11. Collateral Damage Read online

  “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?”

  Nikki laughed, a strange sound in the quiet night. “Name me one time, just one time, when a politician kept his promise. When it comes to us, no one is going to help us but ourselves. Now, think about this. If we take it on, we need to do a little compiling of our own. It’s called blackmail, ladies. Compared to our other…endeavors, blackmail is a drop in the bucket. And, don’t forget for one minute that we have copies of all those files that were in Mitch Riley’s safe. To me that’s a hell of a bargaining chip.”

  “And we own the Post. All I have to do is sign off on it,” Annie said.

  “Oh, ladies, we are so golden we positively shine!” Kathryn said.

  “I guess that means we’re going back to Washington,” Isabelle said.

  “Yes, that’s what it means, dear. But this time we’re going armed with our own brand of weapons—paper weapons,” Myra said. “And I’m thinking we shouldn’t be shy about mentioning them. The written word is all-powerful.”

  “Hear! Hear!” the others shouted, their voices ringing in the clear night.

  Murphy and Grady both sat up on their haunches and howled at the waning moon.

  Inside the dining hall, Charles stopped what he was doing and listened to the dogs’ howling. He thought it was the most ominous sound he’d ever heard. His hand shook slightly when he poured the tequila into the mixer.

  Chapter 5

  Erin Powell barreled into her new offices at five twenty AM, certain she’d beat Bert Navarro by a good ten minutes. She was chagrined to see that he was in one of the portable kitchens, the coffee already made and a box of donuts opened on the folding table. “Morning, boss,” he drawled.

  So much for hurrying and busting my butt, she thought sourly.

  “Do you ever sleep?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “In this job I’ve learned how to power nap. For some reason I don’t require a lot of sleep. I like getting here early so I don’t have to fight morning traffic.”

  Erin eyed the sugary donuts and decided to pass.

  At the same time, Bert was eyeing his new chief over his coffee mug. To his mind’s eye she looked stressed, uncertain. Definitely not a good thing from where he was standing. “Guess we’re the early birds. Tell me what you want me to do, Erin.”

  Erin’s eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out if Bert was one of the boys or a team player.

  When Erin didn’t respond as quickly as he thought she should, he said—for good or ill—“You need to get that chip off your shoulder, or the rest of the team will chew you up and spit you out. That’s free, unsolicited advice, so take it for what it’s worth. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. The Bureau taught me how to follow orders.”

  “Is it that obvious, Bert?”

  Bert continued to drink from the mug in his hand. “To me it is. I can’t speak for the others.”

  Erin turned around and walked out of the kitchen, Bert on her heels. Inside the office that was now hers to command, she turned on the lights and looked over in the corner to the supplies she’d requisitioned via e-mail when she got home last night. “Talk to me, for starters. Tell me everything you know about the vigilantes. You were in on the last three or four showdowns. I want everything. No matter how insignificant you might think the detail is.”

  “What makes you think I know details? I was just another agent on duty.” He watched as Erin slapped magnetic boards to the walls until all four surfaces were covered with the stark whiteboards. Colored magnetic markers hit the boards with loud plopping sounds.

  Erin dusted her hands, dramatically, then removed her jacket and tossed it on one of the metal chairs. “You’re not talking, Bert. Why is that?”

  “I’m thinking you probably know more than I do. Like I said, I was just one of many agents sent into the field when things went down, and really don’t have any firsthand knowledge of the women. Maybe you should share with me what you know, and we can compare.” He thought about the catechism classes he took as a boy and how the nuns had drummed into his head that he would go straight to hell if he lied. He consoled himself with the thought that if he went to hell, he’d have a lot of friends there waiting for him. Everyone lied about everything these days. The end would justify the means one way or the other.

  “You’re friends with Deputy District Attorney Jack Emery and that guy Wong. How did that happen? Emery was engaged to marry Nikki Quinn. I heard all those stories way back when about how they squared off in court. I don’t know how much of it was rumor and how much was fact. Talk to me about those guys. Did you ever personally talk to any members of the vigilantes?”

  It was on the tip of Bert’s tongue to ask if going to bed with one of the vigilantes counted as talking, but he kept his mouth shut. It was so weird how the lies didn’t bother him. One of these days he’d have to track down Sister Angela and confess. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. “Jack’s a friend. A good friend. I go to the mandatory classes Wong conducts, and that’s where we met and hit it off. He’s first-rate. I earned my belt the hard way, have the bumps and bruises to prove it. No,” he said with a straight face, “I have never personally talked to any of the vigilantes. I’m a little surprised, Erin, that you would ask me that question. Those women are not novices at what they do. The hard truth is they are so damn good at what they do, this whole damn Bureau can’t catch them.”

  “That’s because someone is helping them inside the Bureau. If not direct
ly inside, then maybe close by. Like maybe Jack Emery or Wong. Even you, Bert. And before you can say it, yes, even me—except I haven’t seen or talked to Nikki Quinn or Myra Rutledge in years and years.”

  Oh, shit! “So you say,” he said airily. “Out of the six of us, you’re the only one, as the director pointed out, who personally knew them. I guess what you’re saying is that none of us are going to trust each other. I’m thinking that right now I should make an appointment to speak with the director to tell him to reassign me. If I bolt, so will the others, you know that, right, Erin?”

  She did know that, and she didn’t like it one little bit. She swallowed the bitter retort she was about to utter, and said, “This is day one, a clean slate. I will not allow personalities to get in the way. As of this minute, I trust and respect you. If you can say the same, let’s give this our best shot.”

  “That’ll work,” Bert responded.

  Erin looked at the magnetic boards, and said, “In a few hours, each one of these boards will be almost full. I want to start at the beginning. Those that are blank I can more or less fill in with my own personal thoughts and observations. To me the beginning is when Myra Rutledge’s daughter was killed. Prior to that, Mrs. Rutledge was a sterling citizen. And so was Nikki Quinn.”

  Bert watched in amazement as Erin proceeded to write on the first board. He marveled at how she could multitask, scribble on the board, talk to him, and actually make sense while her gaze swept the clock and the doorway every few seconds.

  “Bert, I want you to go through all the boxes in here. I understand that everything the Bureau has on the vigilantes is in them. You’re going to have to go through the garbage to sort out their real accomplishments versus those that were and are attributed to them. They’re given way too much credit, and that’s part of what is making them so infamous. If they’d done half the things they’re accused of, they would have burned out years ago. There just isn’t that much time in the day, even if there are seven of them, to go to all corners of the world. The sightings will probably give you the most trouble.”

  Erin looked around at the magnetic boards as she decided which one she wanted to post the women’s profiles on. She finally chose the board that would be directly in her line of vision as she sat at her desk.

  Bert raised his eyes as he saw her move at the speed of light. Within a few minutes she had chosen pictures of the seven vigilantes and arranged them on the board. Underneath the collage, she placed the newspaper picture in living color of the infamous seven standing in front of the Post as they challenged the establishment. In spite of herself, Erin grinned at their attire. You’re looking good, Nikki. For a moment she envied her old friend.

  Underneath both pictures she penciled in the words PERSONS OF INTEREST.

  Bert’s eyebrows shot upward when he saw the names she listed below: Jack Emery, Harry Wong, Judge Cornelia Easter, Lizzie Fox, Maggie Spritzer, Ted Robinson. Damn, she had the whole ball of wax. That was the precise moment at which he made a mental note not to underestimate the woman standing in front of him.

  Sometime later, a shadow crossed the room as four figures, each with coffee cup in hand, blocked the light from the doorway. “You’re late!” Erin barked. “As of this morning, your new hours are five thirty to whenever I say quitting time is.” Without missing a beat, she added, “Joe, take these two pictures to the lab, have them blown up and laminated. Get three copies of each. Doug, I want you to ask Harry Wong to come in for an interview. Ask nicely. I don’t want any blowback for anything we do from here on in.

  “Pete, I want you to go to McLean and talk to Judge Cornelia Easter. I don’t know why I say this, but I think the judge will relate better to you than any of the others. Call it a hunch on my part. Charlie, request an audience with Deputy District Attorney Jack Emery. Again, be nice—very nice. Joe, after you drop off the pictures to be processed, I want you to find Lizzie Fox, Maggie Spritzer, and Ted Robinson. Bring them in for a little talk. You’re still standing here, gentlemen, why is that? If you have questions, save them for later. My orders were clear. GO!”

  Bert suppressed a grin. Gopher work. He decided to initiate a conversation. “So are we going on the theory that Myra Rutledge started up this…this group of women after her daughter died at the hands of a Chinese national with diplomatic immunity?”

  “That’s what I think happened. Something else happened shortly after Barbara Rutledge died. A woman named Marie Lewellen shot and killed a man right on the courthouse steps, the man who killed her own daughter. Of course she was arrested, and Myra put up her bail, a million dollars. Nikki Quinn was going to represent Lewellen. Not long after that, Lewellen disappeared. To this day she’s never been found. Myra lost the whole million. The conjecture at that point was that if Lewellen could get away with it, why couldn’t Myra? Who better to help her than her adopted daughter, Nikki, who owned a large law firm? All twelve members of that firm were women. Today the firm is still operating. We need to look into that, too. What that means is you need to look into that, Bert.”

  “So are you saying you think Nikki Quinn is the brains behind the vigilantes?”

  “Actually, I am saying that. Nikki would be the perfect person to find the other recruits. Myra is incredibly rich, so she funded the operation. Then there’s Charles Martin. Not much is known about him before he started working for Myra. He’s almost a blank slate. He’s Myra’s live-in. He was head of security at her candy company before he retired. Someone with incredible knowledge, legal and covert as well, is pulling the strings.”

  “And you know this…how?”

  Erin looked up from what she was doing. “I’m a listener. It’s how you learn.”

  And that was all he was going to get, and Bert knew it. He continued with what he was doing, his thoughts going in all directions.

  “I think if we gather an extensive dossier on the women, all the way back to the day when each was born, we can come up with an actual, true account of the things they’ve done. I don’t know what to call their attacks. Acts of vengeance? Do you have a term, Bert?”

  “Not really. For want of a better word, go with ‘mission.’ Either they’ve been doing paybacks for some wrong done to them, or they have some secret agenda no one is privy to. I agree with you, their profiles should give you the answers you’re looking for.”

  “Okay. When we get up and running here tell me how you feel about this. You take Myra, Nikki, and Kathryn. I’ll take Isabelle, Alexis, and Yoko. Countess de Silva is a no-brainer. We’ll leave her till last.”

  Big mistake. “Okay, that should work. She’s really rich, you know.”

  Erin nodded. “If you knew Myra the way I knew her…You’d never know she wasn’t like every other mother in the world. She never flaunted her wealth, and neither did Barbara or Nikki. They were just ordinary people in my eyes.”

  Bert stopped what he was doing. “I was talking about Countess de Silva. Myra Rutledge is a pauper compared to the countess. I read in Forbes that she’s one of the richest women in the world. She married some rich count from Spain. She had a fortune of her own. Cotton, tobacco, land.” He cocked his head to the side and stared at his new boss. “Wealth of that kind means power.”

  “What are you telling me, Bert?”

  “Just that that kind of money attracts power. The lady has it blowing out her ears. Power and wealth combined are a pretty unbeatable force.”

  “So, if I am to read between the lines, what you’re actually saying is the FBI is no match for the vigilantes. You’re saying her power and her wealth guarantee a walk for all seven women and that guy with the British accent. And we’re just spinning our wheels.”

  Bert grinned as he nodded. “I say this with all honesty, I don’t think we’re any match for those women. Look what they did to Mitch Riley. He was the acting director of the FBI, for God’s sake. They took him down even with all his security in place. They invaded his home. His home, Erin. They marched right in and took over. That doe
sn’t say much for the FBI, now, does it? Right now, as we speak, Riley is probably making license plates in the federal pen for ten cents an hour. I read in the Post that organizations all over the world are vying for the vigilantes’ help. I also read that the vigilantes can name their own price.” This last was said with such awe that Erin glared at him.

  Erin squared her shoulders. “What good is all the money in the world if you’re a fugitive and can’t spend it? No one is infallible. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. We just have to find theirs and act on it.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Erin. Call it gut instinct on my part.”

  Erin stamped her foot. “Right now you aren’t sounding very much like a team player, Bert. You’re supposed to be doing a rah rah rah for the Bureau. Do you know something you aren’t sharing?”

  “Not at all. The vigilantes are well funded, the public is on their side, and they’re smart. Every…uh…mission they’ve been on, they righted a wrong, and the public approves of what they’ve done. That means they’re successful in the public’s eyes. They’re women!” he snapped, as though that summed up everything, and there was no need for further discussion.

  “Someone is helping them. I don’t care what you say, Bert. I repeat, either there’s a mole here in the Bureau, or it’s Emery or Wong or both. Nothing else computes.”

  Bert managed to look properly horrified at what Erin was saying. He shook his head. “It’s not me. I’d stake my life and reputation that it isn’t Jack or Wong. Both of them, myself included, swore to uphold the law. If you go after them and me, you’re wasting time and manpower. But, it’s your call and your career.”

  Erin felt frustrated. She liked and respected Bert. He hadn’t gotten to be the director’s number one by being a naysayer. She’d heard the scuttlebutt, and the smart money was betting that when Cummings retired, Bert was at the top of the short list for the director’s job. She knew she needed to respond to his comment, so she simply said, “Yes, it is my call and my career, and I still say we have a mole who is playing both sides of the fence somewhere close to us. Let’s just chalk it up to I’m a woman and I have instincts, and my instincts tell me that there is a mole among us.”