Upside Down (4 page)

The guys all started to yammer at once, their tones angry and filled with malice. Cyrus howled at the top of his lungs.

“Okay, glad that got your attention. We have a target, and now we have to get background from the day those two were born. One at a time now.”

“I have a question,” Dennis said.

“Spit it out, so we can get down to business,” Jack demanded, impatience ringing in his voice.

“It's about those gold shields. I get the part about my not having one and not ever getting one, but I'd like the story on it. I don't like not knowing all the details on something. I am, after all, a reporter. An investigative reporter,” he clarified.

Jack sighed. “Okay, okay, then we're putting it to rest. This is the story as I know it. Now, if anyone else knows something I don't know, feel free to jump in and elaborate. Before Martine Connor left office, she arranged a telephone conference with the heads of MI6, Interpol, Scotland Yard, and the Sûreté, and they all agreed to what she called the Gold Shield Plan. It's another way of saying whoever has one of those priceless babies has a kind of diplomatic immunity, for want of a better explanation. All those agencies agreed to honor the holders of the shields. A global interagency thing, I guess, is what you can call it. Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card. It is my understanding that each agency agreed to issue no more than twenty shields. They were specially made and cannot be duplicated. I got that from Lizzie. I also understand that Lizzie has some kind of paperwork signed by the head of each agency. Martine Connor insisted on that, and the others agreed. So there would be no blowback down the road for any of the recipients. I suppose it's a presidential order, but who the keeper of that order is is a mystery to me.”

“So who did she give the shields to?” Dennis asked, his eyes round and inquisitive. “Does law enforcement know about this, or is it a secret?”

“One question at a time, Dennis. As far as I know, the holders of the shields are Charles, Myra, Annie, Pearl, Nellie, Nikki, Kathryn, Yoko, Alexis, Isabelle, Maggie, me, Ted, Espinosa, Bert, and Abner.”

“That's only sixteen. Who has the other four?”

“I don't know. I don't even know if Lizzie knows, and if she does, I'm sure that comes under the heading of attorney-client privilege. In case you don't know this, Lizzie Fox and Martine Connor were, and still are, best buds from way back when. As to the second part of your question, the answer is I do not know. Sparrow said he is going to be sending a directive out to all the field offices and police departments across the country when he takes office, so that would lead me to believe the answer to your question is probably no, no one knows. But that's just my opinion.”

Dennis wasn't satisfied. “How do you know the shields can't be duplicated?”

Cyrus, who was under the table, let loose with a bark to let the others know he was very much in the room, and it was time to get on with things.

“Because, Dennis, the president of the United States said so. Her word is good enough for me,” Jack answered through clenched teeth. He wanted, needed, to move on.

“I think I want to know who has the other four. Think about this,
Jack.
What if the other four people turn out to be our archenemies? Well, Jack, are you thinking about it?” Dennis persisted.

“I wasn't until you just brought it up. Look, Dennis, that's outside our purview. There is no way we can find out. In addition, it's not our business. For all we know the president could have kept them for herself. Sometimes, kid, what you don't know is more important than what you do know. Anyone have any other information they want to share in regard to the special shields?” When no one volunteered any information, Jack asked, “Can we move on?”

“Sure,” Dennis said, slumping back in his chair. He wanted one of those shields, and, one way or another, he was going to get one.

Jack opened the thick folder on his desk. “I did some research, but it is by no means complete. I just wanted to get a feel for what we're dealing with. Here's the thing, I couldn't find any property listed in Sandford's name or his wife's name. I even checked the wife's maiden name, which is Peters. I'm sure those slum buildings he owns are hidden under shell companies, holding companies, what have you. My quick search only gave me a federal-style house in Georgetown and a horse farm in Middleburg, Virginia. Sandford was born and raised in Middleburg. His wife, Fiona, was born and raised in Arlington, Virginia. Unlike him, she did not come from money. If you're okay with it, Ted, you, Dennis, and Espinosa are assigned to the property search. Harry wasn't able to get details, just casual talk when the agents at the dojo were grumbling. You guys up for it?”

When the reporters said that they were, Jack made some scratch marks on his legal pad.

“Abner, it goes without saying that you're in charge of the financials. We need everything you can get, so we know what we're dealing with.

“Dennis, I'd like you, if you agree, of course, to search out Sandford's background, all the way back to the day he was born. Ditto on his wife. I understand there are two kids, one still in college. And the younger one is some kind of genius, from what I've heard. She, and I think her name is”—Jack referred to some scribbles on his pad—“ah here it is, Faylan Sandford. She has a PhD in biology and neuroscience, and she's only eighteen. Go figure that one! The lieutenant governor makes mention of that every chance he gets. The boy, whose name is Addison, is a senior at MIT, majoring in nuclear engineering. You up for this, kid?”

“Yup.”

“Harry stays where he is at the dojo as our ears from the agents who come in for training. He's going to insist that his little FBI group aren't
quite
ready and that they need more classes. Disgruntled agents tend to mouth off, and they all trust Harry. It's a long shot, but Harry can't be away from the dojo, as we all know.”

“What's your job, Jack?” Dennis asked.

“I'm going to be researching some of the families that live in those slums and going to talk to them firsthand. As soon as we come up with names.” He looked around to see what the others thought of that just as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out, looked at the caller ID, and saw that it was Nikki. “Hey, guys, I gotta take this. Kick it all around, and I'll be right back.”

His wife was finally returning his call . . . what . . . thirty-six hours later. He walked to the kitchen and closed the door. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself. Sorry to be so late returning your call. The office is swamped, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah, I figured that.” What he wanted to say but didn't was, “Don't tell me you couldn't find three minutes somehow, someway, to say hi, drop dead, go to hell, I love you, Jack.”

“You said in your message you wanted to take me to dinner last night. I meant to call. I just got so sidetracked. I'm really sorry, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah, I figured that.” He really needed some new lines here. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, “What's happening to us, Nik? You don't get home till midnight, and you're gone before I get up in the morning. We haven't spoken to each other face-to-face in over a week, and when we spoke last time, all you did was scream at me, saying I didn't have an understanding bone in my body.” But he didn't say that either. He also didn't say that Cyrus wasn't exactly his idea of an ideal bed partner. He was about to say he really did notice that she was sleeping in the guest room, but she interrupted him.

“You know what, Jack, let's make a date for Sunday morning. We'll sleep in, read the funnies together, have coffee in bed and . . . you know . . . if we want to do other things, we can. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a bunch of crap,
he thought. Four more days till Sunday. Come Sunday, he knew in his gut that something would come up and that would be that. He tried to remember the last time they'd made love and couldn't come up with a time. That had to mean over a month. He took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, sure, that sounds great. See ya on Sunday.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Don't bet the rent on it.”

“Gotta run, I'm being paged. You okay, Jack?”

“Right as rain, Nik. Couldn't be better.”

“Good. That's good. I mean that's really good. Love you.”

Jack didn't respond because right that second he didn't know if he still loved his wife or not. He turned to the door, where Cyrus was scratching to get in. He opened it, and the big dog put his paws on his shoulder and nuzzled Jack's neck. He whispered in Cyrus's ear, “That's Nik's job, but you know that, don't you, big guy. It's okay, pal. Like everything else, this, too, will play out just the way it's supposed to. Let's go. We really have to nail this guy so you can bite his ass.”

Cyrus liked the way that sounded and gave a joyous woof. Jack pasted a sickly smile on his face and walked down the hall to the conference room. It looked like he hadn't been missed. The boys were at it, squabbling over . . . what else, Dennis and the gold shields.

There was a huskiness in Jack's voice that did not go unnoticed when he said, “Let's put a cork in it and get on with why we're here. Now listen up. I want to give you what little background I have on Mr. Sandford. For starters, he's a nonstarter. As a rule, lieutenant governors attend funerals and do all the things the governor doesn't want to or can't do. Sandford is no exception. What he has going for him right now in the public eye is that he has charisma—he's a good-looking guy, dresses well and expensively, drives a flashy car, does more than his share of kissing babies. He supposedly helps to coach a Little League team whose games he rarely gets to because of government business. Of course, he's always on hand for the photo ops. He's big on photo ops.

“He has a killer smile and more teeth than all the Osmonds put together. He boasts about his daughter, Faylan, in every interview. He mentions the boy, but not with as much gusto.

“Sandford grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Never had a nine-to-five job. Went straight into politics and is considered as a possibility for a presidential run at some point. Right now, his sights are on running for governor when Governor Rossiter steps down. The smart money is saying he'll nail it if he runs. We need to make sure that doesn't come to pass—that he never gets his party's nomination for the post.”

“Espinosa and I can dig in the archives for you,” Ted volunteered.

Jack made some more scribbles on his legal pad.

“The wife's name, as I said, is Fiona. She's the classic politician's wife minus any kind of public service. She does nothing, doesn't volunteer for anything, doesn't lend her name to charitable causes, and will never be named mother of the year. She spends a lot of time at spas, country clubs, and going shopping. She's had lots of surgery, all cosmetic. As one tabloid put it, she's been nipped and tucked, sliced and diced within an inch of her life. That same reporter went on to say she has bee-stung lips. I have no clue what that means since I'm a guy, but it isn't conjuring up any beautiful thoughts.

“Fiona comes from a middle-class background. Mother was a nurse, father was a math teacher. She never wanted for anything. She met Sandford in college. She never graduated—got married instead. I am sure that there is a ton more information out there to be gathered and that we'll be able to put it to use.

“Sandford comes from a long line of politicians. None of his family, it appears, has ever held a job. At least not that I saw in my sketchy research. We need to look into the monies that are paid for his personal security. His and the governor's bill for security totaled over a million bucks this past year. The state troopers who guard the two of them are on call twenty-four/seven. I read some op-ed pieces about how the fine citizens of the Commonwealth of Virginia are complaining long and loud over this. Over-the-top travel expenses are also part of the problem, though Lieutenant Governor Sandford, unlike his almost namesake, has yet to hike the Appalachian Trail. So far, neither the governor nor the lieutenant governor has commented other than to say that it is necessary. There is no transparency that I can see.

“During the day, the lieutenant governor hangs his hat in the Finance Building on Capitol Square. That's worth knowing should we need to find him in a hurry. In case you don't know this, and I didn't, which doesn't say much for me, the lieutenant governor is the president of the Senate of Virginia. Or maybe I did know it and just forgot. He is also, obviously, first in the line of succession should something happen to the governor. Unlike the governor, however, the lieutenant governor of Virginia can run for reelection.”

Harry Wong shuffled his feet and looked around for a clock. “I need to get going, guys. I have a class in forty minutes. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Cyrus was on his feet a second later. It was his job to escort Harry to the door in the hopes he'd get another treat. Harry didn't disappoint, and Cyrus got a belly rub at the same time.

After Harry left, the big shepherd headed back to the conference room. His tail swished importantly. His work here was done. He nudged his master's leg and woofed softly. “Good boy. We're almost done. Then we'll go for a long walk.”

“We're heading back to the paper, Jack. When do you need us here again?” Ted asked.

“You make your own hours, guys, unless I call a meeting. I realize you have jobs. I'm sure we're going to overlap on our research, but that's just fine. More is better than less. E-mail, text, or call, but stay in touch. I'm going to call Bert and bring him up to date and have him call Sparrow to report in. Anything else, guys?”

Abner Tookus got up and flexed his fingers. He grinned at the others as he offered up an air wave. He needed to get to a computer, his lifeline to everything other than Isabelle that mattered in the world.

And then it was just Jack and Cyrus in the conference room. Jack felt his shoulders slump. Cyrus, seeing the slump, bellied over to the door and nudged it shut. He bellied back to where Jack was sitting and propped his big head in his master's lap as much as to say,
I'm here for you
. Jack swallowed hard. He rubbed the big dog's head as he mumbled and muttered under his breath. “I don't know what to do, Cyrus. I'm trying to be understanding, but enough is enough already. I've become an afterthought. I'm asleep when Nik gets home, she's gone before I get up in the morning. If I stay up and wait for her, she gets pissed. I can't win. No offense, pal, but I'd rather sleep with Nik than you. I hate that she's sleeping in the guest room, and, yeah, she did say she didn't want to wake me with her crazy hours. But that's bullshit, and she knows it!”

Cyrus threw his head back and howled. “Yeah, that's how I feel. You know what else, Cyrus, class-action lawsuits go on for
years
. That's just one. Nik's firm has three class-action suits going on. Nik's firm has become the go-to guys for that kind of stuff. Spouses are just . . . in the way. At least that's how I'm seeing it. I feel like a lovesick teenager right now.” Cyrus joined his master in whining.

Jack continued to fondle the big dog's ears. Then he squared his shoulders, sat up straighter, and all but bellowed, “Okay, enough of this pity party. Come on, Cyrus, let's go for a walk and get some lunch.” The words,
walk
and
lunch
were Cyrus's two favorite words.

Cyrus raced off and returned with his leash, swinging his tail back and forth at the speed of light. He danced around as he waited for Jack to pack up his briefcase and turn off the light. He was the first through the door and waited in the kitchen, while Jack put on his jacket.

 

 

There was a bite to Maggie Spritzer's voice when she said, “How nice that you decided to come to work.” She pointed to the wall clock. The time was 11:50.

“Oh, lunchtime. Thanks for pointing that out, Maggie,” Ted said airily as he swung around and headed for the door, and the elevator that would take him to the lobby of the
Post
building, Espinosa and Dennis West hot on his heels.

“Hold it right there! You just got here!
Four hours late.
And now you're going to lunch! I. Don't. Think. So.”

Ted punched the elevator button before he swung around, knowing that Maggie had followed the threesome into the hall. “We're entitled to a lunch hour. Is this where you threaten to fire me or all three of us? Go for it,” Ted snapped. “I'm sick and tired of your holding that power over my head. So is Espinosa. Dennis doesn't care, he's so rich he doesn't have to worry about paying the rent. What? Cat got your tongue? Well?” Ted snarled.

Maggie backed up a step. “All I said was you were four hours late and, no, you weren't going to lunch. What I meant was I wanted to know what you were doing and where you were that made you four hours late before you went to lunch. Are you planning on filing a grievance with the union? I am the EIC. That means I'm in charge. I have the right to ask you anything I want.” But it was all said defensively, and Ted picked up on the tone immediately.

“If you keep bugging me, then the answer is yes.” He knew in his gut that it was Maggie who somehow, someway, was responsible for the banana tree that had been delivered to the BOLO Building. His gut told him she'd been following him, and she was good enough that he didn't pick up on her doing so. But he knew, and that made him feel guilty. And the guys knew it, too.

The elevator arrived. Espinosa stepped in and put it on hold. Dennis stepped around him, leaving Ted and Maggie hissing at one another.

Maggie, former reporter and current editor in chief, and Ted, her former fiancé and current star reporter, eyeballed one another. Ted was livid and trying not to show it. Maggie looked like she regretted her outburst but wasn't about to back down.

Stalemate.

“Don't ever follow me again, or I'll quit, and don't bother to deny it. You broke the rule, Maggie, and none of us is going to forget it. What that means is you can no longer be trusted. You want to know something, ask me. If it's something I think you need to know, I'll tell you. If it's my personal business, then I won't tell you. I'm speaking for Espinosa and Dennis, too. I'm working on a story, an exposé. That's all you need to know right now. If you have something you need us to do, tell me now.

“You don't, do you? That means I am free to continue what I'm doing. Ditto for Espinosa and Dennis. I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that you are now on the guys' shit list. Not a good place to be, Maggie. The banana tree was over the top. I'll take that a step further and bet a week's pay that the girls know
nothing
about that stupid banana tree and the BOLO Building.
Back off.
”

Maggie flushed, turned on her heel, and marched into her office, her eyes burning with humiliation. She had never backed off a story in her life, and she wasn't about to start. She swiped at her burning eyes.

Ted was right, though. She knew in her gut when she sent the stupid tree that she was making a mistake, but she'd done it anyway. She hadn't told the girls, so that was one good thing, but if Ted and the others thought she had, well boo hoo.

Maggie chewed at a nail that was already chewed to the quick. They were supposed to be a team. Team members didn't sneak around keeping secrets from other team members. That was dirty pool. She totally ignored the fact that she would have done exactly what Ted had done if she thought she could get away with it. Trusting her gut instinct, she'd tailed Ted for weeks and couldn't believe what she'd come up with. She'd let enough time go by to see if Ted would confide in her. When it was obvious that wasn't going to happen, she'd taken matters into her own hands.

Now she was on the outside looking in. Today, she'd heard something in Ted's voice she'd never heard before—he absolutely meant business. He'd walk away in a skinny minute if she closed in on him, and the
Post
would lose its Pulitzer Prize–winning star reporter. And it would all be her fault. Now what did she need to do?

Maggie plopped down in the special chair John Cassidy had left behind. He'd broken it in, and it was comfortable enough to sleep in. Her insides were in a turmoil. It wasn't just the confrontation with Ted; that was business. What bothered her was he had moved on in the emotion department. She could sense it, feel it. What that meant was he wouldn't be cutting her any special favors anytime soon. Locked out emotionally. Not a nice place to be.

Maggie looked up to see her secretary, Emily Davis, rapping softly on the door. Emily was everything Maggie wished she was, drop-dead gorgeous without even trying. She was tall, as tall as Ted. She had an athletic body that still remained incredibly feminine. She dressed well, had a glorious head of rich, natural blond hair and Bambi brown eyes. In other words, a stunner. Plus, she was the most efficient secretary Maggie had ever come across. Somehow, she could anticipate Maggie's every need. If there was such a thing as perfection, then perfection's name was Emily Davis. Except for one
little
thing. Emily Davis had the hots for Ted Robinson.

“What?” Maggie barked. “Don't you have anything better to do than stand in my doorway?” God, how hateful that sounded. Well, she was feeling hateful.

Emily didn't take offense. “Actually, that's why I'm standing here. Is there anything else you want me to do? If not, I'm going to lunch. If I hurry, I can catch up to the guys. It's my turn to buy anyway.”

That threw Maggie for a loop. Her turn to buy. That had to mean Emily had been going to lunch with the guys on a regular basis. Well, crap!

“Go!” she barked again. Emily didn't need to be told twice. Maggie could see her texting as she waited for the elevator. Well, crap again.

Maggie's head started to ache. She'd just dug herself into a hole, and, right now, right this minute, she didn't know how to get out of it.
Think!

“I'm thinking! I'm thinking!” she muttered over and over to herself.

She'd broken her own cardinal rule, and it was eating at her. She'd spied on her best friends. Friends as in plural but Ted in particular. Once they'd been lovers, engaged to be married, but that time was long gone. She'd married someone else and was now a widow. Her whole life had been turned upside down, especially during the last year, after her husband had left her to go back to war and been killed.

God, why was she thinking like this? Because she'd broken the cardinal rule and had to live with it. It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, but Ted knew what she'd done. Espinosa and Dennis knew, too. Probably the rest of those in her immediate circle knew, too. Ted's circle as well. She'd be a pariah. The guys would hate her, and the girls . . . God, what would the girls think? Especially Myra and Annie. Tears burned her eyes at the thought she'd be alone in the world, friendless, and all because she had to spy on her best friends.

If only she hadn't sent that stupid banana tree. If only. And what did she even hope to gain or to learn? That a building in Georgetown called the BOLO Building was a meeting place for the guys. So what? For all she knew, the guys were gambling away their free hours in the privacy of the building. She'd staked out the Bagel Emporium and eaten at least a thousand bagels as she watched the building. A total bust. Because . . . no one, as in ever, entered the building by the front door. The back entrance was used for some reason, and there was no way she could stake out the back without being spotted. The owner of the bagel shop, Ding something or other, said he didn't know anything about the building, just that it had new tenants.

Well, she knew a thing or two about pricey real estate, and the BOLO Building was as pricey as it gets. Why did the boys need such a building to gamble if indeed that's what they were doing? And there was no record that she could find for the ownership of that particular building. She'd need someone like Abner Tookus to find that out, but that was definitely out of the question.

She'd called around to the girls and tried to ask sneaky questions, but she'd come up dry. Then the brilliant idea of sending the banana tree came to her. She'd sat at a small table at the bagel place and watched as it was being delivered. Then she'd almost exploded off her seat when she saw Ding deliver a bag of bagels. To the front door!

Something was going on. Something no one wanted her or the girls to know about.

“What?” she thundered to her empty office.