Game Over (6 page)

“No. You needed to know that.” Jellicoe was all business now. “Game over, Charlie. You want Lizzie on the Supreme Court, she's there. Anything else?”

“Well, I think I might want to know what the fallout is going to be.”

Jellicoe pretended horror at the statement. “And what makes you think there will be fallout? Have you ever heard of
any
fallout from anything I've ever done over the years?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Jellicoe said, “No, you have not, and there will be none this time, either.”

It was a guarantee, pure and simple. Charles accepted it.

“No sense in letting this fine brandy sit in the bottle. We might as well finish it and head for bed. Tomorrow is another day. Actually,” Jellicoe said so quietly, Charles had to strain to hear the words, “there is one other thing, Charlie. I personally saw the pardons on the president's desk. I just wanted you to know that. Now, when and how she's going to handle it, I don't know. Let me clarify that. At this precise moment I do not know how she's going to handle it. Tomorrow or the day after might be a different story.”

Charles nodded and got up. He tossed his cigar into the fireplace. “Cosmo will come out of this intact?”

“Better than ever. He'll be a household name. What? You doubt me, Sir Malcolm?”

“Not for a minute.”

Both men slapped each other on the back as they made their way out to the hall, where there was a moving sidewalk that would take them to the west wing, which housed the bedrooms.

“Were you drunk when you designed this house, Hank?”

“In a manner of speaking. I was thinking more of my declining years and bad knees and the like. Got four elevators, three moving sidewalks. Works for me.”

Two moving sidewalks and one elevator ride later, Jellicoe opened the door to a massive suite of rooms. “When I had this room designed, I had Myra in mind. I always hoped she would come to visit someday.”

“All you have to do is invite her, Hank, and she'll find a way to make the trip. This is just a wild guess on my part, Hank, but Myra is the one you should talk to about—”

“Good night, Charlie.”

“Good night, Hank.”

S
tuffed to the gills, Maggie tossed and turned in Lizzie's guest room, the cell phone that was live—with Abner Tookus on the other end—clutched in her hand. “You there, sweet cheeks?”

Maggie strained to hear a mumbled response. “Where do you think I'd be at this hour of the night? Why aren't you sleeping, anyway?”

“Because I don't want to miss anything. Do you have anything?”

“Of course I have something. I do not run a Mickey Mouse operation. You know that. I hope you didn't call me just to chitchat.”

“Well, what do you have?”

“Stuff. I have stuff. I am not giving it to you in dribs and drabs, because it won't make sense, and that's not how I work. You know that, Maggie.”

“That Porsche is starting to look like a Kia, Mr. Tookus.”

“You win some. You lose some. Go to sleep.”

“I can't sleep. That's why I'm calling you. This is important, Abby, and I'm only as good as my sources, who, I might add, rob me blind.” When there was no response, she said, “Okay, okay, I'm going to sleep, but if you get anything, shout. I'm a light sleeper, and I'll hear you.”

Maggie reached up and turned off the light. Then she turned it back on. She pulled out her other phone from under the pillow and called Ted. When she heard his groggy voice, she said, “Did you remember to get the cat food?” She thought she heard Ted mumble something; then she heard him snoring. She looked over at the little digital clock on the nightstand—3:20. She realized she was hungry. She didn't think Lizzie would mind if she went down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. If she spent thirty minutes eating, another twenty taking a shower, she could call her driver and be at the paper before it got light out. She shook her head as she pulled on her clothes. She'd never been able to sleep in a strange bed, no matter how comfortable it was.

She crept quietly down the stairs and headed for Lizzie's cozy kitchen. She blinked when she saw Lizzie sitting at the table, coffee cup in front of her. Maggie backed up and was about to leave to go upstairs so as not to invade Lizzie's private time when Lizzie motioned for her to sit down.

“I couldn't sleep,” Maggie said. “Guess you couldn't either, huh?”

“I doubt I'll ever be able to sleep again, Maggie. I have never in my life been in such a turmoil.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maggie asked as she poured the last of the coffee into a cup.

“No offense, but no. I was just sitting here thinking about how Cosmo and I made a promise not to keep secrets from one another. Now he has one, and so do I. I don't know how it's going to be once I show up at the White House. The game plan has now changed, with what you told me. Even though no one is supposed to know, I'm not sure I believe that. You and I both know there are no secrets in this town. The White House leaks like a sieve. I'm still getting my feet wet at Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Lizzie, you took three cases all the way to the Supreme Court, argued them, and won all three. That tells me you can handle this. Is there something in particular worrying you?” Maggie asked as she sipped at the coffee in her cup.

“No, Maggie. It's just such a shock. I need time to…to, you know, think about it, let it sink in. I'll be fine. Like I said, once I get on with my day and the shock wears off, I'll come down to earth.”

Maggie smiled. “Why would you want to come down to earth? You should be soaring with the eagles and enjoying every second of it. This is like winning one of those big lotteries where the odds are a
kazillion
to one. Lizzie, look at me. Stop worrying about everyone else, and enjoy this moment in your life. Don't blow it. Don't take the edge off it, either. Enjoy every single nanosecond of it. Promise me.”

Lizzie sat bolt upright in her chair. She laughed then, the tinkling, melodious sound she was known for, as both her clenched fists shot upward. “You're absolutely right, Maggie. Thanks for bringing me up short. I promise. I think I'm going to wear yellow today. You know, spring, sunshiny, flowers blooming, that kind of thing.”

Maggie grinned. “I looked out the window before I came downstairs. I saw snow flurries under the streetlight. There's a flower shop on Independence Avenue that opens at seven o'clock. Stop and buy some tulips for your desk.”

“Well, aren't you Miss Sunshine herself this morning! I'll do it. I love tulips, especially at this time of year.”

“Well, now that we have the immediate problems of the world solved, I think I'm going to head home, since I'm already dressed. I might try for some springy attire myself. Thanks for the hospitality, Lizzie.”

The two women hugged one another before Lizzie headed up the steps to the second floor while Maggie called her driver to pick her up.

Twenty minutes later Maggie was settled in the back of the luxurious Town Car and headed to her house in Georgetown. She spent the entire ride home wondering what surprises the new day would bring.

 

Lizzie Fox drummed her fingers on her desk, her gaze on the window and the lightly falling snow. She tore her eyes away from the wintry scene to look at the spring tulips sitting on her desk, her thoughts a million miles away. She'd bought several bunches of the colorful blooms, one for the president, one for Jackie Hollis, the president's private secretary, and the last for Tobias Daniels, the president's chief of staff. She'd been rewarded with smiles and effusive thanks. But that moment was gone, and she had a full day's worth of work piled on her desk.

Lizzie removed her jacket to reveal a bright summer yellow silk shirt. It was a yellow day, no doubt about it. As long as you didn't look outside.

It was midmorning when Lizzie looked up to see Jackie Hollis standing in the doorway. Lizzie scribbled a few more notes but motioned for the elderly woman to come in.

Jackie Hollis was the mother of six and a grandmother of eight. Her office was decorated with pictures of her brood in every possible setting. She had unruly gray hair, cut very short, twinkling eyes, and a firm jaw. She wasn't exactly a dragon guarding the portals of Martine Connor's domain, but she came close. She played no favorites and donated to homeless shelters all the goodies people heaped on her in hopes of a tad of favoritism. She dressed conservatively, in suits of beige and gray, with colorful blouses. Lizzie suspected she had dozens of suits, in different styles, but she never ventured outside of the gray and beige color range. If she had a fault, it was that she smoked and was known to sneak outside with the help of the Secret Service agents, who, as she put it, covered her butt, with no pun intended. On more than one occasion the president and her closest ally scurried off to some unseen location to take a few quick puffs, with no one the wiser.

“I thought you might like some coffee, Lizzie,” Jackie said, holding out a cup with the presidential seal emblazoned on the side. “I just made it.”

Lizzie smiled. “I never turn down a cup of coffee. If you have time, sit down, and we can chat. I'm overdue for a break.”

“I do have about ten minutes,” the older woman said as she settled herself in Lizzie's one comfortable chair. “Do you think it will ever stop snowing?”

Lizzie laughed as she tried to figure out if Jackie Hollis was privy to the president's secret, her secret now. If she was, she was wearing one of the best poker faces she'd ever seen. “The weatherman said it's snowed every day since Christmas.” Was it her imagination, or did Jackie look uncomfortable?

Never a paranoid person, Lizzie realized she had become one. Secrets could be a terrible thing. Then again, there were secrets, and there were
secrets.
She crossed her ankles under the desk and hoped she wasn't giving off any kind of bad vibes or signals to the woman sitting across from her.

The two chatted a few more moments about Jackie's Christmas with her grandchildren and how they'd frolicked in Rock Creek Park with their new sleds and sled boards.

“Lord love a duck, I almost forgot why I came down here, Lizzie.”

In a pig's eye you forgot,
Lizzie thought. She smiled.

“The president asked me to have you pull the contracts for Global Securities and bring them up to me. She said there's no big rush, but I sensed there is a rush, so when you have time, get them to me. It won't be a problem, will it, Lizzie?”

Lizzie almost fell off her chair at the mention of Global Securities. She knew Hank Jellicoe. Back in the day, she'd handled his legal work. When he went global, it had become a 24-7 job and had left no room for other clients. She'd worked for months, parceling out work to attorneys she trusted to give Hank the service he demanded and needed. To this day, she still handled some of his more private matters.

“Not at all.” It would be a problem, though, because she had no clue where outside private contracts were kept. She knew without anyone having to tell her that Global Securities' contracts were private and best kept that way, private. She knew they would be somewhere under lock and key, that was for sure.

The fussy little lady paused in the doorway, turned, and said, “Thanks again for the lovely tulips, Lizzie. You really brightened my day today. And before I forget, you look like a splash of summertime sun. I love color. As famous and wonderful as this house is, it's a dark place. I hope I didn't take up too much of your time this morning.”

“Not at all, Jackie. I welcome a break from time to time.”

Now, what was that all about? Ah, yes, contracts. Ever mindful of the unseen eyes and ears that surrounded her, Lizzie went back to what she was doing, but her mind was not on the job at hand. Clearly, she was going to go out to lunch today, snow or no snow. She needed to call her husband to talk about Global Securities and one Hank Jellicoe, one of Cosmo's oldest and dearest friends, and she didn't want to do it from the White House. Cosmo might be able to give her some feedback because, while she had a professional relationship with Hank Jellicoe, Cosmo had a personal relationship with the head of Global Securities. Global oversaw all of Vegas's internal security, even though most people thought it was casino security. Interestingly, when the vigilantes cleaned up the situation at Babylon, during which time Lizzie met and fell head over heels in love with her wonderful husband, Global was preparing a sting of its own to root out the corrupt security operation in that casino. When you talked billions of dollars a day, you called Global Securities to protect those billions.

It was 12:45 when Lizzie parked her car at her favorite dry cleaners. She reached behind her for her cleaning bag and walked into the shop, knowing full well someone was watching her. She'd been bringing her clothes to Tillie and Leroy Chen since the day she'd settled in Washington. Over the years, she'd handled their legal work, bringing elderly family members to America. There was nothing Tillie and Leroy wouldn't do for Lizzie. She knew the couple would let her into the small back room that was used as a mini office so she could call Cosmo without anyone listening to her conversation. They'd even bring her tea and rice cakes before they closed the door for her privacy. Tillie and Leroy Chen were what Lizzie called good, honest people.

Lizzie was greeted warmly and immediately ushered into the small back office. Rice cakes, tea, and a cell phone appeared as if by magic; then the door was closed quietly. Lizzie sighed, thankful that Tillie had immediately picked up on her need for some privacy.

“Hi, Cricket,” Lizzie said by way of greeting. “Just dropped off my cleaning, and I'm having tea with the Chens. It's snowing out again. What's the weather like in Vegas? Cold is good.” She laughed, the tinkling sound Cosmo Cricket so loved. “Aside from just wanting to hear your voice, I want to give you a heads-up. The president has asked me to pull all of Global Securities' contracts and hand them over to her private secretary, which I will do when I get back to the office. You might want to alert Hank. This is as much as I can tell you. Once I touch those files, I cannot and will not be able to talk about them. It's that old devil attorney-client privilege. Now, tell me how much you miss me and how you love me more than I love you so we can argue.” Lizzie listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, and her world turned right side up. She smiled, she laughed, she grinned, and then she blew kisses into the phone before she broke the connection.

Lizzie wished Maggie was with her so she could eat the rice cakes and drink the tea, but since she wasn't, she scarfed them down, not wanting to hurt the Chens' feelings. She slipped a hundred-dollar bill under her teacup because the Chens would never accept payment for cleaning her clothing. She closed the door quietly behind her to find Tillie Chen waiting for her, with her cleaning hung neatly in plastic bags. They bowed to one another without a word spoken.

Thirty-five minutes later Lizzie was back in the White House, with a little sack of honeyed rice cakes, which she turned over to Tobias Daniels, who thanked her profusely for the snack. She knew without a doubt that someone would check the dry-cleaning bags, but there would be no sign her car had been invaded when she climbed in for her return home at five o'clock.

Now, how best to find those pesky Global Securities files?