In Plain Sight (15 page)

“Rosalee is the one who got me away. I know in my heart I would be dead by now if it weren’t for her.”

“How did you do it?” Kathryn asked.

“I had a cousin who had been helped by some women who run an underground railroad several years ago. I called my mother and between her, two of my sisters, and many cousins, we came up with a plan. When Amalie was recovered enough to go out, we went shopping at Neiman Marcus. We, of course, had six security people with us at all times. Fortunately for us, they were all men. Lincoln Moss does not like women for some reason. Maybe Amalie is right about that.

“Anyway, we went into the dressing room looking like ourselves and came out looking like two old ladies. My cousins were waiting for us. They entered the dressing room looking like we looked when we walked out. Moss’s security saw them enter before we did, so they weren’t paying attention when we left in our new disguises. We headed for the nearest door, and that’s the end of the story until that picture appeared in the tabloid.”

“Lincoln wants . . . expects to step into Gabriel Knight’s shoes when his term of office is over. He’s spent these years currying favor, making a name for himself so that when his time comes, as he put it, he’ll win the party’s nomination by a landslide. As we all know, Lincoln Moss is a handsome man albeit an evil one. He turns on the charisma like a faucet. He said it would be Camelot all over again with me, his beautiful wife, as the First Lady. It was sickening to listen to him. And, of course, there is his little black book of secrets, which he guards with his life. Are you sure I’m safe with you people?” Amalie asked anxiously.

“Safe as you can possibly be,” Myra said. “What about your family? What do they think?”

Amalie snorted. “He allowed me to call home once a month, and he wrote out a script for me to read. As far as they know, I am happily married and love, just love, living in America. Lincoln constantly sent gifts and flowers to them. I hate to admit it, but my family has become a little shallow since meeting him. They love the freebies and the attention he showers on them.”

“Understandable to a point,” Maggie said sourly.

“Now what happens?” Rosalee and Amalie asked at the same moment.

“Now what happens is we all put our heads together and see how we can make Saturday evening work for us,” Myra said. She looked around the glass-topped table, and said, “We’re open to any and all suggestions.”

Amalie raised her hand, albeit hesitantly. “What is happening Saturday evening?”

“A rather big event at the Four Seasons. The First Lady’s pet project for children with disabilities. It’s pretty much A-list only. Heavy hitters. Each table seats either eight or ten people. Each individual chair costs fifty thousand dollars. Annie bought a table for ten, and so did Dennis. That means we can take twenty people into the gala. Our people. I’m sure your . . . Lincoln Moss will be there, and I am just as sure he bought a table. He is, after all, the President’s best bud,” Annie said.

“How are we going to make that work for us? We only have three days to come up with a plan. Bear in mind there will be as many Secret Service agents as there are guests,” Maggie said. “By the way, I’ve called Moss a dozen times to get an interview for his nomination for Man of the Year. So far, he has not returned any of my calls. I’m not giving up, and I am not above camping out in his driveway.”

“Attagirl,” Alexis said.

A frown on her face, Nikki looked around the table. “Like Maggie said, three days is really only seventy-two hours. Whatever we come up with better be foolproof.”

“The Secret Service doesn’t protect Lincoln Moss,” Dennis said. “That means he’s fair game.”

“True. But despite what Annie said, we cannot be certain that he’s going to attend,” Isabelle said.

Myra chewed on her lower lip for a second as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I have an idea. At best it is risky, and the decision will be up to Amalie.

“What if Maggie makes one more call to Mr. Moss and mentions that Amalie is going to attend. She can say she somehow got a copy of the RSVP list. Reporters get that kind of information all the time from their sources. And they never divulge those sources. Now, having said that, we can either take Amalie with us as she looks now, or Alexis can . . . ah . . . return her to her original appearance with that magic red bag of her tricks.”

Before anyone could comment on Myra’s idea, Kathryn said, “How’s this for a shocker! We have Jack Sparrow escort her, in whichever persona she goes as, if she’s willing.”

“Oh, wow!” Dennis shouted. “That has to be the best idea ever!”

“It is daring,” Annie admitted.

All eyes turned to Amalie and Rosalee. Both women were white as the T-shirts they were wearing. “I . . . I . . . what if he tries to . . . take me with him. I’m not sure I can be in the same room he’s in. I think I’d black out.”

“We’ll do it!” Rosalee said forcefully. “I will be right at your side, Amalie. Who is Jack Sparrow? Can I bring Jason Woods as my partner?”

“Of course you can, dear. And Jack Sparrow is the Director of the FBI. I know for a fact that he despises Lincoln Moss,” Annie said. “Oh, and before I forget, the gala is black tie. That means I get to wear my tiara.”

Jack laughed. “And where will you be packing your heat, Annie?”

“Inside my blue garter!” Annie shot back.

Harry laughed so hard, Yoko had to pound his back.

“Be serious, people. Don’t worry, Amalie, we will all be there to protect you. You have my word that nothing bad is going to happen to you. Between now and then, you have to psych yourself up to attending, then leave the rest up to us. You’re a strong woman, you can do this. I know you can,” Myra said.

Amalie drew a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Will it be over then?”

No one said yes or no.

“Alexis, can you make it happen where Amalie is concerned?” Nikki asked.

“Absolutely.”

That was all the group needed to hear. The conversation turned to jewels and the designer outfits that were on order, thanks to Annie and her special “in” with Vera Wang and Donna Karan.

Bored out of their minds, the boys left the terrace and entered the kitchen, where they informed Charles and Fergus what was going on.

“It occurs to me that Jack Sparrow is single. Shortly, if I am not mistaken, Amalie Moss will be single. Just out of curiosity, was that my wife’s idea?” Charles asked.

The boys busied themselves rooting around inside the fridge for cold beer.

“Aha, just what I thought,” Charles said, smacking his wooden spoon down on the countertop. When the handle flew off, he didn’t bother to look surprised. Fergus, on the other hand, laughed out loud.

Chapter 14

M
aggie struggled with the text she was attempting to send to Lincoln Moss. She was on her fourth try after deleting the first three. She looked over at Ted. “I can’t seem to get it just right for some reason. For starters, he’s going to go nuclear that I even have his oh-so-very-private-number-that-no-one-else-in-the-world-has. Except . . . drumroll please, Amalie and the President of the United States. And he doesn’t even know that Amalie has the number. Rosalee got it one day when he left his phone behind. I guess because she’s young, she knows how all that stuff works. Both women said the number is seared in their brain because they thought maybe someday they might need it. Guess this is the someday in question.”

“Short, curt, and to the point, that’s the best way,” Ted said. “Say what you have to say and move on.”

“When he asks where you got his private number, tell him the same thing you did when you called his other semiprivate number, that a reporter never divulges his or her sources. He has to respect that. He’s been around Washington long enough to know how that works, and after all we already had the number from Abner,” Dennis said.

“I say we go to his house and camp out in his driveway,” Espinosa said. “I’m real good at candid shots. I’ll catch the bastard in the act when he starts to shake his fist at you.”

“We have to be professional about this. Simply sending a text to do a short interview for the Man of the Year contest isn’t going to cut it. He’ll just blow it off and make noise about my having the number. I want to ask him why Amalie is going to the First Lady’s gala with the Director of the FBI instead of him. But I’m not sure I want to put that in a text. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to tip our hand. Like Espinosa says, we want to capture his face on film when I throw that at him, if, and it is a big if, I follow through.” Maggie flapped her arms in the air like a bird as she tried to figure out what she should do.

“We don’t even know if Sparrow will agree to any of this. You could be putting the cart before the horse,” Ted snorted.

“We do now,” Maggie said, looking down at an incoming text from Annie confirming the director’s date for the gala. “Annie can charm the bees out of the trees, as we all know. She really has a special rapport with Sparrow. I think we all knew he would agree. I also think Annie is going to try playing matchmaker. Sparrow is single. Amalie will be single
soon.
”

Maggie flapped her arms some more. “Maybe I should just go with my original thought, which was to casually mention that Amalie is on the guest list and has responded that she will attend. My gut is telling me to throw him the bone and see if he bites down on it. Of course, he is going to want to know how I came by that information, so once again I will have to refer to reporter’s privilege. Then I think he’ll probably just shoot the four of us. Any of you have any ideas?” She flapped her arms again to show she was confused and needed to make a decision.

The boys looked at Maggie but didn’t offer an opinion because they knew her well enough to know that if her gut was talking to her, that’s what she would listen to, not them, no matter how much sense they made.

Espinosa shuffled from one foot to the other. “You guys do know that Lincoln Moss hates Jack Sparrow, right? When the President, at his advisers’ urging, nominated Sparrow, Moss opposed it. Because Sparrow had been in the federal pen on a trumped-up charge. Moss said it wouldn’t look good and would taint the President. There was more to it than that, and we all know, as did Moss, that Sparrow got a clean bill of health on that trumped-up charge. The feds paid him handsomely for the time he spent in prison, too. I think I read somewhere, and not in the
Post,
that it was the only time Gabriel Knight vetoed a suggestion from his old buddy Lincoln Moss. You guys have to remember that, don’t you?”

“Vaguely,” Ted said. “I know we didn’t think it was newsworthy enough to write about. Even back then, the
Post
was anti-Moss.”

“I don’t remember it at all,” Dennis said.

“Me either,” Maggie said. “Okay, I pulled up his address on Glenbrook Road. It’s in the Wesley Heights area. Ah, here’s a picture. Looks like a mansion to me, and I’d estimate at the time of purchase maybe $5 or $6 million. No clue what the value is today. Pricey will do it for now, and would we really expect anything less when it comes to Lincoln Moss? He’s got some well-heeled political neighbors, too. The power elite as they say.”

“Dennis, do a Google Earth on the property so we can get a look at it. We need to know if he has electronic gates and maybe a guardhouse, that kind of thing. I’m thinking we can bluff our way to the gate even if there is a guard. They, whoever
they
turn out to be, won’t want to antagonize the press. That would be us. Especially when we tell them it’s about the Man of the Year contest. Hell, even the gardener will be impressed with that,” Ted said. “I’ve heard Moss has some serious security at his home. If I remember correctly, the security is made up of retired Secret Service.”

“And he pays triple what they would earn elsewhere in the private sector,” Dennis chirped up. “Amalie told me that. I also think she knows a lot of stuff that she hasn’t told us. My opinion is that we have barely scratched the surface where Moss is concerned.”

“I think you’re right, kid,” Ted said.

“So, what are we doing here? Do we have a game plan or not?” Espinosa asked.

Maggie nibbled on her thumb as she contemplated her next move. She hated it when she was indecisive. Just take the bull by the horns and wrestle it to the ground. Whatever happens happens. End of story.

“We’re going out to Glenbrook Road. Ted, get the van. We’ll meet you out front. Dennis, send Annie and Myra a text telling them what we’re doing. Espinosa, you got all your gear?” He nodded. “Then I think we’re good to go.”

“Did you send the text, Maggie?” Dennis asked.

“Nope. I’m going to wait till we pull into his driveway. From the looks of the Google display, he can see his driveway all the way to the road from every front window of his mansion. Wonder who uses that pool, tennis court, and that mini putting green.”

“Amalie said it’s all just for show. She said they did a whole spread in
Architectural Digest.
Everything about Lincoln Moss is for show. She said his motto is, ‘Hey, look at me!’ ”

“That’s downright sick. I can’t wait till we get our hands on that miserable cretin.”

Dennis swallowed hard at the look on Maggie’s face. He almost felt sorry for Lincoln Moss. Almost.

Forty minutes later, with Ted driving at breakneck speed, the group arrived at the Glenbrook Road address. Ted let out a loud whoop, and said, “Okay, I know exactly where we are now. Two doors down on the left is where that female senator lived. You remember, Maggie, the one who loved to entertain all those virile young Georgetown students on the taxpayer’s dime. See that Tudor, that was where she lived. Now that was a scandal to end all scandals.” A quick glance in the rearview mirror told Ted Dennis was about to ask a hundred questions since the scandal was before his time. “Later, kid, we’re here. Now what, Maggie? I don’t see any guards or security.”

“That’s because you haven’t pulled into the driveway, Ted. I think there is a structure, according to the Google map, right up there at the end and under that weeping cherry tree. At least I think it’s a weeping cherry tree. I’m not into foliage of any kind. Slow down and pull up, then stop. Let’s see if anyone comes around to talk to us.”

Ted did as instructed. He let his breath out in a loud
swoosh.
He lowered the window and waited. As one they all almost jumped out of their skin when a man appeared from the rear and leaned into the van window. “You people have an appointment with Mr. Moss or are you lost?”

The moment the shock of seeing the man or guard come up from the rear wore off, Maggie summed him up. Six-four, aviator glasses, brush cut, deeply tanned, probably around midforties or closer to the fifty mark. Trim, muscular, like he had a daily workout routine. He was dressed in pressed khakis and a white button-down dress shirt open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled up to his midarm. Pleasant voice that at the moment sounded more curious than anything else. His name tag said his name was
PAUL PRENTICE.
And, she decided, he smelled good, like some earthy woodsy glen. Her final consensus was a very nice package indeed.

Maggie leaned closer to the window and flashed her credentials. “I just this moment sent Mr. Moss a text. We just want to take a few pictures and ask a few questions about his nomination for our Man of the Year award. Would it be too much trouble for you to call him for us? He doesn’t seem to be responding to my text.”

“We don’t actually have to go inside those security gates, sir. We can do the interview right here if Mr. Moss is agreeable. We already did all our other interviews, and Mr. Moss is the last one. We can’t go to press without his comments,” Ted said.

Dennis leaned forward, “That’s not quite true, Ted. We could make up something or just say Mr. Moss flat-out refused. The thing is, Mr. Moss might not like what we print.” Dennis flashed his credentials to prove he truly belonged with the group.

“Wait here. Please stay in the van. I’ll go up to the house and see if Mr. Moss is available. I won’t be long. I have to tell you, though, that I’ve never known Mr. Moss to see anyone without an appointment, so be fair warned.”

“We understand. We know how busy a man like Mr. Moss is,” Ted said, tongue-in-cheek.

“The guy got the drop on us. We must be slipping,” Espinosa groused. “I got some good pictures of him, and he didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“He did not get the drop on us,” Maggie seethed. “What he did was sneak up on us in that golf cart he was driving. Golf carts do not make noise. So far, so good. If Moss doesn’t come down here, then I say we run the picture of the guard with whatever caption we can come up with.” She looked down at her phone. Still no returning text from Lincoln Moss.

They waited, the minutes ticking by.

Fifteen minutes later, Ted said, “This sucks. I say we leave. The guy obviously is not coming. Why give him the satisfaction of sitting here cooling our heels? Let’s take a vote.”

It was three to one to leave. Maggie wanted to stay.

“Let’s give him five more minutes,” Maggie said.

Exactly five minutes later, Ted said, “Okay, we’re outta here.” He was backing up the van when the monster iron gates opened slowly to allow the golf cart carrying Lincoln Moss, with Paul Prentice doing the driving, to emerge.

Everyone hopped out of the van and stood silently, watching to see if Moss would get out of the golf cart to shake hands. He did not. What he said was, “Make it quick, folks, I’m right in the middle of mixing some cement for some planters I’m building.”

Maggie was appalled at Moss’s attire. He looked like the hired help next to Paul Prentice. He wore ragged, cutoff shorts, a dirty, sweat-stained T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Just one of the guys. He looked sopping wet from his own sweat. He was also as deeply tanned as Prentice was.

“It looks like you have the lead this year in our Man of the Year contest. How do you feel about that, sir?” Maggie asked.

“Humbled. Appreciative. I’m sure there are others out there more worthy of the honor than I am.”

Maggie mulled over the response and knew it was a crock. She forced a smile, and said, “That is so generous of you. All of the nominees are top-notch. In other words, you are in excellent company. Do you object to a few pictures?”

Moss showed genuine surprise at the question. For a moment, he looked confused but recovered quickly. “Well, if you don’t mind the way I’m dressed, then I guess I don’t mind either.” He hopped out of the golf cart and stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his ragged shorts.

“We caught the Director of Homeland Security building a tree house for his grandson. His attire was similar to yours, sir,” Ted said. “We also captured Congressman Doolittle in a Speedo at the YMCA teaching a class of tadpoles how to swim.”

Moss quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head, and offered up a smile for Espinosa.

Maggie fixed her gaze on Moss, and said, “They say clothes make the man, but I think that’s a myth. What designer tux will you be wearing for the gala Saturday night? And our readers will want to know what that gorgeous wife of yours will be wearing. Care to share that with us?”

Moss’s smile was gone in a nanosecond, replaced with an ugly look in his eyes. He looked to Maggie’s eyes like he was going to explode, but he got himself under control. “I’m not sure I will be attending, Miss Spritzer. My wife is in France, and I don’t like to attend these sorts of functions without her. However, I did sponsor a table. Now, if that’s all, I need to get back to my cement. Oh, all of my tuxedos are by Hugo Boss.” Moss slid back onto the seat of the golf cart, and said, “Go!”

“Mr. Moss! Mr. Moss! Wait a minute! Please. I don’t think I got my wires crossed, but I have it on good authority that Mrs. Moss sent her RSVP confirming she was attending the gala. Ooops. Oooh, I hope I just didn’t give away a surprise. If I did, I am so sorry. Your wife must be planning on surprising you. That makes sense, right? Please don’t give me away,” Maggie pleaded.

Whatever the little group was expecting as a response was lost on them as Moss’s back was to them when Maggie let the cat out of the bag. Their only hope was that Espinosa had managed somehow to capture some kind of reaction.

“Okay, you dropped the bomb. We need to get out of here. Anyone pick up on anything?” Ted asked as he straightened out the van and switched gears.

“I think it’s safe to say the guy was pissed to the teeth. Of all the things in the world you could have said to him, that just never entered his mind. I think about now he is going nuts, and that cement he was talking about is going to turn into a rock,” Espinosa said out of the corner of his mouth as he scanned the digital pictures he’d snapped one after the other, hoping for at least one good shot. “Aha! Got the schmuck. Look at this. He looks like he saw a ghost and ran into a brick wall at the same time. Oh, this is good. You got to him, Maggie. I bet he starts calling you in short order. You might want to turn off your phone so his calls go to voice mail. Unless, of course, you want to undergo a third degree. Also, don’t be surprised if he shows up in person at your house or at the paper. I think you need to lie low,” Espinosa warned her.