Collateral Damage (3 page)

Nikki shrugged. “Honey will never give us up even if she knew something to give up. Shoot, I keep calling her Honey, and I should be calling her Erin. What do you think, Myra?”

Myra’s voice was thoughtful. “At first blush, I agree with you, Nikki. But we haven’t seen or heard from Hon…Erin in many years. She might now be a dedicated agent, and this would put her at the top if she could bring us in. We are, after all, breaking the law. She’s sworn to uphold the law. Right now, the best thing we have going for us is Bert, who has the inside track. If we’re lucky, we can stay one step ahead of the task force.”

“Should we be worried about this?” Annie asked.

Charles looked around the table. “We all need to be very worried. I never thought I would say that, but I’m saying it now.”

“I’m not buying into it,” Nikki said. “In her heart, Erin is one of us. You can take that to the bank. Chalk it up to my gut instinct, Charles.”

Charles’s face wore a serious expression when he said, “I hope those words don’t come back to bite your cheeks, Nikki.”

“Ass, Charles. Say ‘ass,’ and it will carry more weight,” Kathryn admonished.

Charles allowed a tight smile to stretch his lips. “Consider it said, my dear.”

“Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish,” Annie said, smacking her hands together.

“Are you aware that kettles of fish
smell,
Annie?” Nikki asked.

“Uh-huh.”

A
s Bert Navarro packed up his briefcase, he looked down at his watch to check the time. It was 6:45
P.M
. Time to hustle to Harry Wong’s
dojo.
There were times when he resented the fact that he had to take Harry’s training, but it was an FBI edict, and he was glad he wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to Erin Powell. Jack Emery would be there, and they could talk openly.

There was outrage in Erin’s voice when she barked, “You’re leaving? We haven’t even started!”

“Look, Erin, I learned a long time ago that if you don’t keep reasonable hours, stick to your routine to the best of your ability, this job will dump you over the edge. By the way, those are the words of every director who’s sat on the throne. You picked my brain, there is nothing more I can do here tonight. I’ve been here since five thirty this morning. That means I’ve been here thirteen hours, and thirteen is an unlucky number, so I’m out of here.”

Bert snapped the lock on his briefcase. “You should go home, too. Kick back and think about what exactly you want this team to do. You must still be reeling from the way it was all dumped on you. There are going to be a lot of eyes on you, Erin. You don’t want to make a mistake right out of the gate. I’ve headed up six different task forces, and it’s going to drain your blood, so be prepared. My advice, regardless of whether you want it or not, is to plan, delegate, execute, and be careful around Joe and Doug. Develop a set of eyes in the back of your head. Those two play for keeps.”

Erin brushed back the hair from her forehead. She knew that what Bert was saying was true, but she was caught up in an adrenaline rush. She frowned. “Are you trying to tell me something, Bert?”

“Actually, I am. Watch your back.”

Erin felt her stomach juices start to kick up as she looked at the wild disarray on her desk. “I hate it when people talk around something, Bert. If you know something, tell me what it is. I like things out in the open. If you’re harboring any ill feelings because Cummings appointed me to lead this task force, spit them out right now so we can lay them to rest. I know you’re Cummings’s right hand, and you’re probably looking at this as a demotion of some kind. I didn’t ask for this assignment, but I’m stuck with it. If I’d had a choice, I would have turned it down.”

Bert looked at the beautiful woman sitting behind her desk. He knew how hard she’d worked, how good she was, and he knew about the pool the guys had going on her. At that moment he felt sorry for her. God, if she only knew what a thankless job she had ahead of her.

“You know what, Erin, you’re way off base. I’m happy to work here with you. Working with Cummings can be a real pain in the ass at times. The truth is sometimes I feel like the Bureau is wasting my time, and there are times when I actually feel guilty taking a paycheck for shuffling papers. I’m a field agent, and that’s where I belong. This will give me a chance to get out there and do something. I don’t resent you at all. But to answer your question, what I’m trying to say is that Doug and Joe are not team players. Oh, they work well together because they’re birds of a feather, but they want all the glory for themselves. Both of them are damn fine agents. I can’t take that away from them, but they do have their own agendas. I’ve watched them over the years and know their style, so just be on your guard and tread lightly, or they’ll find ways to sabotage you every chance they get.”

Bert reached for his jacket and slipped it on. “The only thing they heard the director say is that you have a history with two of the vigilantes. That’s what they’re going to go on. Trust me on this.”

“What about you, Bert? What do you think about my history with Myra and Nikki?” Her voice sounded so bitter that Bert winced.

“Personally? I think that history belongs in the past, where it’s lying right now. If you can make that history work for you, go for it. See ya in the morning.” He wondered if it was good or bad advice. Probably a little of both.

Outside in the corridor, Bert heaved a huge sigh as he sprinted down the long hallway to the elevator.

Fifteen minutes later, he blasted through the doors of Wong’s
dojo
to attend a class of two, Jack Emery and himself. The
dojo
was the perfect place to talk. He knew for a fact that good old Harry had his quarters swept for listening devices three times a day. He knew it because he’d provided the equipment.

Harry Wong was the number-two martial arts expert in the world, and he trained local law enforcement, the agents from both the FBI and the CIA. The instruction was mandatory, and woe to any officer who tried to blow it off. Harry Wong took no prisoners. There were more black and brown belts in the District, thanks to Harry, than there were cars on Pennsylvania Avenue. Harry was the best.

The moment Bert stepped out of the dressing room, he said, “Gather round, boys, I have news. Big news!”

When Bert finished his tale, Jack Emery looked off into the distance and said, “Oh, shit!”

“Here we go again,” Harry said. “Jack and I were just talking yesterday about how quiet it was of late.”

“What’s your take on Powell, Bert?” Jack asked. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“No reason for you to have heard of her. She’s not a secret weapon of any kind. She’s good. And she looks good, which is a strike against her. She tries to play down her looks and body, but, man, it’s there for the world to see. She’s probably smarter than this whole new task force put together. Her creds are super. The guys resent her, that’s the bottom line. By rights, if you go by seniority, either Mangello or Akers should have gotten the job. Too old, is my opinion. Landos and Parks are glory hounds. They perform but are not detail-oriented. Cummings pulled her out of the bull pen because of her history with Myra and Nikki.

“This goes no further, guys. Cummings offered me the job with Powell as my number one. I turned him down flat, said I would quit first. I’m sure you understand why. He likes me, so he agreed to go with Powell. In other words, I’m his snitch. Hey, look sharp here, you two. It’s a win-win for us.”

Jack nibbled on his thumb. “How good is she, Bert?”

“She’s not just good, she’s
good
. She’s a detail person, a nitpicker, a plodder. She doesn’t miss a trick. She’s thorough; nothing gets by her. Her gender is what’s kept her under wraps. Yeah, yeah, in this time of women’s rights, it shouldn’t be happening. But it is and does. She sucks it up. My personal opinion is I think she’s at odds with herself right now. She hasn’t come to terms yet with what’s expected of her. And, yeah, before you ask me, she could be turned. I think. Look, we just have to wait and see.”

“Guess we aren’t going to train tonight,” Harry said.

“If you want, Harry, I can wipe up the floor with you after I send Charles some stuff that he’s waiting for.” Bert walked back into the changing room to get his sat phone. Harry’s laughter followed him. On his best day, Bert couldn’t lay a glove on the instructor.

Jack sat down in the middle of the mat and hugged his knees. “I think this damn well sucks, Harry.”

Harry sat down and contemplated his bare toes. “You know what, Jack, you’re right. The last guy that tried that special task force shit is still picking the fiberglass out of his ass and reclining in prison. Do you think this is going to be any different?”

“Yeah, Harry, this is going to be way different.”

Harry continued to contemplate his toes, which were like steel pistons. He looked glum.

Jack Emery looked even more glum.

Back at the Hoover Building, Erin Powell looked around at the cluttered empty office. Empty of employees. Maybe Bert was right, and she should go home. Maybe she should stay and make notes. Maybe she should get some dinner. She suddenly remembered she’d had nothing today but a gallon of coffee. Her stomach was protesting. Maybe she could pick up something on the way home, open a good bottle of wine, and slide into the Jacuzzi and relax. Relax? How was she going to turn off her mind? That wasn’t going to happen, and she knew it. She also knew she would just be spinning her wheels if she stayed here.

Erin got up and glanced once again at the stack of cartons that represented everything that was known about the vigilantes. A stack of colored folders looked like they were going to topple to the floor any minute. She straightened them and realized what a daunting task lay ahead of her. Was she up to the job? More important, did she even want the damn job? Maybe if she’d seen it coming, she would have turned it down, resigned, and her decision to go into the private sector would have been that much easier. And while she looked for a new job, she could finish her dissertation and get on with her life.
Why in hell didn’t I do that?

“Because you’re stupid, that’s why,” she muttered. “And because you’re vain and want to show up Landos and Parks.”

Wondering if the temperature had dropped, Erin reached for her jacket. She’d been in the hermetically sealed building since six thirty that morning. So Bert beat her to work by an hour. So what? She glanced at the Mickey Mouse watch and smiled the way she always smiled when she looked at it. A memory she had no intention of destroying.

On her way down in the elevator, Erin thought about Nikki and what a wonderful friend she’d been. She’d known how Erin had scrimped and saved for the down payment on her little house, and so hadn’t charged for her legal services. Nikki had even sent her a housewarming present. Erin had loved Nikki and Barbara like sisters. When Barbara died, Erin went into a tailspin. It had left her sleepless and a nervous wreck for months. She still teared up when she thought of her old childhood friend.

And there was Mrs. Rutledge. A second mother, to be sure. Myra had always hugged and kissed her when she went to the farm. Myra treated her the same way she had treated her own daughter and her adopted daughter, Nikki. A wonderful, kind, generous lady who helped others and never let it be known.

Outside in the blustery October air, Erin walked to where she’d parked her car. She shivered in the dark night. She climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, then clicked on the heater. She waited until warm air spewed from the vents before shifting into
DRIVE
. At that hour she could make it out to Arlington in thirty minutes if she was lucky. She would stop at Donatelli’s to pick up some Italian, and maybe some breakfast rolls while she was at it.

Her eyes on the road, she realized leaving the building was a wise choice. She was bone tired. Her thoughts drifted back to Myra and Nikki. How could she turn on them? How could she be the one to bring them to justice? Both of them must have searched their souls before they embarked on such a path. If only she could sit down and talk to them.

Erin’s eyes filled with tears.

This was not what she wanted in her quest to move forward at the Bureau. “I should just up and quit,” she mumbled to herself. “I don’t owe Cummings or the other agents the time of day. I know in my gut they’re going to screw me over somehow, some way, in their search for the vigilantes. I don’t have to let them use me unless I want to let them use me. And I do
not
want that,” she continued to mutter and mumble to herself.

Erin swiped at the tears dripping down her cheeks. If she’d been more alert, less tearful, she might have seen Joe Landos in the car that was following her, but she was so wrapped up in her own misery that she missed it.

C
harles brought the after-dinner meeting to order with a raised hand. The women immediately seated themselves at the long oak table, abandoning their lively discussion on aromatherapy and the use of scented candles in the art of seduction.

“Girls! Girls! I think that’s more than I need to know for the moment.”

The women giggled, then sobered when their fearless leader held up a sheaf of papers.

Always the most verbal of the group, Kathryn Lucas blurted, “Is that our next mission you’re holding in your hand?”

Charles gave his shoulders an elegant shrug. “It depends on all of you. At this time let me say it is a very serious request for your services. It will be extremely…uh…dicey if you accept.”

“We get off on dicey, Charles. Tell us the good stuff. What’s the payoff for us?” Annie asked.

“More important, where?” Nikki demanded. “Location, location, location. Whatever it is, the location will be the deciding factor.”

Charles looked from one to the other of his chicks. That’s how he sometimes thought of them, and knew it worked for them as well, because his beloved Myra had told him the girls often compared him to a mother hen. She’d hastened to add that it was a good thing, and he should be flattered. A rooster, yes, a mother hen…Sometimes it made him anxious, like right now. “Right back to your old stomping grounds, girls. Washington, D.C.”

Yoko Akia squealed in pleasure. Going back to Washington meant she would get to see Harry Wong. It didn’t matter how dangerous or dicey it was. Love was where it was as far as she was concerned.

Kathryn beamed. Bert Navarro was in Washington.

Nikki positively glowed with the thought of returning to the nation’s capital because that’s where her fiancé, Jack Emery, lived.

Myra, Annie, Alexis, and Isabelle just smiled because, as Charles said, it was their stomping grounds. They knew the city and the surrounding areas better than any tour guide did.

Myra fingered the pearls at her neck. “I believe, dear, that’s a resounding
yes
as far as the location goes. Who is it that requires our services?”

Annie leaned into the table. “What’s in it for us?” she asked again.

“I’m working on that, Annie. The politician hasn’t been born that I trust, so can we put that on the shelf for the moment until I explain the mission and what it entails?”

The women nodded.

“But before I get to the business at hand, I have a question of my own. It goes without saying that if we aren’t up front with each other, and if there is no trust, we can’t succeed. So, is there anything I should know that you haven’t told me? Bear in mind that, as Kathryn has pointed out on many occasions, there is very little I do not know when it comes to all of you.”

Somehow or other the women all managed to stare at Charles with blank expressions. Only Annie squirmed in her chair. When she was certain the others weren’t going to speak, she said, “All right, Charles. I was…We were going to tell you, but I wanted to wait to see if things…you know, worked out. It looks like it will, so here it is. I made a bid to buy the
Post
. Yes, yes, I know I’m a fugitive, but I have people…Well, let’s just say money talks and bullshit walks.” Annie frowned. “Did I say that right, Kathryn?”

Kathryn nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

Annie focused on Charles’s stern features. “It appears that my bid is going to be accepted, which means the paper will be owned by all of us girls. Next year is an election year. The
Post
is a very powerful paper, as you well know. They can dig from now to eternity, and they won’t come up with the true ownership unless we want that to happen. I thought, Charles, you would try to stop me. We voted, and we all agreed this was a good thing.”

“This might sound like a silly question, Annie, but why didn’t you talk to me about it and at least try to convince me if you thought that was the case?”

“Because I thought you would try to derail it all. We all thought…Well, we thought you wouldn’t think it was a good idea,” Annie said without missing a beat. Her mood and voice turned sour. “You’re going to do that right now, aren’t you?”

Charles looked around the long table again. Then he looked at his beloved Myra, who looked absolutely fierce. He knew a revolt was imminent if he gave the wrong answer. He smiled. “I thought it was a smashing idea. Had you come to me in the beginning I could have saved you a lot of angst. I knew what you were planning even before you did. Remember now, I have four sets of ears and two sets of eyes. I believe that is Isabelle’s assessment of me.”

“You agree!” Annie said. She looked so astounded, Charles found himself laughing heartily.

“But of course. However, I was joking a moment ago. Jack Emery told me what you were planning. No, he did not breach your trust. At the time he didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.”

Still smiling, Charles said, “While I mean no disrespect to your…uh…people, Annie, they are babes in the woods when it comes to something like this. I took the liberty of stepping in on your behalf and had
my people
make it happen. If I do say so myself, I got you a magnificent deal, Annie. And you’re right about something else, too. True ownership will never see the light of day.”

Annie looked nervous. “I haven’t looked at my bottom line in a while. I won’t be destitute, will I?”

“Good Lord, no! You have enough money left to buy several small countries, some islands, and a couple of oceans—not to mention all the real estate in Manhattan. Translated at last count I believe your net worth was something like 140 billion dollars. Just so we’re on the same page, that’s your net worth
after
the money necessary to buy the
Post
is excluded.”

The gasp from the table made Charles smile.

“Does that make Annie a trillionaire?” Kathryn asked, awe in her expression.

Charles winced. “No. It takes a thousand billion to make a trillion. I think,” he said, a frown building on his face. “If you absolutely need to know, I’ll check. I don’t normally work with such large numbers.”

Alexis leaned across the table. “Where did you get all that money, Annie?”

Annie looked embarrassed. Her friends were looking at her differently, and she didn’t like what she was seeing. Suddenly she felt sick. What if they turned on her because she wasn’t like them?

“My husband inherited most of it. Spanish land, that kind of thing. He…he came from royalty. Oil. Way back when, he was into all things electronic. He…he loved gadgets. When my family died, I stopped caring about it all. Is this going to make a difference with all of you?” Her eyes wet with glistening tears, she looked so pitiful that the others bolted from their chairs to crowd around her.

“Absolutely not!…Never!…Shame on you for even thinking such a thing…” The women babbled as they hugged and squeezed the newest member of the Sisterhood. Annie beamed her pleasure as she wiped at her eyes. They were her family, and if they were okay with her wealth, then everything in her world was as right as it could be. Nothing else mattered but this new family of hers, Charles included.

Charles sighed. “Ladies, can we get back to work here?”

Myra reached over to squeeze Annie’s hand. The tense moment had come and gone.

“But before we get to the business at hand, I want to share something with all of you.” When he was confident he had the women’s attention, Charles continued. “As you know, Bert Navarro, the newest recruit to our group, has been loaned by his boss, FBI Director Cummings, to a special task force headed up by Erin Powell. We discussed this earlier, but what I didn’t share with you was that Bert also told me that Cummings was summoned to the White House for a breakfast meeting. Bert was not privy to what transpired at that meeting. Moreover, for some strange reason, Cummings decided not only to keep his number one in the dark about what went on at the meeting, but he didn’t even tell Bert that there had been such a meeting. Bert only found out about it by accident.

“Bert said that has never happened before. And after he asked Cummings about the meeting and got no response, he was suddenly transferred to Powell. Whatever is going on must be serious, and Bert is not afraid to admit he’s worried.

“As you all know, the former acting head of the FBI, Mitch Riley, tried doing the same thing Director Cummings is doing by appointing a task force. That was unsuccessful, thanks to all of you.

“Several days before the meeting at the White House took place, a request came into the special message board I use with some of my operatives. It’s not necessary to tell you how many people the request came through until it reached me, but suffice it to say, there were many. It seems that the brother of the president’s chief of staff is closely tied to the Republican National Committee’s fund-raising operation. Everyone is out there scurrying to raise money, as you know. Elections are expensive, and sufficient funds can be the difference between the success or failure of a campaign.

“Three weeks ago something happened. Perhaps I should say ‘allegedly happened’ because I haven’t been able to pin it down. The master list with the names of well-heeled people willing to hold fund-raisers and the Republican Party’s major contributors was stolen somehow. It appears that all the personal information was then sold to an identity theft ring. So far this information has been contained, but Washington is Washington, and the town leaks like a sieve. All those wealthy contributors, all those Wall Street people, are suddenly running scared. Supposedly bank accounts have been emptied, the dossiers the committee kept are going to be made public. Secrets will come out. If it isn’t stopped, the candidates for president could go down the tubes. At the moment, the coffers are as dry as the Mojave. Is this all true? I have no idea. It’s what I’ve been told, but as I said, the politician hasn’t yet been born that I would believe.”

Annie slammed her hand down on the table. “This is the third time I’m asking. What do we get out of this?”

Charles straightened his shoulders before he spoke. “A presidential pardon for you all.”

The women gasped.

Annie spoke again. “And who promised this presidential pardon?”

“The president’s chief of staff, Daniel Winters. Do I believe him? I told you earlier that when you deal with politicians, it’s the luck of the draw. Personally, I don’t believe he can deliver on the promise, but that is only my opinion.”

Nikki shifted her reading glasses higher on her nose. “If you don’t believe him, why should we? What if something goes wrong?” Lawyer that she was, she said, “I want to see something in writing with the presidential seal at the bottom.”

The women all agreed with Nikki.

“There’s more, I can see it on your face,” Alexis said. “Tell us.”

“This morning a second message arrived on the message board. This one came from the head of the fund-raising operation for the overwhelming front-runner among the contenders for the Democratic Party’s nominee in next year’s presidential election. It came via a third party, probably twice removed. The same thing happened to them that happened to the Republicans, their donor lists were stolen. All that personal information is out there floating around. The Democratic campaign’s head honcho didn’t say this, but the Republicans did. People are being blackmailed, so I have to assume the Democrats will be blackmailed also. If it’s even true.

“Now, here is the interesting part. It appears that the heads of both the DNC and the RNC were seen together talking in hushed whispers. Archenemies that they supposedly are, my people found that just slightly short of amazing. Personally, I think it’s just a PR move on both their parts. Think Watergate and Deep Throat. The meeting took place at the foot of the Washington Monument at two o’clock in the morning—while the city slept. If you’re keeping track of the timeline, it happened night before last.”

“What are the Democrats promising?” Yoko asked.

“In a manner of speaking, nothing. We can negotiate with them, but there won’t be a presidential seal at the bottom of the agreement. The way it stands now, the COS is the one doing the promising. But like I said, I don’t trust anyone in Washington. It’s pretty hard to beat out an incumbent. Having said all that, I am going to post a message on my board and say you are taking the request under advisement. That will give you time to think it through for a few days. I don’t want you rushing into a decision. I will further state what we require in the way of assurances.

“We can adjourn now, ladies, and retire to the dining room for an after-dinner snack, including my famous Margaritas, to be personally served by yours truly.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kathryn said as she led the women out of the Big House to the outdoor compound.

The dark night was exceptionally cool, with the trees rustling overhead. Grady and Murphy appeared out of the darkness and barked a greeting. A golden orange moon, which had been full a few days ago, glowed high in the sky.

“I just knew that something weird was going to happen this week. Things happen when there’s a full moon,” Alexis said quietly. “All the crazies come out to cause trouble. Emergency rooms fill up for some reason. I read that once in the
Post.
”

“Speaking of the
Post,
I think we all need to congratulate Annie on her newest purchase,” Myra said.

The women hugged Annie, high-fived her, and punched her lightly on the arm as they laughed and giggled about her latest acquisition.

Annie dropped her voice to a low whisper. “What will we do with it, girls? We need to start thinking about how we can make ownership work for us. Think about this: if we manage to get a pardon, we can just march into my paper and take it over.” Then she said fretfully, “I don’t know anything about running a newspaper.”

“So, we’ll learn,” Kathryn said. “Is a pardon really a possibility? If we pull this off, assuming we take it on to begin with, won’t they have to keep their promise?”