In Plain Sight (10 page)

Soaked to the skin in his own sweat, at one minute to twelve Jason stripped off his work gloves, swiped his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt, and headed back to the break room. Inside, he leaned up against the door and started to shake. For one wild, crazy moment he wanted to go to the police. He squashed the idea the moment it entered his head. More sweat trickled down his face. He could smell his own stink. He wished he could dive into a pool of ice cubes. He raised his eyes and saw the intercom directly in his line of vision. Stacey! Maybe Stacey was his answer. Like he had so many choices to draw from. He marched over to the console and pressed the number nine for the paint department. Stacey herself picked up. “How can I help you today?” she said, cheer ringing in her voice.

“You can help me by hightailing it to the break room, but don’t look obvious. I’m in some deep trouble, and I need your help. Can you do it?” Jason hissed into the phone.

“Oh, yes, we’re open till nine. We have hundreds of colors to choose from. I’m sure you’ll find one to your liking. Be right there,” she hissed in return. “You’re scaring me, Jason.”

Five minutes later, Stacey Copeland slithered into the room. “Why do I feel like I’m in some kind of
I Spy
TV show? My God, you look awful. What’s wrong?”

Jason rolled a can of cold Pepsi across his forehead and around his neck. “Everything and anything is wrong. I need your help. Actually, it’s Emily whose name is really Rosalee who needs your help. And her boss, too. I’m being watched. I have them in a safe place for the moment, but I can’t go to them because people are . . . people want to harm them.” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Stacey held both her hands up, palms facing Jason. “Whoa there, Nellie. Back up and start at the beginning and tell me everything. If you want my help, you need to tell me every little thing and do not hold anything back. Deal?”

Jason nodded, the words tumbling out of his mouth at the speed of light. He ended with, “This is the only place where you and I can talk. They even know about you. The guy flat out told me the girl in the paint department introduced me to Rosalee. They’re probably going to start watching you, too. That’s why we have to move fast. We cannot be seen together. You understand that, right?” Stacey nodded.

Stacey brushed at her long auburn locks. She swallowed hard. “That . . . that’s awful, Jason. I hate men who abuse women. Absolutely hate them. I’ll do whatever I can. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. I take martial-arts classes.”

Jason looked at his watch. Satisfied that he still had time on his lunch hour, he started to lay out his plan. “You have to go get them in your car. I’ll write you a note to give them. Even though Rosalee knows you, she might not want to leave with you. The note will reassure her and once you explain, it should be okay. Pack up the gear and keep it in your car. Take them to a hotel. I’m thinking hiding in plain sight is better than skulking around and hiding. Draws too much unwanted attention. I took some money out of my tuition fund, but I made a serious dent in it when I bought the camping equipment. I’ll have to take out some more tonight on my way home.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “This will have to do for now until I can get more. So, you’ll do it?”

“Of course I’ll go get them, but they don’t need a hotel. I’m house-sitting for some people I know. I have the house till August 15. That’s almost a whole month. We can hide them out there. No one will know. It’s a big old house that was refurbished in the Columbia Heights neighborhood. Three blocks from where I live with my roommate. It’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from ritzy Adams Morgan. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea. And get this, it’s less than a mile from the White House. It will be like hiding them like you said, in plain sight, so to speak.” At Jason’s blank look, she said, “You know that old adage, keep your friends close, your enemies closer? Same kind of thing. No one expects to find what they’re looking for right under their nose. For now it is a plan. You okay with that?”

Jason continued to roll the cold Pepsi can, which wasn’t so cold anymore, all over his neck and up and down his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay with that. I’m going to draw you a map. Whatever you do, do not call them. Do not use your phone at all. Better yet, take the batteries out till you get back. Don’t call me either. This break room is the only place we can meet and talk. I appreciate your helping me, Stacey.”

“Hey, what are friends for? And besides, I owe you. You introduced me to Jackson. We are becoming good friends. Almost as good as you and Rosalee.” What she didn’t say was she would like it a lot better if Jason and Jackson switched places, but she didn’t. “Hey, you want half my sandwich. It’s turkey and roast beef,” Stacey said, taking her lunch bag out of the fridge.

“No thanks. I’d barf it up if I ate it. My stomach is in knots.”

“Well, mine isn’t, and I make good sandwiches. You need to calm down and relax. You’ll give yourself a coronary.” Stacey bit into her sandwich and rolled her eyes. It was all lost on poor Jason, who was busily drawing a map on a strip of paper toweling.

Stacey popped a can of Dr Pepper and took a long gulp. “How will I let you know I have them safe at the house?”

“Tomorrow morning in this break room, that’s how. Soon as we report in in the morning. I will just assume you made it safe and sound. If there is a problem or something goes awry, then call this number. I just got it. Here’s the number,” he said, writing it on the map he was making. “Only call the number if something goes wrong. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Listen, don’t follow me out. Wait at least ten minutes. I have to be back on the pavilion. Today, I hate this job. Good luck, and thanks, Stacey.”

“No problem. See ya in the morning. Hey, what about food and stuff?”

“You gotta do it all for them. Make sure you stress to them they are not to leave the house.”

“Okay. Okay, Jason. Please, relax, it’s going to be okay. I got you covered.”

Chapter 9

A
look of disgust on his face, Jack looked over at Harry, who sported the same look of disgust. They’d arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, were picked up the moment they stepped outside by a man in a chauffeur’s uniform who did not speak one word of English. He held up a placard with Jack’s and Harry’s names on it, and motioned for the two of them to follow to where he’d parked his town car.

From the airport, he’d taken them to their hotel, a private mansion owned at one time by a royal named Lord de Breluil. Annie said on arrival they should ask for Oliver, the head concierge, and to tell him the countess said hello and to do whatever they asked of him. Such as arrange car services, make dinner reservations at the Le M64 restaurant. He was helpful, but without telling the man what they were really after, they had to do the rest on their own.

The hotel was a short walk from the Champs Élysées, not that either Jack or Harry was in the mood for sightseeing.

“We’ve been here twelve hours and have nothing to show for our efforts other than all that rich food that is lying really heavy in my stomach,” Jack grumbled. “Nikki would kill me if I told her what I ate for dinner. Yoko would string you up by your toes, Harry.”

“The police were no help, and we struck out at the flat Jane Petrie rented. All we know is she registered, then checked out. She turned in her rental car just hours after she rented it. No one we talked to remembers seeing an American in the area where she’d booked her reservation except for the reservation clerk, who said when she checked out she said that she had a sudden family emergency.”

“Annie and the girls are not going to like this,” Harry said.

“You’re right about that. Did you get the feeling when we were talking to the landlord or whatever these people call the person who owns the flat that handles the registration or whatever . . . that she wasn’t being entirely truthful? She was giving off vibes that made my hair stand on end. Maybe we missed a beat and should have offered a bribe. What do you think, Harry?”

“What I think is if Petrie has been coming here several times a year and staying at the same place, she’s more than likely built up some kind of rapport with the owner of the flat. I’m thinking when she left in such a hurry, she would have told the landlady not to answer any questions if someone came looking for her. She also probably told her to go ahead and rent out the flat and didn’t take a refund. Petrie probably slipped her a few bucks to keep quiet, and along with being able to rent out the flat again, that made the woman happy. Petrie will probably call her from time to time to check to see if anyone really is checking up on her. We can go back first thing in the morning and take another shot at her. This time, we lean a little harder and of course offer up a substantial. . . ah . . . gift for whatever knowledge she has to share. Your French is good enough to get your point across, isn’t it, Jack?”

Jack was always astounded when Harry said more than two words at a time. “It’s worth a try, that’s for sure. Since the local police were no help, I was also thinking maybe we could get Jack Sparrow to intervene on our behalf. They have something over here called the
Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure
. It’s France’s top external intelligence organization. I read about it on the plane on the way over. I also remember the Attorney General’s talking about them when I was a prosecutor. Sparrow has the juice to make the call and do it as one Director to another, then it’s one of those, I owe you, and if I’m lucky, you won’t want to collect for years and years. It’s all in the spirit of cooperation. I can call if you agree, Harry.”

“It can’t hurt. If we bomb out with the landlady tomorrow, we might as well go home unless you want to tramp these streets in the hopes of spotting Petrie. We both know she’s gone to ground. Hell, she could be in Belgium for all we know. The only thing in our favor is she’s traveling using her own passport. Maybe Sparrow or Abner can find out if her passport is in play. If it isn’t, that means she’s still here and in hiding.”

Harry was right, Jack decided. “I’m dead on my feet, Harry. I hate jet lag. I’m going to call Nikki, report in, and you call Yoko. And then I’m hitting the sack. I’ll send Abner a text and ask him to do what he can. If we don’t hear back first thing in the morning, then we hit the streets as soon as we dress and have breakfast. I’ll send Sparrow an e-mail before we turn in. When we wake up, he might have some news for us. I’d call him now, but it’s four in the morning in the States. Ditto for the text to Abner.” Jack yawned to make his point that he was dead on his feet.

Harry was already punching in the country code and the area code to call Yoko, but Jack knew he heard every word he’d said. Harry never ceased to amaze him.

It was a beautiful morning, Maggie decided as she trotted along to meet Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis for breakfast to plan out the day. It was early, just barely past six fifteen, and already the sidewalks were full of people heading for their early-morning caffeine fix. Under her arm, Maggie carried a copy of the
Post.
She pretty much knew that the boys would also have a copy, but she never was one to leave things to chance.

Maggie grinned when she saw the trio already settled in a booth at the back of Casey’s Café, which, according to Ted, served the best bacon, cheddar, mushroom, onion, and a host of other things on top of a perfectly fried egg that was piled on top of a perfectly toasted English muffin. A plate of delectable hash browns accompanied each muffin. It was up to the customers how to fit it all in their mouths. Maggie always cut her muffin in four squares. The coffee was excellent, too, and the owners offered endless refills at no extra charge.

Maggie slid into the booth and slapped the paper down, the top folded over so that the pictures on the bottom half were front and center. “Great pictures, Espinosa,” she said, reaching for her coffee cup and filling it from the carafe already on the table.

“Did anyone notify any of the nominees?” Dennis asked. “As in Lincoln Moss.”

“The paper is the announcement. That’s the purpose of the whole thing. We can’t appear to show bias in any way. You do know that Moss was nominated twice before, but there are those in this town who actually do not like him, so he didn’t win.”

“Don’t you mean they fear him?” Espinosa said.

“That, too,” Maggie said. “You all do realize that this is all rigged. We’ll figure out something later on to turn it back into the legitimate contest we’ve always run. This is just to get us into his house to do an interview. Along with the other nominees we have so far who have to be interviewed.”

“Who’s going to make the call and do the interview?” Dennis asked.

“Since it was my idea, who do you think, Mr. West?” Maggie growled.

“Can I go with you?”

“No. You are on Jason Woods. Espinosa is going with me. Ted has other interviews to do. I seriously doubt Moss will agree to an interview, but I am going to give it my best shot. I am, if nothing else, persistent. Right now, I’m thinking Moss will be afraid some of the questions will be about his wife.”

“Any news on Jack and Harry?” Ted asked as he watched the waitress approach with their breakfast.

“I was going to call Nikki but didn’t want to wake her. I’ll call when we finish breakfast,” Maggie said as she sawed through the four-inch loaded English muffin with a serrated knife. “Tell us how it went with Jason Woods, Dennis.”

“Avery Snowden’s men are tailing him 24/7 as of yesterday afternoon. I haven’t heard a thing since I left the Home Builders Depot yesterday.”

“No one asked for my opinion, but I’m going to offer it up anyway. Is anyone following the girl? The one from the paint department. Seems to me if Woods is lying low, he has to have someone helping him,” Espinosa said.

“In my opinion, she’s the logical choice. Think about it, guys, they can meet up in the break room at the Home Builders Depot. No one can get in there but employees. That’s where they meet up and talk about stuff. I’ll go so far as to bet a week’s salary.” Espinosa had no takers because it made perfect sense.

“You know, Espinosa, you are absolutely right. Five bucks says that’s exactly what is going on. There’s your answer, kid. You stake out the girl if that’s what you want to do or call Snowden to put some people on her. Around the clock,” Ted said.

“I think I’d like to give it a shot. I’ll have Abner hack into the employment records there and find out her hours, and I’ll use a different car and tail her myself. I know how to do that. Jack gave me some great pointers when we were working out in South East last Christmas. This is a really good breakfast. I’ve never been here before.” The others watched as Dennis downed his glass of orange juice in one long gulp.

“I’m heading out to the farm. Anyone want to go with me? I want to be the one to show Annie and Myra the actual paper. They hate reading it online,” Maggie said.

“Nah, pick me up on the way back. I’m going to the paper,” Espinosa said.

In the end, it was decided that Maggie would go alone, then return to plot out a plan as far as Lincoln Moss was concerned.

Maggie looked over at Dennis. “Ask Abner to get me any of Moss’s private cell-phone numbers, especially the one the rumor mill says is only connected to POTUS. That should blow him out of the water right off the bat. I’m thinking he would guard that like he would Fort Knox if he owned it.”

“No problem. Whose turn is it to pay?” Dennis asked.

“I’m paying,” Ted said. A second later, Dennis was gone. They watched him with smiles on their faces. “He does have a bounce in his step, that’s for sure. I really like that kid’s dedication.” Maggie and Espinosa agreed with Ted’s assessment.

Outside, the threesome split up, each going their separate way with one thought paramount, how to nail Lincoln Moss to the wall.

 

 

“Here it is, ladies,” Maggie said as she spread out the morning edition of the
Post
on the kitchen table. “I wanted you to see it in person because I know it’s not the same as reading and seeing it online. What do you think?”

Annie shrugged. “He was legitimately nominated the last two years but didn’t make it. I imagine it’s sticking in his craw that his cronies didn’t endorse him. By the way, Abner called with his mobile number, one that only a very few people have. He also wanted to know if you want his secure, as in secure phone, issued to him by the White House. I said of course, so here they are.” She handed over a sticky note with two numbers on it.

“I’m thinking he’s going to go nuclear if I call the one issued by the White House. But I think I will wait until Espinosa can document his reaction to that.” Maggie laughed. “How about if I make the call to his cell phone now, and you can listen in?” Maggie wiggled her eyebrows to make her point. Myra and Annie laughed out loud.

“Go for it, dear,” Myra said.

 

 

Lincoln Moss sat down at a ridiculously long dining-room table that seated eighteen comfortably, twenty-two if needed. He sat at the head like the king he thought he was. The table was set perfectly for one. A delicate Bavarian lace place mat, Baccarat crystal, fine Lenox china, sterling silver utensils. A spray of orchids that he insisted be fresh every day sat in a cut-crystal vase to his left. To the right of his coffee cup sat a small crystal bell that he tapped for coffee refills or seconds if he really enjoyed whatever he was having for breakfast.

Four newspapers were to his left: the
Post
, the
Wall Street Journal,
and the
New York Times
along with a copy of
In the Know.

Breakfast for the most part was always the same because he liked routine. Fifteen minutes to eat whatever he was having, then forty-five minutes to peruse the four papers along with a second cup of coffee. On rare occasions he dabbled with a third cup but rarely finished it.

Moss chewed his way through six gluten-free pancakes with sugar-free syrup, four strips of crisp crunchy turkey bacon with two slices of six-grain toast slathered with sugar-free strawberry jam. He looked at his watch when he touched the bell for his plate to be taken away. Fourteen minutes. He held up his index finger to indicate he wanted a refill on his coffee. His cup was filled immediately just as the housekeeper shook out the
Post
and placed it precisely in front of him on the table. He jerked back when he saw his own picture staring up at him. In his opinion, it was an unflattering picture, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the people at the
Post
had chosen that particular one on purpose. Probably, the bastards. He was livid when he finished reading the write-up that said, he thought, snidely, that maybe the third time would be the charm for Lincoln Moss. That, he decided, was a definite insult. He debated a full five minutes about calling the paper to ask them to withdraw his name but decided that might look petty on his part. Still, he seethed. If he lost again this year, the damn political machine would never let him live it down. It didn’t and wouldn’t matter if Gabriel Knight, President of the United States, voted for him or not. What the hell good was a vote of one?