Authors: Fern Michaels
“Do you want to borrow my pearls, Annie?”
“For God’s sake, Myra, no, I do not want to borrow your damn pearls. I have my own, thank you very much.”
“Well, then, what did you come up with, dear?”
“Nothing, that’s what. And by the way, it’s now referred to as the New Scotland Yard. Based in England. Why is it called Scotland Yard if it’s in England? It should be in Scotland, don’t you think,” Annie said fretfully.
“One would think. When I think of Scotland Yard, I think of Jack the Ripper. If it’s in England, as you say, and I did not know that either, Annie, why do they have MI5 and MI6. I know they are on Downing Street. I had an experience there, if you recall.”
“Actually, Myra, when Sir Robert Peel was Home Secretary, the first Metropolitan Police Act was passed and the MPS was established in London. They were at Number 4 Whitehall Place. The back of the location opened into a courtyard, which, as a popular anecdote would have it, had once been the site of a residence owned by the kings of Scotland or alternatively a Scottish Embassy, and was therefore known as Scotland Yard. Then in 1967 they moved to a larger and more modern headquarters building at Broadway, which is now known as New Scotland Yard. Do you think that’s going to be heady dinner conversation? Oh, one other thing, do not confuse the Metropolitan Police Service with the City of London Police, which is a separate force responsible for the square mile in the City of London.”
“The Brits are amazing. They have it… as Kathryn would say, going on.”
“I wish we had some intel on why the man is here in the first place. I think this all has something to do with that meeting on the plane with Nikki, Jack, Bert, and Kathryn. I just feel it here,” Annie said, pointing to her stomach. “My gut,” she clarified, in case Myra wasn’t getting it.
“That’s all you were able to come up with?” Myra asked in surprise.
“Other than the DOI has six hundred trained officers targeting surveillance and covert photography techniques. They have something called CRIMINT, which is a computer-based intelligence application that has been completed and sent to all MPS police stations. I was not impressed, Myra.”
“Why not?” Myra asked.
“I was hoping for … you know …
stuff.
I printed out a lot of charts and graphs, but it was like gobbledygook to me. I’m thinking Scotland Yard is small potatoes in the covert espionage world. Almost like a stepchild. Like I said, I wasn’t impressed.”
“But that’s okay, Annie. You are not impressed with Scotland Yard, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be impressed by the man Fergus. I think you might just be overreacting right now. What is it Nikki says? Kick back and go along for the ride, and if you don’t like where that ride is taking you, get out of the car. See how simple that is?”
“I’m wondering if Fergus is what they call a sleeper,” Annie said, scowling. At Myra’s puzzled look, she explained, “Espionage writers always use that term to describe someone of importance who they try to make into a nerdy type so no one will be the wiser. I always figure it out.”
“I see,” Myra said, fingering her pearls.
“You’re trying to pacify me, Myra. I can read you like a book. Well, as much as I would like to sit here and continue this conversation, I just can’t. I have to get ready, and I’ll be heading into town during rush-hour traffic. I have to admit I am relieved that we postponed our trip to Vegas for a few days.”
“Yes, Annie, with all that is going on, that was a wise decision on your part. Do you need any help, dear?”
“I think I can get dressed by myself, Myra. Just keep your cell phone on in case I need to call you.”
“I will, dear. Annie, wear some of that decadent perfume I gave you at Christmastime.”
Annie flipped her friend the bird and stomped into the house.
Myra looked down at Lady, who was at her feet, and said, “I do not know what to do with her. One minute she’s hotter than a firecracker, and the next minute she fizzles.”
Lady barked as she offered up her paw for Myra to shake. “Yes, you’re right, she’s a friend, so I take her with the good and the bad. How astute you are, Lady, to bring me up short like this.”
“Woof.”
M
yra turned when she heard Annie’s footsteps on the tiled floor in the kitchen. “Annie! You look… beautiful, and you smell heavenly. Wherever did you get that dress? I love it.”
“Really, Myra, you aren’t just saying that?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Annie continued, “I saw it in a boutique in Las Vegas. At the time I thought it screamed my name. So, you’re saying I’m not overdone or underdone?”
“That’s what I’m saying. I just love the color green in all its varying shades. How did you get that gossamer shawl to match so perfectly?”
“Dumb luck. I was at the right place at the right time when they were draping it on a model in the window. Restaurants are always so cold, or at least I think so. And shawls cover multitudes of things, like sagging upper arms. What about my hair? I didn’t want to fuss with it because of the humidity, so I just pulled it back. Well, if I look okay, I guess I better be on my way. I’m going to hit rush-hour traffic once I get into the District.”
“Annie, try to look like you’re going to a pleasant outing of some kind. You look… tortured.”
“It’s these shoes. No, I can see you aren’t buying that. What it is, Myra, is this. I like to be the aggressor because then I am in control. I arrange things, I set it up, I know the plan, so I’m in control. I have no control here. This was unexpected. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I do, dear, I do. The simple answer is
take
control. You are so good at that, Annie.”
“Ya think?”
“Think about it. Look how you tricked me into agreeing to go to Las Vegas with you.”
Myra was saved from a response when Lady sat up on her haunches and let loose with a long howl. “See! Dogs are such uncanny creatures. Lady understands and approves. Now, get going and don’t speed. Maybe you should hit the bathroom before you leave.”
“Myra, for God’s sake, I am not a child who needs to be reminded to go to the bathroom before starting on a trip. Besides, I don’t have to go.”
Myra gently urged Annie through the kitchen door. “Drive carefully. If you can, call me when you take a break and let me know how it’s going. I’m going to be worrying about you all night long. Don’t stay out too late. I’ll wait up for you.”
“Myraaaaaa!”
“All right! All right! I won’t wait up. Go!”
The moment Annie drove through the gates and down the long, winding road that led to the main highway, unmindful of Myra’s warning not to speed, she put the pedal to the metal and roared up the road as she blasted the exquisite stereo system in her brand-new lemon yellow Porsche.
Annie tried to clear her mind, to think of pleasant things like her childhood, her early married life. When she felt a pall settle over her shoulders, she switched gears and thought about Fish and the casino. That just seemed to make her more angry, so she switched again to how she was going to arrange Kathryn’s surprise birthday party. Those thoughts stayed with her until she entered the District, at which point she had to give her full attention to the road and the drivers who surrounded her. She received more than one admiring glance, which she knew was for the car and not her. White hair, wrinkles, and gnarly hands did not make for admiring glances. Yellow Porsches, now, that was something else.
Annie suddenly realized as she turned onto O Street that she hadn’t given one moment’s notice to her dinner evening with Fergus Duffy. She did start to think about it when she turned into a minuscule parking lot that was no bigger than the restaurant itself and turned the Porsche over to a valet attendant.
Annie looked down at the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist with the huge numbers on it. She was right on time. Seven o’clock in her opinion was an acceptable dinnertime. If she ate later in the evening, she got gas. She’d eaten here at La Petite several times, and she was neither impressed nor unimpressed. French food was so rich she tried not to eat it on a regular basis. Maybe she’d made an unwise choice when she’d suggested it to Fergus Duffy. Maybe the chicken place was the way to go after all. Well, too late now.
Annie opened the door to the dim interior and was greeted by a host whom she knew for a fact pretended to be French but wasn’t. Charles told her he was from Poughkeepsie, New York, and used to be in the roofing business.
Jerky Jacques, as she thought of him, a.k.a. name-dropper, gushed when Annie walked over to his station to inquire about her reservation and to ask if Fergus had arrived.
“But of course,
Countess.
For you, the best table in the house, and your guest arrived just seconds ago,” Jerky Jacques said in his best bogus French accent. Annie sniffed as she trailed behind another bogus Frenchman to the table where Fergus waited for her. He stood up, all six foot five of him, and smiled a very toothy smile. He waited until she was seated before he leaned across the table, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not dressed appropriately for such a fancy restaurant. You, of course, look lovely.”
“I think you look just fine,” Annie said, looking at his open-necked sports shirt and creased khaki trousers. And he did look fine. Wholesome, interesting, and handsome in a rugged kind of way, and he had a full head of iron gray hair that had once been red, or at least rust colored. She liked his brogue and said so, then belatedly thanked him for his compliment. “Just for the record, no one here is French. They’re all poseurs.” A devil perched itself on her shoulder as she shared Charles’s information on the help at La Petite. Fergus laughed, and Annie was instantly at ease. She’d worried for nothing. This man was just a nice man, and she knew she could get through dinner and not be a nervous wreck.
The wine steward approached. Fergus waved him off. “I don’t know anything about fine wines. I only drink ale. Do you drink… what should I call you?” he asked in a jittery voice.
“How about Annie? And you’re Fergus.
“As for drinking, I do. Sometimes I drink a lot and other times not at all. I’m a happy drunk if that’s what you’re trying to ask me.”
Oh, God, did I just say that?
Obviously she had because Fergus was laughing.
“I’ve been known to need help getting home a time or two myself. I think I fall into the same category as a happy drunk. At least on those occasions.”
Annie frowned as she looked around. Fergus was being a good sport, but he didn’t want to be here, and she felt he was uncomfortable. “You know what, I just had an idea. Get your cell phone out and pretend you have a call. When you end the call, stand up and let’s bug out of this place. We can stop by the Kickin’ Chicken, grab some chicken and some ale, head for the Tidal Basin, and have a picnic at twilight, my favorite time of day. By the way, I like dark beer. Just out of curiosity, where is your security?”
“Front and back. Do you mean it?” Fergus’s expression clearly showed he hoped she did.
Annie loved the way Fergus followed orders. He did exactly what she told him to do, then moved quickly to pull her chair back before she could change her mind. Five minutes and fifty dollars to Jerky Jacques later, they were out in the parking lot, and Annie was settling herself in the lemon-drop Porsche, explaining that Fergus and security should follow her.
“Why can’t I ride with you?”
Why not indeed? “Climb in. I thought you had to go with your security. What are you doing here in the States anyway, or is that NTK?”
“I’m on a case that involved the CIA, but it turned domestic and is now under FBI jurisdiction. I much prefer working with your FBI rather than your CIA. The Bureau is cooperative, unlike the Agency. I can’t tell you anything other than that.”
“Okay, why are you here? I mean with me? What do you want from me?”
Fergus laughed. “They told me you were blunt speaking. We can discuss that later. Why don’t we just talk about ordinary things. Tell me about yourself, and I’ll tell you about myself.”
Annie laughed, an unpleasant sound as she steered around a panel truck that was going too slow to her liking. She blasted her horn and squealed on past. “I took a defensive driving course. Charles insisted. I was the only one who passed with flying colors. You already know everything there is to know about me and don’t deny it. Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m three years from retirement, at which point I will return to my little village in Scotland and while away my days fishing, hunting, reading, and drinking good ale. My wife died twelve years ago. We had a wonderful life, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss her. On our wedding day, she said to me, ‘We are going to have arguments, fights, but I want your promise that when we go to bed at night we don’t do that kiss-and-make-up thing. I want us to shake hands.’
“I thought all women wanted that kiss, but not my wife. She wanted my handshake because a handshake is your word that you mean what you say. It worked for us all our lives.
“My children are busy with their lives, and I see them, if I’m lucky, on holidays. But more often than not I’m working. My grandchildren are all at university, and young people are much too busy to visit grandparents. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is. I think that’s another way of saying I’m married to New Scotland Yard. I’ve worked there since I was a young pup.”
Annie turned on her blinker as she nodded in understanding. “Here we are, the Kickin’ Chicken! Just smell all that lovely grease! I got us here, so you can do the honors. Make sure you get plenty of napkins.”
Fergus laughed. It really was a nice laugh, Annie decided. She watched as three burly men as large as oak trees got out of a rental car and followed Fergus into the chicken palace.
Fifteen minutes later, the Fergus Duffy party, as Annie thought of them, marched out of the Kickin’ Chicken with six colorful bags between them and a cardboard carton that held what looked like a case of beer. The moment everything was settled in the trunk of the Porsche, Annie turned on the engine.
Annie whipped around corners, cutting off SUVs, all in the hope that the chicken would still be warm once they arrived at the Tidal Basin.