Collateral Damage (17 page)

Erin stared at the house until her eyes watered. Her gut told her something was wrong, but she didn’t know what it was. On impulse, she got out of the car and marched up to the door. She rang the bell, then hit the knocker just in case the Woodleys had the television on and couldn’t hear her.

She hadn’t expected Paula Woodley to be such a spitfire. Paula had stood next to Erin’s car and reamed her up one side and down the other. And while she was doing that, what the hell was Lizzie Fox doing inside the house? All alone.

Erin held her finger on the bell and listened to it peal inside. She gave the door knocker a couple more whacks. Nothing happened. She pressed her ear to the door and couldn’t hear anything. It didn’t sound like the TV was on. Why would they turn it off since that seemed to be the only thing Mr. Woodley could do other than sit in a chair? Probably his only enjoyment, if you could call it that, came from the huge plasma screen.

Erin looked up and down the street. It was a nice neighborhood, with lots of trees and pretty homes. The whole time she’d sat in her car she’d seen only one other, a rickety bucket of rust, driven by two pimply youths and Lizzie’s Porsche. She corrected the thought. She’d seen three vehicles. The kids, Lizzie, and the van. An airline van of some kind. She wished now she’d paid attention to the logo on the side. Definitely some kind of airline, she remembered that much.

It hit her then like a freight train. The Woodley house was empty. She’d bet a day’s pay on it. And they’d made their getaway in the white van with the red lettering. They must have gone out the backyard and across the neighbor’s lawn. There was no doubt in her mind that Lizzie Fox had engineered the whole thing. Paula Woodley was just a distraction. “Bitch!” she seethed.
Whose garage did that van come from?

Her cell phone was in her hand a second later, and she barked an order. “I want another warrant for 11063 Benton. No, I don’t know who lives there. Make it a Jane Doe. I want it five minutes ago.” Erin was so angry she threw the cell phone at her own government-issued car. She watched in dismay as the cover flew off the phone and sailed across the street, the batteries running down the slight incline.

That was one less worry. Director Cummings no longer had a way to reach her in the field.

N
ikki nibbled on her lower lip as her gaze swept the parking lot. They had to get out of here, and the sooner the better. She was contemplating putting the van in gear when a dark SUV pulled alongside and two hulking men got out and walked around to the driver’s side of the van. One of the men motioned for Nikki to lower the window, but she didn’t comply until he mouthed the words, “Charles sent me.” She quickly lowered the window. “What?”

He handed a slip of paper through the open window, then backed away to help his partner. They quickly removed the airline logo and slapped on new, larger colorful signs on both side panels that said the van belonged to Martucci’s Produce. The license plate was removed and a Virginia plate installed. The burly man jacked the screwdriver into his pocket, offered a thumbs-up, and both men climbed into the SUV.

“Where are we going?” Myra asked Nikki.

“To Alexandria. Old Town. Charles said he hasn’t been able to reach Kathryn and Isabelle. He wants us to keep trying. He wants them out of there…like right now. I have to pay attention to the traffic, so someone call them. Yoko, call Harry and ask him to track Jack down.”

“What happened, dear?” Myra asked.

Nikki shrugged. “If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say Erin Powell figured it out. She probably remembered there was no traffic on the street except for this van. Ergo, that’s why the Woodley house is vacant. Five will get you ten they’re breaking down the door to both houses as we speak.”

“But why does Charles want Kathryn and Isabelle to leave? They just got there. No one knows about them. That was the plan. I don’t understand,” Alexis fretted.

“That was before Erin Powell got wise to us,” Nikki said as she waited impatiently for the traffic light to turn green. “A lot seems to be happening suddenly. All that the local news is talking about concerns the new ownership of the
Post.
I wish I could remember what it is that I’m missing. If I could just remember…”

“It will come to you, dear,” Myra said soothingly. “Don’t force it.”

“Easy for you to say, Myra. We’re going to get ambushed. If I could only remember…”

Myra sighed. “Perhaps we should play that word game I used to play with you and Barbara when you were children. I would say a word and you say whatever comes into your mind. Shall we try, dear?”

“Why not? I can talk and drive. I don’t think it’s a thing or a place but more a person. Something a person said.”

They went at it then, the Sisters throwing out names and places, then they doubled up with a name and a place. Nothing happened until Nikki slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection in Old Town. It was when Yoko said two names, Bert Navarro and Elias Cummings in succession that Nikki stomped on the gas pedal. “That’s it! That’s it, Yoko! I love you!

“I remember now. Sometimes I am so stupid I can’t stand myself. What’s been bugging me is what Charles told us about how Bert was assigned to the task force. And what called it to my attention was when Jack told me that Bert had called him for something or other and was complaining about Cummings assigning him to Erin Powell. Bert was really ticked off. He thought it was a comedown from being Cummings’s number one.

“Then Bert said that he should have figured out something was going on when Cummings went to the White House without him, without even telling him that a meeting there was scheduled. He said anytime a visit to the White House is on the schedule, they get a notice beforehand, and there are always two people at the meeting. You know how sneaky the administration can be.

“And Charles, you’ll remember, revealed that Bert only found out about the meeting by accident and soon after he asked Cummings about it, he was transferred to the task force.”

“But what does it mean, Nikki?” Annie asked.

“I’m not sure, but I think if we all let our imaginations run wild, we can figure it out. We’re women, we’re supposed to be smart, so let’s figure it out. First, though, let me get my bearings here. Everyone, keep thinking but hold your thoughts until we get inside wherever it is we’re going.”

Their destination turned out to be what Charles called a “safe house,” where operatives in the spook business could hole up until it was safe and time to move on. Safe houses were on no one’s radar and came sparsely furnished with packaged staples and hygiene bags in the bathrooms. Safety, not comfort, was what anyone locating to a safe house required.

Nikki pulled the van off the dirt road and onto a gravel driveway at 207 Beaumonde Road. She cut the engine, and they all trooped out of the van to look around at their new digs.

They were in the country, with only one other house on the road, and it appeared to be vacant. The safe house itself looked decent enough, with a fireplace jutting out high and wide on the side of the house. Even without an education in architecture, it was easy to figure out that the house was a preassembled log cabin.

“The key is supposed to be over the ledge. I’ll go in and open the garage. Alexis, drive the van in when I open the garage door,” Nikki said.

“Turn the heat up,” Myra said, a few minutes later as they walked into the refrigerator-like atmosphere of the log cabin. “There is heat, isn’t there?”

Her tone was so anxious, Nikki looked around until she saw a thermostat on the wall next to a small kitchen. She cranked it up to 80 degrees before opening the garage door for Alexis.

The inside of the cabin was pretty much like the outside, plain, with no personal touches of any kind. There were no pictures on the walls, nothing on the wide mantel. The kitchen had two pots and an assortment of disposable dishes and cutlery. The cabinets held canned goods and assorted crackers, and there was one bag of cookies. There was nothing in the refrigerator except bottles of water. There was a linen closet that held towels, soaps, and toothbrushes, all prepackaged.

Alexis looked around. “This is depressing. I hope we aren’t going to be here too long. We’ll be overcrowded once Kathryn and Isabelle get here.”

Never one to let something simmer if she could bring it to a boil, Annie sat down cross-legged on the floor and motioned for the others to join her. “Put us out of our misery, Nikki, and tell us what you think this business might mean.”

“Maybe we should wait for Kathryn and Isabelle,” Yoko said, “so we don’t have to go through this all again.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Annie snapped. “We can always give them a summary. It’s not like they need to hear all the ifs, ands, and buts.”

It was Nikki’s cue to speak. “Okay, okay. Let’s ask ourselves why would Director Cummings suddenly start up a new task force to find us? We know why, but why right now? And why Erin Powell? Because we were friends once upon a time? If you want my opinion, that’s pretty suspicious in and of itself. Why assign Bert to Erin, where he could assume she would make him her number one, and why not take him to the White House or tell him what took place? Bert is or was Cummings’s number one. Perhaps the director’s thinking is along the lines of Erin’s, and he, too, thinks Bert is the mole. I’m saying perhaps. Now, why did the director go to the White House? Bert said the request to go to the White House always comes through in writing first so all involved can clear their schedules. Unless this was a covert meeting and no one was supposed to know about it, not even Bert, would be my guess. As Bert said, he found out only by accident.

“The meeting at the White House was only days after the request from the Republicans came through the message board to ask for our help.”

Yoko picked up on Nikki’s rundown. “The director appoints Erin to head up the task force, dumps Bert on her to get him out of his hair, knowing full well she isn’t going to get anywhere. He’s already had one showdown with her. Today, if Lizzie calls him, will make two dressing-downs. Bert is in Chicago by now and out of everyone’s hair. So, if Bert’s away from Washington, nothing that goes down can be blamed on him.”

“Remember what Charles said? He said that Pam Lock and Baron Russell had a midnight, or at least a middle-of-the-night, meeting. What was that all about?” Myra asked.

“Pam Lock, according to Lizzie, is golden. She’s on our side even though she doesn’t know it. Russell is a Republican, so that means he’s involved in whatever went on at that White House meeting. This is a wild guess on my part, but I don’t think any donor lists were stolen on either side. I think that’s all one big lie,” Nikki said. The anger in her voice was so pronounced, the others knew she was on a roll.

As one they all bellowed, “Why?”

Nikki shrugged. “The only thing I can come up with is they’re trying to trap us, set up an ambush. We almost walked into it, too. Call Kathryn and see if they’re on their way.”

Yoko flipped open her cell phone and punched in a number. She identified herself and listened. She clicked it shut after eight minutes.

“They’re fifteen minutes away. Kathryn said someone was following her in a maroon-colored Saab. She called Harry, and he ran interference with the ambulance, which he has since ditched at some chop shop he knows, in case we need it at some point later on. He’s on his way here on his motorcycle. Actually, he’s directly behind Kathryn so he can watch her back. By the way, the Woodleys are safe and sound, and will be leaving the country by midafternoon on a private jet. Charles got on it like white on rice,” Yoko said, using everyone’s favorite expression.

“That’s a relief,” Nikki said. “Let’s get back to our discussion. Who is responsible for what was to be our impending ambush and capture? The FBI or the White House? C’mon, c’mon, girls, I need feedback here. Throw it out here and let’s kick it to death. We aren’t leaving this house until I know it’s safe to do so.”

They all jabbered at the same time, throwing out wild ideas and scenarios that were impossible to comprehend.

When they ran out of steam with no solutions, Nikki said, “I keep going back to that promised pardon. At least we were smart enough at the beginning to know that wasn’t going to happen. But, girls, what if…?”

Whatever it was Nikki was about to say was cut off when they heard the sound of a car and the roar of Harry’s motorcycle. Yoko raced to the door and leaped into Harry’s arms as Kathryn and Isabelle flew into the room.

“What the hell happened?” Kathryn asked bluntly as she whipped off her wig and shook out her hair.

Isabelle sat down, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

“This is a dump,” Kathryn said as she looked around. “Tell us what happened.”

Annie summed it up quickly. “What excuse did you give Pam Lock for…uh…bugging out?”

“Said I cracked a tooth and was in pain, and Isabelle had to drive me to the dentist. She bought it. I liked the lady. I can tell you this, within minutes I figured out there was no way anyone could have gotten hold of her donor lists. The lady has it going on, let me tell you that. It all smelled of a setup, and she thinks so, too.”

Annie’s jaw dropped. “And you figured all this out in, what, an hour?”

“Well, yeah, Annie. I was there to spy. So I spied. Plus, Pam likes to chatter. We got on right away. And here’s a second plus for you. When a woman hates a man the way Lock hates Baron Russell, it was all a greased slide. Aside from all the claptrap and the bullshit, Pam Lock and her family are very patriotic and political.”

“What about that middle-of-the-night meeting?” Myra asked.

“Sorry, Myra, I didn’t get that far. Yoko called, and Isabelle and I flew out of there like we had wings. Then we picked up that tail. Has anyone heard from Bert?”

“No, dear, he hasn’t called in,” Myra said. “He’s probably just arrived in Chicago. Even if they suspect that Bert is their mole, they have no proof.”

“People have been convicted on less,” Kathryn said. She was worried, and the Sisters could tell, so they tried to reassure her. But Kathryn wasn’t buying false hopes. “Bert put his neck and reputation on the line for us. We need to do something to protect him.”

Harry and Yoko joined the group sitting on the floor. Harry dropped down and said, “I know I don’t have a voting voice with all of you, but this is one time I’d like to make a suggestion. They’re going to hang Bert out to dry unless you can switch it around. My suggestion is you make Erin Powell the mole.”

Annie was on her feet, gesturing wildly with both arms. “See! I told you we should have taken her out! I just didn’t get far enough in my thinking that we should frame her. I think that’s a stupendous idea, Harry.”

“Then let’s do it,” Kathryn said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Nikki, if you’re right, and Powell is still at the Woodley house, call and talk to her. Arrange a one-on-one meeting. We’ll be your lookouts to make sure she doesn’t have her people watching her back. We take her out right then and there. Charles can clean up after us. Yeah, yeah, we have to call him first. I think it will be better if it comes from Myra.” The others agreed. “Charles should have foreseen this.”

Myra immediately went on the defensive. “How could Charles possibly know something like that ahead of time, Kathryn?”

But Kathryn was in a fighting mood. “He knows everything else, doesn’t he? If he didn’t know, he should have anticipated something like this happening. We’ve been flying blind since we got here. Our intel was sloppy at best. Our intel comes straight from Charles, so there is no one else to blame, and someone needs to take blame here or Bert is going to get caught, and where does that leave us? We owe it to Bert.”

“You’re absolutely right, Kathryn. We do owe it to Bert to step in.” Nikki looked around at the others, who were nodding in agreement.

Nikki’s cell phone seemingly materialized out of thin air. She jabbed in Paula Woodley’s home phone number while Myra contacted Charles. Nikki wasn’t surprised when a deep male voice answered Paula’s phone and asked who she was.

“This is Carol Maloney from the
Post.
I’d like to speak to Special Agent Powell. I have something urgent to tell her about a case she’s working on.”

“Hold on. What’d you say your name was again?”

“Carol Maloney.”