Vanishing Act (18 page)

Jack poked Harry in the arm. “See! I told you that you weren’t the only one whose identity was stolen. None of them were as lucky as you either.”

“Wow! A double headline,” Isabelle said as she pointed a finger at the dark lettering under the fold that said simply:

THE
BOTTOM
LINE

$100,000,000

Under the second headline there were pictures of some of the identity theft victims, including two whose identities had been stolen when they were minors in foster care, and alongside those pictures were pictures Espinosa had taken of Brickman and Carson, as well as pictures Ted had gotten of them from various bank’s archives. Pages two and three carried more pictures of the victims and the various stories of how their lives had changed since their identities were stolen.

“I’m so glad I bought that newspaper and hired Maggie. She’s been doing a masterful job,” Annie chortled.

When the little group trooped back to the dining room, Yoko held Jack back and whispered in his ear, “Jack, how could you do that to Harry? The pink bathroom, bedspread, rugs, towels? I
hate
pink. So much for what you know about women.”

“I wish Charles would call so we know what the next step is,” Kathryn said.

“Patience is its own reward,” Myra said. “Now, do you want to hear what else Maggie told me? I’m thinking we might want to get involved, but of course we would have to take a vote on it.” When she had their undivided attention she said, “You’ve all heard of the Brothers Grimm, the financial gurus of Wall Street, right? Well, here’s the poop on that…”

B
ert Navarro took the call personally, something he didn’t normally do as director of the
FBI
.

“This particular call,” his secretary said, “sounds ominous. The man says he’s seen the vigilantes. Before you can ask, Mr. Director, the phone is a throwaway. The trace is saying it’s the Crystal City area. I’ve kept him on the phone for a few minutes until we could complete it. If he knew what I was doing, he didn’t give any indication. He is refusing to talk to anyone but you. I’ll put him through now, sir.”

“Navarro,” Bert said briskly. “What can I do for you today, sir?”

“It’s not what you can do for me, Mr. Director, it’s what I can do for you.” The voice lowered in tone to a soft whisper Bert had to strain to hear.

One of Harry Wong
’s
people
. Or, possibly one of Charles Martin’s operatives. It had to be one or the other, he was sure of it. He leaned back into the soft leather of his chair and waited and listened to the voice coming over the wire.

“I saw two of the vigilantes in Crystal City! I don’t want to tell the
FBI
how to do their business, but if I were you, I’d send a contingent of agents to check it out. I hate the way those damn women make fools of the fine institution of the
FBI
. So are you going to do something about it, Mr. Director?”

“I’ll have my agents look into it, sir. Now, would you care to give me your name?”

“I prefer to remain anonymous at this time for purely personal reasons. You’ll look into it, when? Later in the day, tomorrow, next week? Those women are like greased lightning. If they’re here, something is going on. You snooze, you lose. Aren’t you people at the Bureau tired of always being made fools of? You’re as bad as the pathetic Secret Service agents those damn women hog-tied in a Dumpster out there in Kalorama. And then they went to the White House, brazen as hell, and nobody did anything. Where the hell are my tax dollars going these days? You people are pissing them away, that’s where they’re going, and I damn well don’t like it.”

“In other words, is it safe to say you’re going against the females in your family—at this time?” Bert had to fight not to laugh out loud when he heard the man’s response.

“Yeah, it would be safe to say that. I can see where I’m not making any headway with you, but you really need to take care of business, Mr. Director. I’m going to hang up and make some other calls now.”

Bert did laugh then.

The game was on. He felt a small thrill of excitement when he buzzed his secretary and told her to put all calls through directly to him from any and all media.

Next he called in the two agents sitting outside his office, and simply said, “We have another vigilante sighting in the Crystal City Underground. Check it out and report back to me. I think it was just some ticked-off citizen mad at his wife for something, and he’s acting out, but you never know. Those women are wily.”

Joyce Hart, Fox 5’s evening news anchor, picked up her extension a mere five minutes after Bert Navarro’s anonymous caller hung up. She listened to the rapid-fire explanation of the call, her jaw dropping.

“How sure are you? Which vigilantes? Can you describe them? How do I know you aren’t some dumb schmuck who wants his fifteen minutes of fame? You do have a point, they’re world-famous, and they do have unforgettable faces. What’s your name? Yeah, right. Before I take my crew and go chasing over to the Crystal City Underground, I’m going to need a little more information. Just so you know, I don’t pay for information. Who else did you call? If you say no one, then it becomes an exclusive and maybe we can talk about some kind of monetary remuneration. What do you mean you called the
FBI
first? What am I, chopped liver? I don’t much care if you like my attitude or not, and I don’t care if you
think
you’re doing your civic duty or not. I think you’re calling because the females in your personal life have stood up to you, and the vigilantes somehow, some way, have made your life miserable. Good-bye, whoever you are.”

Hart broke the connection, snapped off her recorder, then dialed the offices of the
FBI
, where she identified herself and asked to speak to the director. She was surprised that she was put through immediately. She got right to the point, and then asked, “Can you give me a comment, Mr. Director?”

Bert clucked his tongue, but he was smiling from ear to ear. “Miss Hart, you know we don’t make comments to the media. I will say, however, that we field thousands of calls a day, most of them anonymous. Have a nice day, Miss Hart.”

On Big Pine Mountain, Charles Martin did his best to wade through the tsunami of intel that was coming in via e-mails, faxes, and cell phone calls. This was what he loved, the second-by-second coordination of all the minutiae, pickups, drop-offs, drop zones, and transportation by either air, land, or sea, and sometimes even by bicycle or horseback. He allowed himself a visual of Harry Wong on horseback, which made him laugh out loud.

His fingers were like magic, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s as he scanned the faxes that kept shooting out in all directions. He’d always excelled at multitasking, and that trait was working overtime. His words were bullet-fast when he spoke to Avery Snowden. “Everything is in place. Do it! Good work, Avery.”

Charles pressed a number, and Annie picked up. “Go!”

The activity or lack thereof in Apartment 809 in the Watergate accelerated to beehive speed.

Jack and Harry were the first to leave. “We can get there faster on the Ducati, Jack. It’s up to you if you want to take your car. Those people must really be stupid. They split, and now they’re going running at the Tidal Basin. How dumb is that?”

“No, they’re smart, they have to be somewhere until it gets dark. What better place to blend in until nightfall?”

Five minutes later, Harry sprinted over to his motorcycle, and asked, “What exactly is our role in this?”

Jack climbed on the back of the Ducati, plopped his helmet on his head, and asked, “What the hell are you waiting for, Harry? Charles said to
go
. We’re just sitting here. Oh, you want to know what our role is. We pick up two hypodermic syringes from the guy at the Sno-Cone machine and pass them on to the girls when we spot them. Now, go!”

The Ducati shot forward and hit a speed bump. Jack cursed. “You did that on purpose, you terrorist. Now I have whiplash.”

Harry ignored him as he gunned the powerful machine. Jack hung on for dear life.

“I have a gun, Harry. I just want you to know that.”

“Black belt warriors have no need of guns. Obviously you aren’t as good as you think you are.”

“Yeah, well I’m an officer of the court and as such am authorized to carry.”

“Where is it?”

“What do you care?” Jack shot back. “In my pants, if you must know.”

“Front or back?”

“If it’s that important for you to know, the front. My shirt covers it. Why?”

“Because when I hit the next speed bump, I don’t want you shooting your dick off.”

“The only thing you have to worry about is me shooting you in the ass if you hit a speed bump, so I hope that explains why the gun is in front.”

Harry’s response was to bend low over the handlebars. Jack did the same. He didn’t think it was possible for Harry to drive any faster than he already was, but they now seemed to be
flying
. Jack held on, the July heat searing his face. He was so light-headed when Harry finally came to a stop that he had to hold on to the Ducati until his equilibrium returned to normal.

“Wuss.”

“Eat it, Harry, and remember I have a gun.”

“I’d be worried if you could hit the broadside of a barn, but you can’t.”

“And your point is?” Not bothering to wait for a response, he added, “That’s why you have to be worried. Eventually, I’ll hit something. Look around, what do you see?”

“People,” Harry snapped. “Lots of people. Some are jogging, some are running. Some are sitting under the trees eating. I see the vendor’s cart. I don’t see the girls. I also don’t see our quarry. Do you see any of Snowden’s people?”

Jack shifted his sunglasses. “I don’t see anyone I know. Jesus, you don’t think this was a dry run, do you? It would be just like Snowden to pull something like that.”

“Why?” Harry asked, his gaze sweeping the crowds of people.

“Because you attempted to usurp his authority by having your people out there on Monarch. In case you haven’t figured it out, Harry, Snowden is very territorial. And he’s afraid of you, you terrorist, you.”

Harry took his gaze away from the crowds to look at Jack in disbelief. “Do you really believe that?”

“Nah. But you have to admit, it sounded good. C’mon, we need to pick up those syringes. The girls should be arriving shortly. You know Charles, everything is synchronized down to the last second. Move it, Harry!”

“Shit, Jack! Look at that line!”

“I have the magic bullet, Harry.” Jack held up a crisp hundred-dollar bill and waved it in front of Harry’s face.

“And when those sweaty people standing in line attack you for trying to cut ahead of them, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to let you take care of them. Strawberry or blueberry? We have to make it look good. The third one will have the syringes in it. Oh, I’m supposed to say I’m picking up the senator’s Sno-Cones. That’s my ID.”

“How stupid is that? Snowden, right?”

Jack laughed. “Yeah. I think he saw the same episode of
Law & Order
that I did.

“If he acts up, I can always shoot him in the ass instead of you. Now do you feel better?”

Harry looked at Jack and smiled. “You know what, Jack, that does make me feel better. I’m seeing the silly side to you, and I actually like it.”

Jack moved away. Harry never complimented anyone. “Oh, goodie, we’re here!” Walking up to the front of the line, Jack asked the vendor, “Hey, buddy, you got the strawberry, blueberry, and the surprise-him-with-the-third-one the senator wants? He said he called ahead.”

Disgruntled sweaty runners started to mumble among themselves.

“Hey, cool it, dudes. The senator said your cones are on him.” Jack whipped out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to the first guy in line. “Be honest,” he warned.

Harry reached for the cones. Jack steered him away. “The strawberry is mine. Hey, look, there’s Nikki.” He moved forward and handed over the cardboard carton. “It’s in the one that looks like banana.” He moved off.

“Where’s mine, Jack?”

“They didn’t have tofu or that shitty green-tea flavor. You want a lick of mine?” A second later the Sno-Cone was in Jack’s eyes, up his nose, and trickling down his cheeks.”

“Now I really am going to shoot your ass off, Harry Wong.”

“You’re going to have to postpone that. I see one of Snowden’s people. See that guy in the purple shorts, the one with the high-and-tight haircut? He’s at three o’clock. I can’t be sure of this, but I think our quarry is at eleven o’clock, and they appear to be eating a packaged lunch. Hot dogs would be my guess.”

“Then we go counterclockwise, so we’re behind the quarry. Are they looking around or are they eating or pretending to eat?”

“They’re having an intense conversation, and, no, they aren’t paying attention to the runners or joggers or the food. This is just a guess, but from what I can see, it looks like they’re fighting.”

“Let’s get into position and wait to see how this plays out.”

Across the Basin, Nikki Quinn and Kathryn Lucas did a few stretches and limbering-up exercises before they jogged off.

“First lap will tell us what’s going on. We can always stop and wait to see if they get up or if they just keep sitting there,” Kathryn said. “If they stick with the picnic scene, we’re going to have a problem. I wish the others were here.”

“There was nothing for Annie and Myra to do. Besides, it’s too hot out here for them. And they have to be available to take the deliveries Charles has arranged. Yoko and Isabelle are here somewhere, but not as a duo, just as single runners. Alexis is replenishing her Red Bag, and I think at the last minute Charles wanted her to go to the
Post.
I don’t know why.”

Kathryn chewed on her bottom lip. “Did anyone say what’s in the hypodermics?”

Nikki laughed. “Just something to make them slow down. They’ll suddenly feel lethargic. It will be hard for them to put one foot in front of the other. It should last about four hours. We’ll be right there to help them out. Too much sun, not enough water. We don’t have refills, if that means anything.”