Vanishing Act (17 page)

Apartment 809 was crowded to capacity when Harry and Jack arrived two hours later. The Sisters listened in awe, their jaws dropping as Jack praised Harry to the hilt.

Annie ushered everyone to the dining room, where she served coffee and pastries that no one wanted.

The moment everyone was updated, Myra looked around the table and voiced the question they had avoided until then. “Does Charles know?”

“We can’t blame Charles or Snowden’s operatives,” Nikki said. “Something spooked the woman. It’s that simple. Besides, we’re not here to bash Charles, so let’s move beyond that. Harry was in the right place at the right time, which works for us. We all know that what can go wrong will go wrong. What we have to decide is what we do next. I can’t believe those two are going to stay in that house for any length of time. They’re going to move soon. That’s a given.”

“Maggie’s first headline about identity theft hits the street tomorrow. If they see it, they might spook quicker,” Ted said.

Espinosa mumbled something about pictures he’d uploaded onto Maggie’s computer. His eyes were on Alexis, who was smiling and winking at him.

“They’re good for three days,” Harry said.

No one questioned the authority in Harry’s voice.

“Then that means we have three days to reel them in. Why wait? Why don’t we just do it now?” Kathryn asked. “Too many things can go wrong the longer we wait. Harry said they’re good to hold out for three days. That doesn’t mean they’ll wait the whole three days. For all we know, they could be planning their escape as we sit here hashing this out. I think we should take a vote whether to wait or not to wait.”

“Maggie’s not ready. Her special edition doesn’t hit until tomorrow,” Ted said as he looked over at Harry.

Suddenly, cell phones rang, one after the other.

“It’s Maggie.”

“It’s Lizzie.”

“It’s Charles.”

Harry looked down at his cell phone, and said, “Oh, shit!”

T
he inside of the house on Monarch Avenue was empty of furniture, with the exception of two kitchen stools buttressed up against a counter whose ceramic top was cracked and pitted. There were no appliances, and the water and electricity had been turned off months ago.

The lease on the property testified to the fact that Edgar and Anna Penn had paid for a whole year’s lease with the intention of refurbishing the property if the owner would cut them a deal on a possible sale—something the owner had readily agreed to.

The Monarch property was little more than a way station for the two occupants who were staring out the window at the fight going on across the street. While the man watched the fight move onto the road, the woman watched the thin man on the motorcycle and his companion, who was puffing on a cigarette.

His eyes still on the ongoing fight, the man said, “I know the guy on the cycle. Do you remember when I did the pay-per-view of the martial arts exhibition in Las Vegas a while back?” The woman nodded. “He’s the number-two expert in the world. Do you think it’s strange that he’s right outside this house?”

The woman nodded again. The little dog he’d brought with him barked, then lay down on the filthy floor and went to sleep.

“The men scrapping with each other are of Asian descent, like the man on the cycle.”

The woman looked up at him. He was so detached about everything. With what was going on outside, he sounded like he was discussing preparations for an evening at home with his friends. Nothing fazed him. Nothing. She, on the other hand, was a worrier; she even had a set of worry beads. “We need to leave
now
. What about the dog? We can’t leave the animal here.”

“I’m going to call a messenger service to pick him up and take him back to his owner. I’m not heartless.”

Yes you are
, she wanted to say but didn’t. “They’re too close. We’ve always had ample warning before. What are you waiting for? Do you want them to come up and knock on the door?”

“You worry too much, honey. When you rush, you make mistakes, and that’s when things go wrong. I do not make mistakes. Aren’t you the one who drilled into my head at the beginning that we had to have foolproof contingency plans in place due to your paranoia? At the risk of repeating myself, this was all your idea.”

Honey
. The days when that term of endearment thrilled her were long gone. So was the passion, the adrenaline thrill. These days she hated the man standing next to her, but she feared him even more. She wished for a fairy godmother who would come and whisk her away to someplace safe. The urge to reach up and snatch the skin off his face was so strong, she had to clench her fists at her sides. She’d spoken, so now there was nothing she could do but wait.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as her partner whipped out his cell phone and made a call. She strained to hear his soft voice.

“Yes, it’s a small live animal. The dog weighs about twelve pounds, his name is Stewart. He’s to be taken to the Watergate Apartments, Apartment 1406. The owner’s name is John Mulberry. I’ll be paying cash. Please pick up a dog carrier, and I will pay your messenger when he gets here. I need the animal picked up immediately. Thirty-five minutes will be just fine. Thank you.”

“We’ll be on our way in precisely thirty-seven minutes. That’s assuming the messenger is on time. Do you have our things?”

The woman pointed to the diaper bag with the yellow ducks on it. Within seconds, she had the contents out on the floor and the bag turned inside out. Now the diaper bag was a rich tartan plaid. She adjusted the straps, added an extender, and, voilà, the bag became a backpack. She knew she could change her appearance in less than five minutes. Her partner could do it in three.

She paced as her partner continued to stare out the filthy window.

“Here comes the messenger. Twenty-nine minutes. I do like punctuality.”

The man scooped up the little dog and walked to the door. He had two hundred-dollar bills in his hand when he handed over the dog and waited until he was secure in the canvas carrier. “Take good care of him. His owner loves him very much.”

The messenger scribbled off a receipt and handed it over. The man waited until the messenger was in his Jeep and halfway down the street before closing and locking the door.

The woman peeled off her sweats to reveal shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair was now red and in a pixie cut. She wore wire-rim glasses and dangling earrings. The man was now wearing running shorts and a sleeveless ragged T-shirt. A bandanna was tied around his forehead. The woman tossed him the tartan backpack. She watched as he settled it comfortably on his shoulders. She herself had a small purse looped crossways across her chest.

The man led the way to the kitchen and the door that led to the cellar. It was cool and damp, and strange scurrying noises came from all directions. With the aid of a small penlight, the man led the way to a small window and pried it open. He helped the woman go through. Then, by standing on an empty wooden box, he followed her and settled the window back into place.

In the narrow space between their house and the one adjacent, which was no more than a foot and a half and smelled of dankness and moldy leaves, he pried open the cellar window next door and helped his partner through it. He knew for a fact the building housed a bunch of crackheads who would never venture into the cellar. Part of his contingency plan months ago had been this very drill. In the darkness, with the aid of the tiny light, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the contents of the cellar before they exited through yet another window.

They repeated the same process four more times. Finally, they came out of the back alley five houses away from their starting point. They moved off, apparently just a couple out for a midafternoon stroll. No one looked at them, no one called out. Totally ignored they walked a good mile before they found a cab.

Avery Snowden felt quite smug when he looked through his rearview mirror at the cluster of Asians slouched against a scraggly tree as he steered the Yellow Cab away from the curb. Silly amateurs!

Maggie Spritzer looked down at her littered desk and winced. If she didn’t clean it off soon, she’d have to relocate. She looked away just in time to see Ted and Espinosa loping down the hallway on their way to her office. The moment both men skidded to a stop, she grinned from ear to ear. “Tell me my headline isn’t the work of a genius.”

Both men laughed.

“It is,” Ted agreed.

“Things are working out just perfectly. I know that a few hours ago, all of you were bumming because Harry’s guys lost those two snots. In a way the reprieve was good for me because we get the paper out, and, bam, even though they
think
they got away, they aren’t going anywhere.”

“They’re toast,” Espinosa said. “Once the paper hits the street, the whole world will be watching for those two, and a disguise won’t make a difference. There’s always someone who will see through it.”

“I like that you led off with the retired couple from Alexandria who lost everything,” Ted said, “even their retirement because of those two. The public is not going to like it that a seventy-eight-year-old couple who were living comfortably, certainly not lavishly, are now being forced to live in a one-bedroom furnished apartment and count their pennies.

“Bringing in the foster kids whose credit had been ruined years ago, when they were minors and couldn’t have possibly prevented it, also worked. I’m glad that the interviews Joe and I did with Antonio Vargas and Henry Workman gave you so much to work with. You used their stories brilliantly.

“Which brings me to something I just heard on the news on the way over here.”

“Whatever it is, tell me it isn’t going to interfere in my series.”

Ted bit down on his lower lip. “It could, Maggie, but not by tomorrow morning.”

Maggie poked around on her desk to see if there was possibly a cookie or something under the piles of papers—anything edible she might have missed. “You going to make me pull it out of you or what? Why do you guys always have to rain on my parade?”

“Trust me, it’s not intentional. What we heard is three brothers right here in our very own nation’s capital bilked thousands and thousands of people, as well as some very large corporations and charitable foundations, out of huge amounts of money. Apparently, these brothers have been running a Ponzi scheme to the tune of tens of billions of dollars. That’s billions with a
b
. All three brothers are considered A-list. What you have going on with the identity theft is small-time compared to that trio. Politicians, movie stars, union pension funds, university endowments—they showed no mercy. Small investors, big investors, they duped them all.”

“Oh, God, I feel a headache coming on. You two want to run with this, is that it?”

“Yeah, we do. There’s nothing more we can do with the others for now, we’ve pretty much come to a dead end on finding out who helped the dynamic duo with the foster-kid scams, but if something comes up, just squeal and we’re there. You might want to…alert…the others. This is something they could really sink their teeth into if they have a mind to go into action.”

“Who is it? Give me names.” Maggie’s mind started to race. She could do a dual headline, split the top page. This just might be the time to go with
color
. Red, like in a bloodbath.

Ted laughed. “The brothers Grimm. Adolpho, Vincenzi, and Eduardo. The Big Three of the financial world. The news is calling them The Munchkins. Last name originally Grimaldi but changed to Grimm twenty-five years ago so they wouldn’t be confused with the Mafia Grimaldis. Can you chew on that one for a while?”

“Chew? Did you say
chew?
If this turns out to be what I think it might, then forget the chewing part. Let’s just gobble those bastards up whole. Go!”

Maggie felt so gleeful, she forgot how hungry she was. How often did the gods of journalism smile twice in the same day? Where was she going to put all her Pulitzers? She needed to give serious thought to having some extra shelves built into her office. But she really didn’t want to get ahead of herself.

A moment later she had her phone in hand as she called the Sisters to report in.

The temporary tenants in Apartment 809 at the Watergate were sitting around the dining room table grumbling among themselves. Harry looked so glum that Yoko was patting him on the shoulder and whispering soothing words of comfort.

“Stop being such a
nebbish
, Harry. Your people are warriors, not spies. You told them to watch and report in. You didn’t tell them to break in or start World War
III
. I really don’t see blame here. I say we should be thankful Snowden was on the scene and knows how this crap goes down. It’s what he does for a living. We’re just fringe players.”

“Jack’s right,” Annie said. “As soon as Mr. Snowden reports in, we move. Are we all agreed?”

Every hand in the room shot upward.

Myra twirled her chair around, and said, “That was Maggie. She really had some interesting information. I’ll get to that in a minute. She wants us to turn on the computer. She sent us a mock-up of the morning paper. She said—and this is a direct quote—‘I hope you all pee in your pants when you see it.’ End of quote.”

The group got up as one and ran to the bedroom, where Nikki booted up the computer.

“Would you look at that!” Kathryn marveled.

Nine pairs of eyes stared at the bold black headline that read:

DO
YOU
KNOW
WHERE
SARA
BRICKMAN
AND
DENNIS
CARSON
ARE?

Underneath the headline it read:

If the answer is no, do you know people with the following names? Those are among the aliases Brickman and Carson used in their identity theft of thousands of people, possibly people only you,
Post
readers, can identify.

“Check that out!” Nikki said. “Six columns straight across the page and above the fold. The
Post
’s switchboard is going to blow up when the paper hits the street. You know there are people out there who knew those two under one of the aliases they used. Good God, there must be close to four hundred names there! The AP will pick it up, and the whole East Coast will be on red alert. Maggie kept her word and thanked Damon Finn of Chase for his invaluable help when the
Post
called upon him. This is beyond clever!”