even to think about the fact that those same citizens hated her and her sister. The back room just worked better for everyone concerned.

Lyzette, the tall, redheaded stylist, was reaching up to the cabinet for something when Eunice walked in the door. Her first thought was,
Oh, crap, this is one customer I do not need today.
Her second thought was she would happily forgo the judge's meager ten percent tip if she'd just turn around and leave. She forced a smile on her face and asked what she could do for the judge.

“I know this is last-minute, Lyzette, but I have fifty minutes to spare. Can you do a minifacial and wax my eyebrows? I don't know if it's the cleanser I'm using or what, but my skin is breaking out. You know how I hate zits.”

Maybe if she weren't in such a cranky mood, thanks to the speeding ticket she'd gotten on her way to work, Lyzette would have chosen her words more carefully. Right now, though, she didn't care. Plus, she had two other customers waiting in the meditation room. “I'm sorry, Judge. I'm booked solid today. You should have made an appointment.”

“I never make an appointment, Lyzette, you know that. I never know what my schedule is. Can't you fit me in?” she wheedled. “Surely, your other two customers won't mind waiting.”

“Yes, they will mind, Judge. And I have to pay attention to the time because they need color. Look, I can get one of the other girls to do you, or I can just wax your eyebrows, but I simply do not have time for the facial.”

Eunice's face tightened. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated her next move. Should she give in gracefully? Should she intimidate the stylist? Or should she stomp her foot, say she'd never be back, and leave?

The decision was momentarily shelved when the interior salon erupted in sound as everyone started talking at once. Both women strained to hear what all the excitement was through the beaded curtain.

“I saw them. Four black Chevy Suburbans. Full of Secret Service agents.”

“President Connor is in town.”

“She rented every room at the Harbor Inn. Or her people did; that's what I heard.”

“She's hosting the retirement party for Judge Rhodes. Do you believe that? The president, even though she's left office, is here in our town and hosting Judge Rhodes's retirement party? How cool is that?” another voice chirped.

“My sister works at the Harbor Inn, and she said the invitations were delivered to the Inn, along with the guest list, at eleven o'clock this morning. There was a
TOP PRIORITY
stamp on the package. And under it she said it was stamped
PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.
The party is by invitation only, and wait till you hear who is
not
on the list. My sister said you have to show your invitation at the door, so the Secret Service sees it.”

A chorus of “Who's not on the list?” filtered back to Eunice and Lyzette, followed by hoots and giggles of laughter.

“The two Ciprani judges, that's who,” came the shrill response, followed by what sounded like roars of applause.

“My sister said everyone, right down to all the janitors, are invited. Read the paper when it comes out.”

“There are four
Post
reporters staying at the Inn. That's the
Post
in Washington. Something big is going down or is going to go down,” said another voice.

“I heard that woman who retired from the Supreme Court is going to be there and a retired federal judge named Cornelia Easter. She's married to the former director of the FBI. This whole town is buzzing like a beehive.”

The bell over the front door tinkled, and a new customer walked in. The decibel level rose as the woman shouted happily, “Guess what I have in my hands, ladies! Champagne! Last night, in just a few hours, I sold the Matthews house in Waterton. And guess who I sold it to? The president of the United States. Ex-president, actually. And she didn't quibble about the price. Beaucoup dollars, ladies!” Janet Myers literally screamed, her shrill voice echoing off the walls. “Bubbly for everyone!”

Lyzette watched as Eunice slipped on her coat. “I think I'll let you get back to your other customers and come back some other day, when you have more time.”

“Be sure to make an appointment, Judge. Otherwise, the same thing might happen, and your eyebrows are a mess.” She loved how the judge's face lost color. The minute the door closed behind Eunice, Lyzette locked it and raced into the salon. “This is all just too juicy. Guess who heard every word you ladies said. Judge Eunice Ciprani!”

The laughter was contagious.

Every woman in the world knew that beauty salons were hotbeds of juicy gossip. The kind of gossip that strained lives and made others run for cover. And the women in Henry's Salon were no exception.

Eunice Ciprani was shaking with rage when she climbed into her car. She tried to fish her cell phone out of her purse, but her hands wouldn't obey her mind. Cee was going to chew nails and spit rust when she heard what was going on. She commanded her hands to work as she searched the console for a cigarette. Her secret vice. Even Cee didn't know she smoked. Weed, too, sometimes. Maybe it would calm her down. It did to the point she was able to start the car and drive out of Henry's lot. Instead of going back to the courthouse, though, she drove to the Harbor Inn. She choked on a mouthful of smoke when she saw the four dark Chevy Suburbans parked in the circular driveway and all the activity that was going on.

She drove on and turned the corner. Still shaking with rage, Eunice pulled to a stop for a red light. She puffed furiously on the cigarette that was now down to the filter. She tossed it out the window. She looked around to see if anyone saw her ditching the cigarette. That's when she saw a man standing on the corner staring at her. He waved. A horn sounded behind her as the light changed. Eunice blinked, and in that split second, the man was gone.

“Peter!” she screamed as she floored the gas pedal.

“Peter!” she screamed a second time.

By the time Eunice reached the courthouse's underground parking lot, she was choking on her own saliva. The moment she turned off the engine she called her sister and started to scream. “You need to come down here to the parking garage right now, Cee.
Right this goddamn minute! Do you hear me, Cee?
” she screamed into the phone.

Eunice got out of the car and fired up a cigarette. She didn't give a hoot if her sister saw her smoking or not. Her hand was shaking so badly she could hardly get the cigarette to her mouth. When she did, she started to choke on the smoke, tears running down her cheeks. She whirled around when she heard her sister's heels clicking on the concrete.

“Is that a cigarette I see in your hand? What's wrong with you, Nessie? Are you having a meltdown?”

“Get in the damn car, Cee, and shut up. Yes, this is a cigarette, and yes, I have been smoking for years, and yes, I'm a nicotine addict or whatever you call people who smoke. I also smoke weed. Yes, I am having a meltdown and so will you when I tell you what just happened.” Somehow Eunice managed to blurt out everything she'd heard at the salon. She got a perverse sort of pleasure watching her sister's face turn white. “Just to make sure, I drove by the Harbor Inn, and the place was swarming with Secret Service agents. They all look alike, they talk into their collars and cuffs and wear aviator glasses. The black Chevy Suburbans were all lined up. They rented the whole damn Inn.”

“And we're not invited?”

“That's what you got out of everything I just told you? That's what you're concerned about, that we weren't invited? You are more stupid than I thought, Cee. Who cares about the damn party? Not me. Listen to me, they're onto us. What the hell do you think the chances are for this to happen at this particular time along with the president's buying the Matthews house? Are you listening to me, Cee?”