Kathryn leaned across the table. “Now how hard was that?”
“Let me tell you something, Kathryn, it was damn hard. I feel like I betrayed my own mother. I gave my word; I took an oath to all the people I try to protect. With my life if I have to. Don’t you dare judge me. Don’t you dare!”
“I would never judge you, Pearl. That’s for you to do yourself. By not talking, you are the one who is putting the lives of your people in danger. We were not asking you to announce anything to the world at large, just to the people you came to for help. You did the right thing by telling us what we need to know,” Kathryn said. Then, because Kathryn was Kathryn, she had to add, “Besides, it was time for you to come off that high horse you rode in here on.”
Pearl didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she kept quiet and simply nodded. She did, however, reach across the table to shake Kathryn’s hand.
“Charles, for the third time, what’s for dinner?” Kathryn demanded.
“Ah, yes, dinner. How does spaghetti and meatballs sound? Fergus made bread this morning, that crusty Italian you love so much, Kathryn. And fresh peach ice cream. I was up early this morning and at the farmers’ market for the first load of peaches. I’m not going to guarantee the spaghetti and meatballs because Annie and Myra called in their order a little late in the day. I do guarantee that it will be tasty, though.”
He looked at his watch, and said, “Fergus and I will go topside and you all can stay here and strategize if you like. Dinner will be in an hour.”
The others looked at one another and by nods agreed to stay in the war room to talk and try to work out a plan.
Dennis West whispered in Harry’s ear. “Harry, what do you think about Lincoln Moss?”
“What I think, kid, is the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I think too. Oh, boy, this promises to be a thrill a minute, don’t you agree, Harry?”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry drawled.
Chapter 3
C
harles looked across the room at the bank of clocks that gave the time all over the world. It was 6:00
A.M
. in Virginia. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. He and Fergus had worked through the night, with only two short breaks up in the kitchen for coffee, just to stay awake.
“I think we’re done here, Fergus. We need to decompress, shower, snatch a few hours of sleep, eat something, and be back down here by ten. Does that work for you?”
Fergus sighed. Charles would get no argument from him. He was bone tired. He’d had no real idea until now how Charles and the Vigilantes worked. Now he knew what went into a mission, and he was glad to be a part of it. He crossed his fingers, the way he had when he was a child, that he could keep up. He stapled the last packet he’d just taken out of the printer and slipped it into a bright blue folder. They were ready to be handed out to the girls once the morning meeting got under way.
“You going home or staying here, Fergus?” Charles asked, as they mounted the moss-covered steps that let them out of the dungeon and up to the main part of the house.
“I’m going home. Annie went back home last night because she said she had a lot of thinking to do and wanted to sleep in her own bed. I’ll come back with her for the meeting.
“Charles, do you think Pearl can hold it together. She seemed pretty fragile to me last evening.”
Charles looked at his old friend, concern on his face. “I am . . . not exactly worried, but I must admit that I am concerned. If anyone can shake Pearl out of it, Annie and Myra can. What really concerns me is that everything is in Pearl’s head. If anything were to happen to her, all her hard work would collapse, and I don’t even want to think about what would happen then. I told Myra to try to convince her to call Lizzie Fox. Pearl trusts Lizzie. There has to be a legend so that down the road, if the unthinkable happens, the railroad and the people are protected.
“Pearl does not want to give that up. I get that, but right now, she is not thinking clearly. If we’re successful in this mission, then I think there is a very good possibility that Pearl will allow Lizzie to document everything. That’s just my opinion, Fergus.”
Fergus rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks as he stared out at the approaching dawn. “I know that Annie is worried. She was mumbling something about first it was Nellie, and now it’s Pearl. You know Annie; when those bees in her bonnet start to swarm, you never can figure out what’s going to happen. If she gets ticked off enough, she might shoot her.”
Charles laughed.
“So, on that note, I will now take my leave. See you around ten. Don’t start without us.” Charles waved good-bye.
Feeling a nudge to his leg he looked down to see Lady, who was inching him toward the door. Her pups were right behind her. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to go outside with the dogs, but he did it anyway. All he wanted to do was sleep. “Make it quick, okay?”
The dogs were back inside within minutes, waiting for breakfast even if it was two hours early. Outside to pee meant you came in and got fed. The dogs sat on their haunches and waited expectantly as Charles sighed and did what he had to do. He then bolted up the back staircase and headed for the shower. Myra could clean up the bowls.
Charles’s last conscious thought as his head hit the pillow was that perhaps this mission was not going to be the slam dunk he had originally thought it would be. When you take on a man like Lincoln Moss, all you could hope for was a lot of luck.
The July sun was bright at ten o’clock in the morning as the gang arrived almost simultaneously. They greeted each other in the parking area, then moved on to the back door, which Myra was holding open. More conversation ensued about the rain’s finally being over, how everything looked so scrubbed and clean the way only Mother Nature could do it. The flowers looked perky, according to Yoko, and she bent down to snap off a bright yellow Gerbera daisy that she immediately stuck behind her ear. Harry grinned.
“Coffee, anyone? We have a little time before we have to be downstairs. Just so you know, Charles and Fergus worked through the night, snatched a few hours of sleep, and are hard at it again.”
Annie poured coffee as the gang milled around. “I don’t see Pearl,” Kathryn said. “Is she coming? Please, stop looking at me like that. I just said what had to be said yesterday instead of pussyfooting around. If you’re upset with me, I can leave right now.” She waited until everyone assured her that they agreed with her, at which point Lady barked, announcing Pearl’s arrival.
By ten thirty, all the sisters and their counterparts were seated at the new table, which now accommodated all of them. Everyone appeared bright-eyed and expectant. Even Pearl looked refreshed, which was a relief to everyone in the room.
Charles and Fergus, his new right hand, were on the dais. The large screen came to life as Lady Justice beamed down on the occupants. For some reason, the women always smiled when she took over the room. Kathryn always saluted her, a crisp, no-nonsense salute that would have been the envy of any military officer had one been there to see it.
In front of each occupant was a bright blue folder. The rule was that you did not open your folder until Charles gave the word. That gave him the time to present his PowerPoint display, which made it easier to follow what was in the folders and generated fewer questions.
The overhead lights dimmed. The slide show began. “This first picture is of Amalie Laurent. Also known as Mrs. Lincoln Moss. This is one of the professional pictures that are used by her husband’s cosmetic company. As Pearl told us, she is the face of the company, which is the crown jewel of all his holdings. In other words, a multi-billion-dollar company. This next picture is of Amalie Laurent after her surgery, when she became known as Patricia Olsen. At first glance, it looks like the picture was simply tweaked. Look closely. Do any of you think if you had known the original Amalie that this new Patricia would fool you? Then ask yourself if you were her husband would this new picture fool you? We’ll discuss this later.
“The next picture is of Rosalee Muno. I’m sorry for the grainy quality, but we have to work with what we have. She was, according to Pearl, Amalie’s personal maid. In the original, she was on the plump side, plump cheeks, double chin, and around thirty-five pounds overweight. As you can see in the picture after surgery she looks very different. The plump cheeks are gone, the nose is thinner, and the double chin is gone, as are all those extra pounds. She’s quite slim now. Her hair is also different, shorter, less curly, and a light brown. Ask yourself had you known her before the surgery, would you recognize her the way she looks today?
“The third picture is of Lincoln Moss, who needs no introduction. As you can see, he is a very virile man who is almost fifty-five now. I believe the term to describe him in today’s lingo would be
ripped
. He sports a tan all year long. He is a sportsman, he sails, he snow skis, water-skis, hikes, runs, works out with a personal trainer. Doesn’t drink much or smoke. Knows how to make money. He’s almost a standard fixture at the White House. He comes and goes as he pleases. It’s rumored that he and POTUS have cell phones that no one else has. They can communicate with each other without the Secret Service eavesdropping. He and POTUS have been lifelong friends. It is whispered among many that Lincoln Moss is the real leader of the free world, not Gabriel Knight, our President. According to some, Moss made Gabriel Knight a very rich man by investing his money and making him a quasi-partner in
La Natural
. There seems to be a mixed opinion about who the real brainy investor is or was. Some reports say it was Knight, and others insist it was Moss. Neither man will confirm or deny, so that’s where that’s at. At least for now. In the end, I don’t see it as all that important.
“Lincoln Moss likes to keep his life private. Not much is available for public consumption on his marriage. There was a big hullabaloo when he married his wife because she was so gorgeous and photogenic. Now here is the odd thing about that marriage. Anytime in the past, when there was a White House function, Mrs. Moss was usually in France, where she was born and raised. Moss would say she had prior commitments, was doing photo shoots or traveling because she is the face of
La Natural.
I could only find two actual pictures of her at the White House. But she was there four times that are documented.
“It’s also documented that Lincoln Moss travels frequently to France, sometimes three times a month. To see his famous wife, of course, the story goes. So that tongues didn’t wag I have to assume. Mrs. Moss has never given an interview to anyone, not even to the French magazines or newspapers. I have to assume that’s all part of her mystique. I’m told that it would be quite a coup to anyone who could land an interview with her. And the prize and price for the lucky reporter who managed to get an interview with both Moss and his wife would be the ability to pretty much name his or her own price.
“That’s about all I was able to come up with. Other than that the man is beyond wealthy. He’s also a big philanthropist. As in
big.
People, and that means reporters, too, tread lightly around Lincoln Moss. If anyone gets too pushy or too inquisitive, they get a visit from some very important people and are pretty much never heard from again. I want to stress that while they are seen, they are not heard from again. The White House carries a really big stick, and if you’re best buds with the big guy, you got it made in the shade. Plain and simple, Lincoln Moss is off-limits.”
Nikki laughed out loud. “I think what you meant to say, Charles, is that Lincoln Moss is off-limits to the masses but not to the Vigilantes.” The others hooted with laughter.
Charles playfully slapped at his forehead. “Whatever was I thinking? That’s exactly what I meant to say.”
“It’s all right, dear, you were up all night working for us. We understand these little lapses,” Myra said.
“We’ll be starting out on the plus side. We have the power of the
Post
behind us. No one can shut us down, not even the leader of the free world no matter if his name is Gabriel Knight or Lincoln Moss.”
This time the group clapped and hooted their approval.
“Let’s not forget Jack Sparrow, our friend at the FBI,” Kathryn said.
“And our gold shields,” Maggie chirped. She rubbed her hands together in glee. “Where and when do we start?”
“Oh, good Lord!” Pearl bellowed. “Look at this! Dear God, how did this happen?” She held up her phone to show the same picture of Amalie Laurent that Charles had just used in his PowerPoint presentation. “It was on the cover of this week’s edition of that tabloid,
In the Know,
which came out three days ago. They have a circulation of around 2 million and are front and center at every checkout counter in every grocery store in the nation. I read that somewhere,” Pearl said, panic ringing in her voice.
Annie let loose with a shrill whistle. The room went silent. “Just because Amalie Laurent’s picture is in the paper doesn’t have to mean anything. When it’s a slow news day, they print my picture. Just to fill up space. I know how that works since I own the
Post.
Is there an article? What does it say?”
“I don’t know; 390 just sent the picture.”
Kathryn’s fist slammed down on the table. “I thought we agreed no more numbers! Who the hell is 390?”
Pearl flinched as she looked around the table. They all wore the same expressions Kathryn wore. “Audrey Blake is 390. She was one of my first ‘saves.’ She’s my third in command after 389, my second save. Her name is Beverly Hopkins,” Pearl said as she saw Kathryn raise her arm to bring it down on the table again.
“Don’t just sit there like some ninny, Pearl. Send her a text and ask her to send you the article or have her fax it here. You have the fax number.” Myra looked at Charles, and said, “Give her the number again, dear.” Charles obliged, as Pearl’s nervous fingers tapped out a text.
Pearl read off the return text that said Audrey had to make a copy of the article, then she would scan it to Charles, who would then put it up on the big screen for them all to see.
Ten minutes later, they were all looking at the beautiful woman named Amalie Laurent, aka Patricia Olsen. The text was a rehash of her modeling career, her marriage to Lincoln Moss, and her passion for privacy. Then came the clunker in the form of a question as Isabelle put it
. Why would one of the most beautiful women in the world want to undergo plastic surgery to change her appearance? If true, who is going to be the next face of
La Natural
? Our intrepid reporters here at
In the Know
want to know.
The article went on to say that the thousand-dollar monthly bonus and a five-year free subscription to the paper for hot news would go to someone named Jane Petrie, but only when she submitted proof that surgery had taken place. Translation—before and after pictures that had not materialized as the paper went to press.
Readers were invited to call in, write in, or text if they had a sighting of the beautiful model. All sightings when confirmed would receive a year’s free subscription to the paper.
“Who the hell is Jane Petrie?” Ted asked.
“I’m checking Google and Facebook right now,” Dennis said, his thumbs flying over the small keyboard in front of him.
All eyes turned to Pearl. “Do you recognize the name, Pearl?” Myra asked.
“No. But that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it’s a made-up name, which would make sense if she’s selling confidential information.”
“That makes sense,” Jack agreed.
All eyes turned to Dennis, who was mumbling as fast as he was typing. “She’s a nurse. She’s single, and she works out of a registry that fills in for medical help on a temporary basis. She’s twenty-eight. According to Facebook, she says she never married, and that’s by her choice. Frees her up to take a trip to Europe twice a year. She lives in a town house in Crystal City and drives a Corvette. On-call nurses must make good money for her to afford her lifestyle. She graduated from Catholic University with a business degree but said that wasn’t for her, so she then went to nursing school, and said it was very rewarding. She claims to be a health-food nut and also an exercise nut. Those are her words. Her whole life is here on Facebook. And here is her picture!” he said triumphantly. “I’m uploading it to you, Charles. You can put it on the big screen.”