Cross Roads (10 page)

“Who are you calling?” Bert asked.

Kathryn shot him a withering look. “I'm calling the only person who has the contacts and the chutzpah to get us out of whatever mess we're standing in.”

“Oh, Charles,” Jack said, relief ringing in his voice.

“Not likely! I'm calling Maggie Spritzer!” Murphy barked to show his approval. Nikki was grinning from ear to ear as Jack and Bert slunk off to the side, where both men lit up cigarettes.

Kathryn snapped the phone shut and said, “She's on it. She said this is right up Abner Tookus's alley, but it's going to cost. You heard me, I told her I didn't care how much it cost, just to get us home. You're okay with that, right, Nikki?”

“Absolutely. Did she give you a time frame?”

“She just said to sit tight and she'd get back to us as soon as possible. When I pressed her, she went out on a limb and said we should be airborne within three hours. What the hell are we going to do for three whole hours?”

An evil grin splashed across Nikki's face as she let her gaze wander to Jack and Bert. “How about we make their lives a little more miserable than they are already.”

“I like that. Murphy likes it, too. See, he's grinning.”

“You ever gonna marry Bert?”

“Nope.”

“But you still love him?”

“Yep.”

Nikki laughed. “Understood.”

“God, I missed you and the others,” Kathryn said, her eyes filling up.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” Nikki said as she brushed at her eyes. “I can't believe we're actually going home.”

“You know what I wish, Nikki? I wish we were headed back to the mountain. I know, I know. All we did was moan and groan when we were there, but we all had something back then. I was happy. So were you and the others. This…this…” Kathryn said, waving her arms about, “is not what it's cracked up to be. Can we get yesterday back, Nikki?”

Nikki draped her arm around Kathryn's shoulders. “I don't know, but we sure as hell can try, can't we?”

“Yeah, let's try,” Kathryn said so quietly that Nikki had to strain to hear the words.

A
dazed expression on her face, Maggie left her office at the
Post
building at a fast run the minute she clicked off her cell phone. She stopped just long enough to snatch her secretary's cell phone, which was sitting on top of her desk. She put her finger to her lips to mean silence. All manner of thoughts were scurrying around inside her brain as she made her way to the busy twenty-four-hour corner deli that was always jammed to the rafters. Once inside she made her way to the kitchen and then out the door to a Dumpster-packed area. She looked upward, knowing but not really understanding the stuff about cell phone towers, satellite imagery, bouncing signals, and all that went with tracking calls and numbers. Call her a Neanderthal, but she still preferred her little tape recorder and her notebook and pencil. She absolutely detested cell phones and texting because it meant she could never hide out. With all the new technology, she always had to be available, and, in her opinion, that sucked big-time. She pressed in a number and waited to be connected. Knowing she didn't have time to finesse her friend, Maggie got right to the point. “I need you to do something for me, and I need it ten minutes ago. We can negotiate later; now is not the time. If you don't do what I want, I'm turning you in to the FBI, the CIA, and every other crazy-ass initials organization in this fine city. Are we on the same page, Abner?” Abner Tookus was Maggie's one-of-a-kind hacker, bar none.

“Whatever you say, Maggie,” the man responded meekly.

The hairs on the back of Maggie's neck stirred. She looked upward. Surely, they, whoever
they
were, hadn't gotten to Abner. “Why are you being so nice and agreeable all of a sudden?”

Maggie heard Abner's sigh. “Because you are by far my best customer, you pay on time, and I know I can't win, so I'm agreeing right off the bat. Whatcha want, friend?”

Still suspicious, Maggie sought just the right words. When none were forthcoming, she blurted out what she needed.

“Well, that takes the cake! I'm a hacker, Maggie. I do not exactly travel in the Gulfstream circles of the rich and famous. What? You think I carry a list of owners in my pocket?”

Maggie ignored him. “So, how long is it going to take you?”

Maggie heard the sigh again. “Twenty minutes if I'm lucky.”

“Twenty minutes!” Maggie screeched.

“Okay, maybe seventeen. I'm hitting the keys as we speak.”

“Fifteen and you get a bonus. Don't ask me what the bonus is. I have to confer with the owner of the paper. I have to hang up—I don't want anyone tracking this call. I'm calling you back in fifteen minutes, so be prepared to rattle off my instructions. You got that, Abner?”

“I do. I really do. Hang up, or you're dead meat.”

Maggie snapped the cell shut and looked down at her watch. A second later she had pen and notepad in hand as she watched the digital mechanism on her watch count down the minutes.

She tapped her foot, finger-combed her unruly curls, checked the contents of her bag, kicked away some debris from where she was standing, and was dismayed to see only two minutes had gone by. A family of scrawny cats circled the Dumpster in search of food. She whipped through the door leading to the kitchen, where she demanded a mountain of food to be loaded into a cardboard container. She plopped down three ten-dollar bills and whipped back through the door. She set the food down and watched as the cats did their best to devour it all. A glance at her watch told her she'd used up six minutes. “Crap!” she said succinctly. When the last contented feline waddled off, Maggie picked up the containers and threw them into the Dumpster. She'd used up another minute and a half.

Maggie paced up and down the small enclosed area a dozen or more times as she waited for the time to pass. With nothing better to do, she did some stretches and knee bends. God, how she hated exercising. Her watch told her she had seven minutes to go. Screw the seven minutes. She yanked at the cell phone and punched in the numbers. “I want it
now
!”

“Ask and you shall receive,” Abner said sweetly. “You got a pen?”

“Of course I have a pen, you nitwit!” Maggie scribbled furiously in her and Ted's shorthand. “Got it!”

“I want a bonus on top of the bonus for coming in seven minutes earlier than the time I quoted you.”

“And you think I care what you want? Stop by the paper later, and I'll pay up. Hey, Abby, thanks.”

“You got it, Sweet Cheeks. Remember now, a bonus on top of the bonus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maggie mumbled as she powered down. She raced back through the kitchen and out of the deli. She waited a full minute, then powered up again. In seconds, she had Kathryn on the line. She rattled off the information from her notes and again powered down, at which point she dropped her secretary's phone on the sidewalk and stomped on it. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to what she was doing. As she raced back to the
Post,
she dropped bits and pieces of the mangled phone into various trash cans along the way. She knew her secretary was going to pitch a fit, but hopefully a top-of-the-line, new whatever was on the market would appease her. Hopefully.

With the speed at which she was sprinting, Maggie ran right past the place she was looking for. She turned around and ran into the small Internet café, paid for time, and settled herself at the computer, then she e-mailed Charles using the special encrypted code he'd given her previously. She took a second to wonder if the code was uncrackable, for want of a better term. That done, she leaned back in the chair and let her breath out in a long sigh. Well, she'd done her best. From here on in, the others had to fend for themselves. Finally, she logged off, left the café, and walked sedately back to the
Post.

 

It was pouring rain when Kathryn walked back into the terminal with Murphy, who was busily shaking the water from his coat. She marched up to the others, who were waiting, and said, “We're good to go. Maggie's friend got us a ride all the way to Washington. But there is a hitch. Maggie said our ride is a luxurious Gulfstream, privately owned by a small group of businessmen who travel this way once or twice a week. There will be three or four other passengers on board, possibly more, presumably the owners, but they are willing to accommodate us for a sizable remuneration. She said she took care of that, compliments of the
Post
. For all intents and purposes, should the other passengers ask, we're foreign correspondents. The plane is boarding as we speak. Yes or no?”

“Let's go!” Nikki said as she beelined around milling passengers to the gate that would take them outdoors in the rain to board the plane.

Drenched to the skin, the foursome and Murphy bounded up the steps of the plane, where three hostesses handed out fluffy white towels as they personally apologized for the downpour.

“You're to sit in the front; the owners are in conference at the back, and they asked that you do not disturb them,” a pert redhead said as she showed them to their seats. More fresh towels were handed out as a second hostess poured champagne.

“It's luxurious, but Annie's Gulfstream is nicer,” Nikki sniffed as she sat down in a comfortable chair and buckled up.

“I could get used to this real quick,” Kathryn said as she toweled her wet hair. “Ah, someone turned on some heat. This is heavenly.”

Bert and Jack just sat looking like old-fashioned cigar store Indians. The women continued to jabber to each other, ignoring both men. Murphy was already asleep at Kathryn's feet.

The third hostess approached and said in a musical voice, “We'll be serving dinner when we reach a cruising altitude. Take a moment to look over the menu and check off what you would like.”

“Yep, I could get used to this real quick,” Kathryn said a second time.

“Did Maggie happen to mention the name of the company that owns this plane?” Bert asked.

“She just said a small group of businessmen. Why, is it important?” Kathryn asked.

“It could be.”

“Pretty damn convenient the way this worked out, if you want my opinion,” Jack said. Three blank faces stared at him. “I'm just saying.”

“What does that mean, Jack?” Nikki said, twirling around in her chair. Her voice was neither friendly nor unfriendly.

“What it means is, we passed on the other plane because people were on board and yet here we are on this plane, commandeered by Maggie, with people on board. I just find it a little strange, considering our current circumstances, the way this is working out.”

“We didn't get on the other plane because Murphy was letting us know something was wrong. If you noticed, he did not alert us on this one and is now sleeping peacefully here at Kathryn's feet.” Nikki's voice was decidedly unfriendly.

The pert redhead approached to take their wineglasses. “Buckle up,” she said.

Bert wagged a finger. “Miss, who does this plane belong to? Do you know?”

The hostess in turn wagged a finger at Bert and offered up a gamine grin just as the plane started to taxi down the runway. “But of course I know. I work for the company. The owners are sitting in the back.”

“And that would be…?” Bert asked, smiling. The smile didn't reach his eyes.

The redhead giggled. “HLJ Enterprises. We're based here in London.”

They were in the air and climbing when Bert opened his briefcase and yanked out what looked like a small business directory. “Son of a bitch!”

“I knew it!” Jack growled.

“Knew what?” Kathryn and Nikki asked as one.

“HLJ stands for Henry Lawrence Jellicoe. HLJ Enterprises is a subsidiary of Global Securities.” There was a bite to Bert's tone that none of them had ever heard before.

Kathryn's eyes were wild as she stared at Bert. Nikki reached out to clutch at Kathryn's arm. “What exactly does that mean, Bert? You know how I feel about coincidence. There is no such thing.”

Her eyes blazing, Nikki unbuckled her seat belt and moved forward. She braced herself against a chair, leaned down just as all three hostesses warned her to get back in her seat until the pilot announced they were at cruising altitude. “Yes, yes, but where exactly is this plane going?”

The three women offered up blank stares. “Don't you know where you're going?” the pert redhead asked.

“Let's put it this way, I know where I'm
supposed
to be going, but I'd like some confirmation that I'm right. Where is this plane headed?”

“Your nation's capital. Washington, D.C. Dulles Airport, to be exact. We have some good tailwinds, so we might even arrive twenty to thirty minutes early. Please, go back to your seat and fasten your seat belt.” The hostess's voice was so firm that there was nothing for Nikki to do but retreat.

Buckled up, she leaned forward. “At least we're going to Washington—Dulles, to be precise. Unless she was lying. She said we might get in early because of good tailwinds.” Three glum faces stared at her. Nikki shrugged. “There is nothing we can do until we land, so we might as well settle in.”

Jack and Bert twirled their comfortable chairs around until they were facing each other. They leaned forward, talking softly. Nikki and Kathryn did the same thing.

“So, Kathryn, just out of curiosity, how
fit
are you these days?”

“Top form, my friend. All I did for the past year and a half was exercise, swim, and exercise even more. And, of course, I ate right. I found a book on martial arts at one of the bazaars. I taught myself a little and perfected what Yoko and Harry taught us.” Kathryn's eyes narrowed when she said, “Are you asking me what I think you're asking me? How about you?”

“I think it's safe to say I can hold my own…against…let us say, three hostesses, and if appearances are correct, those aging, balding, fat-around-the-middle men in the back. But to answer your question, I'm fit. I think Harry and Yoko both would walk away huffing and puffing if they took me on. I know they'd win, but I'd give them a fight they'd never forget. They've been practicing practically from the day they were born, and you and I had to learn the art of self-defense. You know, Kathryn, even though my nerves are twanging, Murphy is sleeping peacefully. He's not sensing any trouble, for whatever that's worth.”

“Let me tell you exactly what
that's
worth. I had to tranquilize Murphy. He's going to sleep all the way across the Atlantic. It was one of the conditions to get him the okay to fly out of the country. I have a ream of paperwork with his name on it.”

“Damn,” Nikki said.

Thirty silent minutes went by before the hostesses prepared to serve dinner, a delectable concoction of crab, shrimp, lobster, and filet mignon. One of the hostesses poured wine, another poured coffee, and the third served the actual dinner on fine china.

“It looks good, smells good, but suddenly I seem to have lost my appetite,” Jack said as he played with his sat phone, a holdover from back in the day when he was in contact with Charles Martin on a daily basis. He had refused to give it up and had charged it during the wait at Heathrow. Nikki had done the same thing as she looked guiltily at him. Then she had turned defensive, and said, “I'm charging this phone because once it's working, I will truly know I am headed home. Why are you doing it, Jack?” His own tone had been just as defensive when he said, “For the same damn reason you are.” And that had been the end of that. In the blink of an eye, the sat phone was shoved under his thigh. No sense advertising anything until the current situation became a little more clear.

The moment the hostesses moved to the rear of the plane with their linen-covered serving cart, Nikki whispered, “I don't think we should eat this food, and don't drink the coffee, either. I watched the blonde uncork the wine, so I think that's safe to drink. Or water, anything that's been sealed.” The others nodded to show they understood. Murphy continued to sleep peacefully at Kathryn's feet.