In the kitchen, the phone to her ear, Annie motioned for Myra to stay behind when the others trooped off to the second floor.

Annie continued to listen, getting more excited by the minute as Maggie continued to rattle on. Finally, she said, "Of course, dear, whatever it takes. Absolutely, I agree with you. Everything she wants. Yes, yes, I understand she doesn't want anything. What I meant was, everything you think she needs. Uh, yes, scanner, printer, laptop, desktop, iPhone, iPod, BlackBerry...whatever. Outfit the van with everything top-of-the-line. Pay the insurance for three years. We'll revisit that at a future date. Oh, and send her some flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. I'm sure they're in scarce supply in Idaho. Then again, maybe not. Just bill everything to the paper. I'll have Conrad take care of it tomorrow. Thank you, Maggie. Thank you so very much."

Myra nervously fingered the pearls at her neck as she listened to Annie's end of the conversation. "Don't just stand there, what did Maggie say? Every word, Annie. You look just like the cat that swallowed a canary. What's up with all the high-tech communications stuff you were talking about, and who is it going to?"

"Myra, listen to me. Stop with the d.a.m.n pearls already, okay? Those things that you and I fight over all the time are because we don't want anyone to know we don't know what they're talking about...because...we're too old and everyone knows you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"What are you trying to say, Annie, that we're too old?"

"The word you're looking for is obsolete, Myra. And if that's true, then Hank Jellicoe was right in thinking we're no threat to him."

Her pearl lifeline forgotten with Annie's startling words, Myra stomped her foot. "Bulls.h.i.t!"

"Attagirl, Myra. That's about as good as, 'Obsolete, my a.s.s,' which was what I was going to say! I'm beginning to think you just might have the makings of a cougar."

Myra, a wicked look on her face, moved a little closer to Annie. "Well, what are we going to do about it, Annie?"

"I'm thinking, Myra, I'm thinking."

Chapter 21.

Elias c.u.mmings let his mind drift as he tooled along. He wished he hadn't caved in to his wife and the ladies. It wasn't that he was a wuss, because he did get a thrill when things got dicey with the ladies, and they called on him for his expertise. Not a small thrill, a rather big thrill, to be precise. He grinned when he thought about all the things the girls-better to call them "girls" than the vigilantes-had done even when it was just in his private thoughts. He could have used their chutzpah when he was director of the FBI. Not that he would ever admit it. He almost laughed out loud when he remembered the day that Nellie had finally confided that she was one of them. He'd almost blacked out, which didn't say much for him when she admitted to aiding and abetting the vigilantes. Retired federal court judge Cornelia Easter, Nellie to her friends, an honorary active member of that elite little group.

He literally did choke when he found out his acting director, Bert Navarro, was not only active in the group but a full-fledged member. Which explained more than he cared to know back then. He guffawed aloud inside the car when he recalled the day he'd gone to the White House to announce his retirement and plead Bert's case to the president. And it had worked. With all the Bureau's foibles and bad press, Bert had turned things around so that it was no longer the laughingstock of Alphabet City. Then just when things were looking up, Bert had thrown in the towel, along with all the others. Now, that was a black day at the Bureau for sure. Elias had lost count of the calls he'd gotten to pitch in and help, all of which he'd declined by saying Nellie needed him. And once again, the workforce inside the Hoover Building was floundering. The new director was a p.i.s.sant who didn't know his a.s.s from his elbow. Maybe Elias should do some serious lobbying to get Bert back in the fold.

The GPS on his dashboard started to talk to him. He had one more turn, and he would be at his destination, which was the residence of the retired director of the CIA.

Elias turned the corner of a very pleasant, old, tree-lined street, where the houses, most of them Federal style, were set back from the street. One-acre, treed lots, lovely green gra.s.s, and shrubs that were well tended. Retired people mostly, he surmised. When he'd been here the last time, after the director's wife's funeral, he hadn't really paid too much attention to his surroundings. Calvin Sands had lived here with his family for more than forty years. Elias couldn't remember who had told him that or if had heard it at the funeral. Not that it mattered. All in all, a pleasant home in a pleasant neighborhood. The GPS squawked one more time before Elias cut the engine and reached for the gift-wrapped bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He had a silly moment as he reached for the package because he didn't know whether Calvin Sands was a drinker. Considering the job he'd held for so many years, the odds were in favor of at least a snort now and then.

Elias took a quick look at his reflection in the side mirror before he began his trek up the flower-bordered walkway that led to the front door. He rang the bell and was rewarded with a ten-note musical chime that was not unpleasant. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door, then it opened. Elias blinked and so did the man staring at him.

"I suppose I could say I was in the neighborhood, but that would be a lie. I made the trip out here to talk to you, Calvin." Elias held out the bourbon, and Sands took it. He motioned for Elias to follow him into the house.

Nothing looked familiar to Elias as he followed Sands down a foyer, through a dining room, then through the kitchen to an outside deck covered with a brightly colored awning. Again, the retired director motioned for Elias to take a seat at a wooden table full of newspapers, mostly unread from the look of them, and a frosty pitcher of lemonade. Cookies and sandwiches sat under a gla.s.s-domed cover. Almost, Elias thought, like he knew I was coming.

"So, you weren't in the neighborhood, but here you are. What can I do for you, Elias?"

"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I'm sorry for your loss, Calvin. It's hard to lose a spouse after so many years. I went through it. I have to be honest with you, nothing helped. You have to take it one day at a time."

Calvin Sands shrugged and spoke softly. "I think Helen was glad to...go. Before...before she got bad, we talked quite a bit, probably more than we talked during our whole married life. She didn't like me at the end, Elias. In fact, I think she hated me. I was never here. I didn't contribute to anything emotionally or physically because I was married to the G.o.dd.a.m.n job. Helen did it all. She raised our children and did a fine job of it. They let me know it, too, in no uncertain terms. Not one of them, and there are four, have been out here since...since the funeral. I don't expect to see them anytime soon, either. But that's not the worst. I have three grandchildren I have never even seen. Even I know that's pretty d.a.m.n bad."

"Yes, Calvin, it is. Like I said, I traveled that road. Time helps, but it won't make it right. To this day, I ask myself every single d.a.m.n day, was it worth it? The answer in my case is no. Did you come up with an answer, Calvin, or don't you want to know?"

"I know. Instead of this lemonade, why don't we just hit this fine bottle you brought out here with you. I usually start around now and drink myself into a stupor, and my housekeeper, who also hates me, puts me to bed."

"That bad, eh?"

"Yep, that bad. I always hated you and those p.u.s.s.ies over at the Bureau. No offense."

"None taken. I hated you and those Neanderthals at the Farm, too. I'm sure you have some redeeming qualities, Calvin?"

"Not a G.o.dd.a.m.n one, Elias. Do you have any?"

"I'm kind to animals and women," Elias said, sipping from his gla.s.s. Sands downed his in two long swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're just two old codgers these days. Life's too short to hate each other."

"You think? It's in our blood. Short of a full-body transfusion, I don't see either one of us running a mom-and-pop grocery store. Unless they sell AK-47s and Uzis in the back room."

In spite of himself, Elias laughed. "Listen, let's cut right to the chase here. What do you know about Hank Jellicoe, and what's the real story on all that buzz about some cell wanting to take down this administration?"

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, Elias? What cell? As for Jellicoe, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d should burn in h.e.l.l. He's been a thorn in the CIA's side for twenty years. He thinks he runs this country. Not only does he think it, he f.u.c.king believes it. What the h.e.l.l has he done now?"

"I think he disappeared. Seems he got the leaders of the world's other major intelligence and law-enforcement services into a snit over that-MI5, the Surete, Mossad, Scotland Yard, and Interpol."

Sands poured another two inches of bourbon into his gla.s.s. He looked at it before he brought it to his lips. He took a mighty gulp. "What's the time frame you're talking about?"

"Eighteen, maybe nineteen months ago."

Sands closed his eyes. "I was still working. Helen hadn't been diagnosed then. Wasn't that about the time your boy at the Bureau cut loose and went with Jellicoe? That sure as h.e.l.l caused a stir, I can tell you that."

"Yes, right around that time. Did something happen? Do you know?"

"Well, no, nothing I heard of. Certainly nothing to do with covert chatter or mystery cells trying to take down the administration."

It was true, liquor did loosen one's tongue. Before giving it a second thought, Elias poured another two inches of the amber fluid into Sands's gla.s.s.

"a.s.suming...I said a.s.suming...I know something you don't know, and if I tell you, what are you going to do with the information?"

"I don't know, that's the G.o.d's honest truth. I'm thinking it might help some pretty wonderful people, but I don't know that for sure. What do you have?"

"Well, and I don't know if this is anything you're interested in, but starting about eight months later, Jellicoe's people screwed up. Remember those seven contractors that were killed over there in the sand?" Elias nodded. "Well, Global was the firm hired to protect those men. There wasn't a real big fuss, but there was a fuss. His image got tarnished, and he wasn't able to polish it back to its original shine. Jellicoe was on it like white on rice for all the good it did him. 'Allegedly' was the buzzword during that period. There were hearings, task forces, the whole nine yards, but for some reason the press cut him more than one break and played the whole thing down. In other words, it never grew legs. The widows and families went nuts at first, then, all of a sudden, they dropped off the grid. Allegedly, they were paid off handsomely. Our people went after him, and his people, but we couldn't make anything stick. It's a blight on Captain America's record. Everything else has been whitewashed. The man has some very powerful friends, and he's got more f.u.c.king money than...what's that woman's name who was one of those vigilantes? Well, whoever she is, he has either more money than her or almost as much."

Elias thought his blood was starting to boil in his veins. Somehow he managed an offhand shrug. "And that means, what?"

"I don't know, Elias, you tell me. You came here to pick my brain, and that's all I have to give you. My people thought he was derelict; the families thought so, too. Trust me when I tell you, we went after him, but we were stonewalled every step of the way. We started to dig, and we dug deep. Do you know how many civilian American deaths we came up with? Men that Jellicoe's people were trained and hired to protect? Sixteen, that's how many. Twenty-three if you count the last seven. And come to think of it, those deaths started right around the time you were asking about. Maybe a month or so after your guy joined his outfit. That's twenty-three too many. He never answered to anyone for even one of those deaths. He said it was collateral damage and a war was going on."

"He's disappeared is what I'm hearing. He went off the grid around that time," Elias said, pouring more bourbon into Sands's gla.s.s.

"As Helen would say, good riddance to bad rubbish." Elias thought Nellie used the same term from time to time, because he'd heard it before. He didn't say anything but waited. He didn't have long to wait. After a long pull on his drink, Sands said, "What's the son of a b.i.t.c.h done now?"

"He disappeared. Word was he retired. People like Jellicoe never retire, you know that. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is a mercenary, and like you said, it's in his blood. But he didn't do it until after he practically started a war with the leaders of the world's intelligence and law-enforcement services. That's pure scuttleb.u.t.t, Calvin. You know, kind of like 'alleged' back during your stint."

"Why would he do something stupid like that?"

Elias shrugged. Sands was slurring his words now, but he still made sense. "We're good, Elias, you have to admit it. My people did not miss anything. We'd know. h.e.l.l, I'll give the devil his due and say you guys at the Bureau would have picked up on something. Maybe after we did, but you would have picked up on something. DHS would have been on our a.s.ses the second they heard any kind of chatter. You know how that works. So, what's his game? How the h.e.l.l could someone like Hank Jellicoe disappear? Maybe the son of a b.i.t.c.h is dead," he said, an evil smile on his lips.

"I was hoping you could tell me what his game is. He's not dead, that's for sure. Do you think you could ask around, get in touch with DHS and see what they have on him?"

"Sure, but don't hold your breath. Those boys and girls at Homeland Security don't like to share. By the way, didn't that crud get engaged to the president? Wasn't it around that time? Yeah, yeah, that's when she pardoned the vigilantes. Then poof...nothing. What's up with that, Elias?"

"I don't know."

Sands waved his arms about. "There you go, just goes to prove my point, you p.u.s.s.ies over there at the Bureau don't know squat. When you want to know something, you have to come to us."

Elias leaned across the table jabbing at the air with his index finger. "And you don't know anything, either. That means that son of a b.i.t.c.h is better than both the Bureau and the CIA. Chew on that one, Calvin."

Calvin Sands couldn't chew on anything because he was sound asleep. Elias shook his head before he took the bottle of bourbon and poured what was left of it over the railing of the deck. He did the same with his gla.s.s and Calvin's gla.s.s. "Thirty-five bucks shot to h.e.l.l!" he muttered as he made his way through the house to the front door. He was halfway to the door when he decided to go back and leave his card under the bourbon bottle. Maybe when the retired director woke up, he'd give him a call if he remembered anything else. He looked across at the slack-jawed man and winced. "Been there, done that."

On the drive back to the farm, Elias ran his visit with Calvin Sands over in his mind. He didn't like the man any better than he had before, even though Sands was vulnerable now and he could relate to that vulnerability. As much as he disliked his colleague, he felt sorry for him. As he reviewed their verbal exchange, he couldn't come up with anything that sounded like a lie. For whatever it was worth, he decided Sands had leveled with him. Maybe it was wishful thinking or just professional courtesy. All he knew for certain was when he reported in back at Pinewood, he would be telling the women something fishy was going on, and they were the ones who had to get to the bottom of it. But that meant they would be spinning their wheels, not him. If the CIA said there was no impending threat to the White House or the current administration, then as far as he was concerned, there was no threat.

He wondered what the girls would do when he shared the information Sands had given him on the dead contractors under Jellicoe's watch.

Elias crossed the Key Bridge and drove until he found a generous shoulder to pull over and park. His a.s.signment wasn't over. Nellie said he was to call Donald Frank, the secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, and make an appointment to see him. He dialed the number and was put through to Frank's secretary. He gave his name and phone number and asked that the secretary call him when he returned to the office. Done!

Elias waited for a break in traffic before he peeled onto the highway. He was going home and d.a.m.n glad he didn't have to worry about the world anymore.

Chapter 22.

The Sisters sat around the conference table in the war room waiting for Charles and Lizzie to say the big shots they were going to deal with were available for the video conference the girls had worked on tirelessly for the past few hours. Pings and dings and whistles could be heard as faxes and e-mails poured into Charles's workstation. The women looked up when Charles whistled softly and waved a confirmation slip in the air. "The money has been deposited. And now...it's gone to an even safer haven." The Sisters clapped their hands.

Lizzie grinned from ear to ear when Charles held up a second confirmation slip indicating that Lizzie's exorbitant fee was just as safe as the Sisters' money. She was rewarded with a whoop of approval from the Sisters.

With five minutes to go until the video conference began, Charles took a call, listened, and then held up his hand for silence. "That was Elias. Donald Frank, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, swore on his mother, his wife, all the saints in heaven, and his dog Zip that there is no threat now nor was there a threat to the current administration eighteen months ago. Elias said his bulls.h.i.t meter was turned on high, and the man was telling the truth."

Annie looked around the table. "We can talk that one to death after the conference. Just so you know, girls, when we corner Mr. Marvelous, also known as Henry, call me Hank, Jellicoe, Myra and I get first crack at him. I absolutely will not take no for an answer."

"Then you will have to fight me," Yoko said with a wicked glint in her eye. "He's mine!"

"You did call it first the other day, dear," Annie said, opting to take the high road. "But you will let us senior citizens play with him a little first, right?"

"But of course, Annie."

Myra's and Annie's faces lit up like Christmas morning. Up at his workstation, Charles shivered at the evil laughter he was hearing wafting his way. Lizzie just smiled.

"Showtime, girls!" Lizzie said.

No one knew quite what to expect, and when it was over, with Lizzie promising to deliver the signed contracts to London the next day, the Sisters sat back and looked at each other, their faces puzzled.

Kathryn, always the most vocal of the group, asked, "Now what? Our side is saying nothing is going on. Their side says there is. Where the h.e.l.l are we supposed to start? I think we just screwed ourselves into a corner."

"Au contraire, Kathryn. Ladies, take a look at this, compliments of Maggie and her brilliant column, Sight and Sound, and one Mrs. Emma Doty from Prairie City, Idaho."

"Where they grow all the potatoes, that Idaho?" Alexis asked.

"The one and only," Charles said, trying to hide his dismay that Maggie had come up with something his people had missed. Heads were going to roll.

"Jellicoe is really this Andrew Graverson person?" Myra said, shock ringing in her voice. "How did he manage to get away with an a.s.sumed ident.i.ty all these years? The man was vetted six ways to Sunday by Washington. I distinctly remember reading that in his biography."

"I'm guessing no one looked that hard. You really should read more spy novels, Myra. There are ways, then there are ways, to get around everything. One just has to learn the navigation rules. Obviously, Hank found a way that worked for him and covered his tracks. Until he was eighteen, he was just a kid. No one goes back that far when they dig," Annie said.

"The Bureau does, Annie. Bert told me they go back to the day someone is born when they do a full-fledged background check."

"Jellicoe is sixty-six, right, according to this paperwork? Forty-eight years ago there was no real security to speak of. Certainly nothing like it is today, or even twenty years ago. I can see how he got away with it," Nikki said. "He's off the rails now, and my guess would be he's holed up at that property in Florida. I'll bet even his own people don't know about that property. Oh, it is sooo hot in Florida at this time of year."

"We aren't certain yet, Nikki," Charles said. "Maggie has Ted and Espinosa on it as we speak." The girls all started to babble at once. Lizzie moved closer to the huge plasma screen and clicked a few b.u.t.tons. A moment later, her son appeared on the screen. Lizzie beamed, her eyes misty. "Good morning, Jack," Lizzie said, blowing the cherub a kiss that he returned. The little guy started to jabber nonstop.

"What's he saying, Lizzie?" Isabelle asked.

"That he loves me!"

Lizzie was waving her arms and blowing air kisses to the little guy. "Watch Mommy, Jack. I'm sending you a kiss and a hug around the neck. Give Daddy a big hug for me." The little boy leaned forward and hugged his dad.

"That's a carrot he's eating," Lizzie said proudly. She did some more waving and blew another kiss before she addressed her husband. "I'm taking a Gulfstream to London this afternoon, Cosmo. I'm leaving Pinewood now. I'll stop off at my office and the house. I'll call you when I board, then when I land in England. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be on a private jet headed for Vegas and home. See you day after tomorrow. Love you guys."

Lizzie turned back to the girls. "I'm outta here, ladies, Charles. We did good, girls, real good. Keep me in the loop." A round of hugs and kisses, trailing perfume, and Lizzie Fox Cricket was gone, and the room immediately lost some of its l.u.s.ter.

"All right, girls, it's time to start plotting," Annie said, rubbing her hands together in gleeful antic.i.p.ation.

Back in town, Maggie Spritzer marshaled her army of two. "Listen up, both of you, because I, meaning me, am going to blow your socks off. Me! While you two were diddling around with whatever you were diddling with, I got the goods. I really got the goods. I'm not saying it is a hundred percent, but my reporter's instinct is telling me it's ninety-nine point nine percent on the money, and boys, it just dropped in my lap, and I ran with it like a good reporter does. You're still wearing your socks, why is that?"

"Because you haven't told us what this super-duper news you have is," Ted snarled. He was still miffed that Maggie had him in dry dock. He looked down at his feet and realized he wasn't wearing socks with his sneakers. Neither was Espinosa. So much for blowing off his socks.

"I just want to make sure the two of you know I am the best of the best. Take a seat and tell me who you think the man in these pictures is," she said, handing over the photos Emma Doty's son had sent an hour earlier. Maggie didn't realize she was holding her breath until Ted and Espinosa both said, "It's Jellicoe. What, is this some kind of game?"

Maggie leaned in closer. "How sure are you?"

"d.a.m.n sure. I spent eighteen months hating that son of a b.i.t.c.h. I'd know him in a dark room. I know everything there is to know about him that's ever been printed," Ted barked.

Espinosa rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ditto for me on everything Ted just said. He's younger, but that's him. I'm telling you this with a photographer's eyes."

"That's good enough for me. I just wanted to be sure. The problem is, guys, this is not Henry, call me Hank, Jellicoe. This man, boy, whatever you want to call him, is Andrew Graverson, who was born and raised till the age of eighteen in Prairie City, Idaho. Big potato country."

Ted looked at Espinosa, then threw his hands in the air. "So, that makes us stupid, is that what you're saying?"