Upside Down (3 page)

“Before you can ask, I am Scottish. My mother was from Glasgow. My father was from Edinburgh, and my grandparents lived in Dundee. We moved to the States when I was ten years old. Other than that, I have no clue why they would pick me of all people. I was up front and told them about being framed and being in a federal prison. They said they already knew that.”

Jack felt like he should look to see if his jaw was on the floor and needed to be picked up. “Man, that's about the last thing I was expecting to hear.”

Harry asked, “How do we know we can trust you?”

“Because I said so. I also said it's your call. I can step outside if you all want to talk about this. Or I can just leave now and promise you that whatever was discussed here in this room will never pass my lips.” Sparrow waited, his gaze expectant.

Jack looked around at the others. “I'm okay with everything he said. Raise your hands if you agree.”

All hands shot upward.

“There's your answer, Sparrow. As you said, in the interest of full disclosure, check this out,” Jack said, pointing to a minicam on top of the window treatment.

Sparrow laughed. “I spotted that the moment I walked into this room. Why else do you think I picked this chair. It sure wasn't because I'm photogenic. I wanted you all to know you have nothing to fear from me. Hell, I gave you a bundle of money. You have me dead to rights.”

Harry leaned forward. “Or we could just kill you right now.”

“That won't be necessary. I'm on your side. Look, I have to leave. As you all know, Lizzie does not like to be kept waiting. So, we're good?”

To everyone's surprise, Harry spoke first. “We're good. I think I speak for all of us.” The others nodded.

The webcam came to life. “Good decision, guys. Gotta go; some high rollers just blew in. Have to get the red carpet ready to roll out. Time is money. See ya!”

A round of hand-shaking followed, and then Sparrow was gone. The conference room stayed quiet for a few minutes. Dennis broke the silence. “I like that guy.”

Jack pushed his chair over to the window, reached up, and removed the disk in the camera. “This goes in the safe. I'm sure we'll never have to use it, but, like they say, never say never.”

“Then how about we secure it in the safe at the
Post
?” Ted said. “Under seal.”

Jack looked to the others, who were nodding. “That works,” Jack said. He handed the disk to Ted, who secured it in his backpack.

“Okay, boys, let's get down to business,” Jack said.

After meeting with the president, Sparrow didn't say a word until he was behind the wheel of his rental car. Lizzie Fox, his lawyer, sitting next to him, was humming under her breath. “Say something, Lizzie,” he said as he cleared a dark sedan to pull out of the lot where the Secret Service had told him to park.

Lizzie waved her index finger around and smiled. She commented on the snow flurries and the ominous dark clouds overhead. Sparrow got the message instantly. Damn, he should have gotten the message before she did. Of course the Secret Service might have bugged the car. Safe conversation only. Like he didn't know that. Crap, what was wrong with him this morning?

An adrenaline rush was all he could come up with by way of explanation. It wasn't every day a lowly civilian got to sit in the Oval Office with the president of the United States. Hell's bells, never mind every day. Try like never, Sparrow thought to himself, his eyes on the road to see if any of the dark sedans favored by the Secret Service had pulled in behind him.

Sparrow forced his thoughts in another direction. “I think we have time for me to take you for a quick lunch before we head to the airport. It's the least I can do. There's a great chili dive not far from here. When I lived here years ago, I hit it at least twice a week. Gotta tell you, though, you're going to need a pile of antacid tablets after you eat it. They keep the antacid bottles by the cash register. I think they make as much money selling them as they do from selling their chili. You game, Counselor?”

Lizzie nodded as she busily tapped away on her cell. “Flight's on time. My husband Cosmo said he'll be waiting at the airport. He misses me. Said Little Jack has a sore throat. I need to get home. Kids need their mothers when they get sick.”

The conversation for the rest of the fifteen-minute ride to Red Hot Chili's consisted of tales of Little Jack that made Sparrow laugh out loud. He was relieved when he swung into the parking lot and brought the rental to a stop. Always the gentleman, he hopped out and ran around to open the door for Lizzie.

God, she was beautiful. Lizzie looked like a winter ice princess, with her long silver hair and long white coat. There was nothing lustful in his thoughts. Looking at Lizzie Fox was like looking at a rare, beautiful painting. The word
perfection
came to mind. He was glad he could count her as his friend as well as his attorney, all thanks to his boss, Bert Navarro. Sparrow gave her a quick hug, and said, “You were great. I don't think I could have handled it on my own. I hate to admit it, but for the first time in my life, I was intimidated.”

Lizzie laughed. “You would have done just fine, Jack. Was it the White House or the man himself? You know, President Quintera puts his pants on the same way you do. He brushes and flosses just the way you do. And I happen to know he orders takeout from the very same restaurant we are going to dine in. Martine used to order here, too. She told me she left a note for President Quintera telling him which restaurants were the best in the area for takeout when she left office. As for the building itself, well, you have as much right, possibly more, to roam those halls as he does. You pay his salary the same way I do. Martine Connor, by the way, gave me the very same speech when I first went there to work for her.”

Sparrow held the door for Lizzie. A warm blast of air from a vent over the door shot downward. He looked around and realized he had his choice of tables. He ushered Lizzie toward the back, so that he would have a clear view of the door, just in case anyone was tracking them. It was a ritual he still practiced from his years of being a Special Agent for the FBI. Lizzie nodded her approval as she allowed Sparrow to help her off with her stunning white cashmere coat.

Seated across from her at a round table covered in a pristine white tablecloth, Sparrow said, “You don't order here. All they serve is chili, ginger ale, and crusty bread with homemade butter. Dessert is a special homemade blackberry cobbler served with vanilla ice cream, also homemade. You can get as many refills for free on everything as you want.”

“My kind of place.” Lizzie giggled. “Cosmo would love this. Okay, down to business. The prez wants you, Jack. The job is yours. He's already smoothed the path and rounded up the votes, so you are a shoo-in. I know you said you wanted some think time, but do you really want to wait two whole weeks before you say yes?” She held up her hand to have him wait until she was finished with her little speech. “I know that, for forever and a day, you will remember those three years you served in a federal prison for something you didn't do. You can't hold the president responsible for what a few rogue agents did to you. He's trying to make it right, just the way Martine Connor did.

“All the good guys are on your side, Jack. You can make a difference. But in order to do that, you have to let the past go. Really let it go. Start fresh. Clean house. Right now, the Bureau is tainted; even the president said so. You can turn it around, I know you can. And that offer to head up Scotland Yard has everyone's knickers in a knot. That alone has to tell you what you're worth. So, why'd you tell President Quintera you wanted two weeks to think it over?”

“Just being ornery, I guess. I like to start new projects at the beginning. January second will work for me. Besides, I didn't want to appear too eager. I called the Yard early this morning and thanked them for their offer but said that I was passing on it.”

Sparrow felt the special phone Jack had given him when he left the BOLO Building vibrate inside his pocket. He decided to ignore it since he didn't know how much Lizzie was privy to.

“Does that mean you want me to tell them you accept and will be ready to walk through the doors at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue, Northwest, on January second, or that's when you want me to tell them you'll take the job? POTUS does have some protocols he has to observe, but you heard him say they won't pose a problem.”

Sparrow looked down at the fiery bowl of chili a waitress had put in front of him. “I'll report for duty on January second. God help us all,” he said, dipping an oversized spoon into a bowl that was as big as a Frisbee. He smacked his lips as his eyes started to water. Looking across at Lizzie, he couldn't believe she had no reaction to the red-hot concoction.

“I grew up eating chili like this. But this is nothing like what my dad used to make. His chili would singe your eyebrows off, that's how hot it was. This is good, though. Anything else you want to get off your chest, Jack?”

Sparrow looked across the table with watery eyes.
Shit, she knows about BOLO.
What to say, what not to say. He shrugged as he dabbed at his eyes with the cloth napkin in his lap. “Like what?” He ripped off a chunk of bread from the miniloaf and dipped it into his chili. “Do you mean am I going to stay here or head back to Vegas to wait out the time? I haven't decided yet. Do I need to make a decision right now?”

“No. I was just making conversation. But, Jack, can I give you some unsolicited advice?”

Sparrow dabbed at his tearing eyes again. “Sure.”

“Don't go near the BOLO Building again. If you absolutely need to talk to the guys, use that special phone in your pocket after you are officially the director of the FBI. Until then, you need to stay clean. Do you understand what I'm saying? Until you are the new head honcho, go through Bert, Cosmo, or me if you want to talk to Jack Emery or any of the others. You have to be as pure as the driven snow until January second.”

Sparrow was so stunned at her words, all he could think of to say was, “You know?”

“Of course I know. Who do you think handled the sale of the BOLO Building? I'm your attorney, I'm Jack Emery's attorney. Actually, I am the attorney of record for all of you, even young Dennis West. How could I not know? You know all about attorney-client privilege. My lips are sealed.”

“I guess I'm slipping, Lizzie. I just didn't . . .”

Lizzie looked down into her empty bowl and sighed. “It's okay, you're on overload right now. Come January second, things will all fall into place. You can spend the time until then deciding what you're going to do once you take up office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

“Hey, look at the time. We need to head for the airport. My son is waiting for his mom.”

Sparrow pulled some bills from his pocket, helped Lizzie with her coat, then headed to the cash register. He grabbed a bottle of Tums and waved off his change.

“Oooh, it's snowing a little harder, but it doesn't look like it's sticking. I'm glad you have this flight. If you had a later one, you might run into some problems. Straight through, right?” Sparrow asked.

“Yep. You okay, Jack? You realize I was never going to call you Jay, right? You're a Jack just the way Emery is Jack.”

Sparrow grinned. “I'm good, Lizzie. I hated being called Jay even if it was for just a little while. You?”

“I'm good, Mr. Sparrow.”

Sparrow parked his car in the Embassy Suites oversized parking lot and made his way across the huge black expanse of the lot. He had some thinking to do and some decisions to make. And a lot of phone calls to attend to—the first one being to Jack Emery on his brand-new, state-of-the-art, outer-space, weird-looking cell phone. Even though Lizzie had said not to use it, he had to make at least this one call. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever figure out how to work it. He also wondered if the red button at the bottom would make the phone self-destruct, like some James Bond gizmo or the kind Tom Cruise used in one of his
Mission Impossible
movies. He was itching to press the damn thing.

As he walked to the building, the snow was coming down sideways and seemed to be slapping him in the face. He tilted his face upward and was immediately rewarded with a thousand needle spits to his face. The first thing he was going to do was check the weather, then the airlines. He entered the lobby and headed to the right until he was out of sight. He stood quietly behind a huge green plant to watch to see if anyone entered the building behind him. He wasn't being paranoid, just diligent, a trait that had served him well all his life. He fiddled with his cell, pretending to make one call after another, his gaze ever watchful. Twenty minutes later, with no activity in the lobby, Sparrow made his way to the elevator, confident there were no eyes or tails on him.

Sparrow hated hotels, motels, rooming houses, and fleabags. He'd had years of living out of suitcases and sleeping in a different place every night. These temporary digs were okay. He had a small sitting room done in manly brown plaid, a small kitchenette, and a king-sized bed. The bathroom was big and roomy and had an endless supply of towels. He'd been here over two weeks, so in a way it felt a little like he was settling in. He'd even stocked the regulation-sized refrigerator with fruit, beer, and milk. What he liked most, though, was the coffee shop, which served great coffee and decent lunches; the spectacular, complimentary full breakfast buffet, with a chef who cooked whatever kind of hot egg dish you wanted; and the decent restaurant on the ground floor that only served dinner.

Sparrow hung up his outerwear, popped a beer, and flopped down on the small love seat under the window overlooking the parking lot. He fished out his super-duper phone and pressed the number two, just as Jack had told him to. The moment he was connected, he said, “Does this little number come with a manual? What the hell is the red button for, Jack?”

“I thought you were an FBI agent. Oops, Special Agent. No manual, buddy. All you have to do is press one of the buttons through six, and you'll get one of us. The red button will make the phone sizzle and fry. If you plan on pressing it, do it quick and drop it, or you'll burn your hand off. Any other questions?”

“Yeah, where'd you get it?”

“Need to know, buddy, need to know. So, how'd it go over there at the big old White House on Pennsylvania Avenue? You in or out?”

“I'm in as of January second. Lizzie gave me my marching orders, which are that I cannot be seen with any of you guys, and I can't talk to you either except on this super-duper phone, and that only after January second. If I need to get in touch with you between now and then, I need to go through her, Cosmo, or Bert.”

Jack laughed. “So, you hanging around or heading back to Vegas?”

“When I hang up from you, I'm going to call the airline to see if I can get on a red-eye. I just dropped Lizzie off at the airport. Nothing keeping me here. I feel like I'm deserting you guys.”

“You need to get over that feeling real quick. We'll be calling you and counting on you from time to time. You sure you're okay with playing both sides? I sure as hell would hate to be blindsided down the road.”

“You guys have those special gold shields, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I'm going to call a special meeting as soon as possible after I take office, and the status of persons with those gold shields will be the first topic of conversation. I'll send out directives in a blizzard to every field office and police station in the country as well as the CIA, MI6, Scotland Yard, the Sûreté. Flash those babies, and you are home free, pal.”

“You going to clean house, Sparrow? You got some deadwood in there.”

“I am. There are a few guys left over from Zander. I'll do it slowly. There are two left who I have a personal beef with from my kangaroo trial. They are one of the first things I need to work on.”

“Well, while you're at it, there's one guy that gave me so much grief back in the day, I wanted to kill him. He dogged me twenty-four/seven and slept outside my house. His name is Al Bertoli. Send the bastard to Fargo, South Dakota.”

“Al's already on my list, Jack. If there's nothing else, I'm going to see about getting out of here. What's the weather? Have you heard?”

“Light dusting of snow through tomorrow. You need me for anything, just press two on your phone.”

“You sure this doesn't come with a manual?” Sparrow said as he squinted at the phone in his hand.

Jack laughed. “Yeah, I'm sure. See ya, Sparrow, and congratulations.”

 

 

Jack Emery, with Cyrus right behind him, looked into the retina scanner and waited until he heard the hydraulic hiss that would unlock the back door of the BOLO Building. He immediately turned up the thermostat, then went into the kitchen to make coffee. He knew the entire building would warm up within minutes due to the newness of the heating unit. He listened to the dripping water in the coffeepot as he stared out at the whiteness that surrounded the building. Three inches of snow. Not too bad. After last year's record snowfall, he'd had enough and promised himself a warm climate for the coming winter. Even then, when he made the wish, he knew it wouldn't happen. He did worry a little that Harry might not make it on his Ducati even though the roads were clear. No sooner had the thought whipped through his mind than he heard the distinct sound of the special cycle that Harry so loved. Right on time. In the blink of an eye, Jack had a pot of water on the stove for Harry's tea.

Cyrus ran to the door and let loose with an earsplitting bark. Harry tussled with the shepherd for a few minutes until he fished out a chew from one of his many pockets. Chew devoured, Cyrus trotted off happily until it would be time to greet the next person to come through the door. Cyrus loved all the same people Jack loved and hated the same people Jack hated.

“Your tea is in the second cabinet on the left. I bought two whole pounds, so you won't run out. Tell me that you appreciate it.”

“I do.”

While they waited for the others, Harry, never one to talk if it wasn't necessary, watched his water boil while Jack watched the water dripping into the pot as he babbled about Jack Sparrow and Lizzie.

“Yeah, I got a text from him as I was leaving the dojo. He said he arrived safe and sound and wanted to know if I had a manual for the stupid phone.”

Jack grinned just as Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis barreled into the kitchen. Cyrus did his thing and was trotting off when Abner blew through the door, along with a gust of swirling snowflakes. Confusion reigned because none of them had treats for Cyrus. The big dog showed his teeth and his disapproval as he nudged Harry, who was always good for an extra one.

“Get your coffee and tea, and let's hit the conference room. We have a case to discuss. Everyone good today?” Jack asked cheerfully. They all said they were good.

Jack took a few minutes to bring the guys up to date on Jack Sparrow and Lizzie. He shared with them Sparrow's intentions in regard to the gold shields. Dennis West's hand shot in the air. “I don't have one of those, Jack.”

“Yeah, I know. And there's no chance in hell you're going to get one either no matter how much money you have. Maybe if you save the president's life or something, he might give you one, but even that's doubtful. You'll have to piggyback on Ted and Espinosa.”

Dennis didn't know if he should protest or not, so he just shrugged. He had a new mission in life, to somehow, someway, get one of those gold shields.

“Okay. If there are no other questions, let's get down to business.”

Cyrus was on his feet and racing out of the room just as a buzzer sounded from the front of the building. “Company,” Jack said tightly. “That's not a dire bark, it's a friendly bark. That means Cyrus knows who it is,” Jack explained, racing behind the big dog, the others on his heels. “It's Tony from the Bagel Emporium. Oh, oh, there's a florist right behind him. Easy, Cyrus.”

Jack pressed a code that allowed him to open the massive front door. “Tony!”

“Saw all the activity over here and wanted to welcome you to the street.” He held up a large bag. “Bagels!”

“Thanks, Tony. How much, or should I start up a tab?”

“On the house. Good luck.” He turned to go but bumped into two heavyset men carrying a huge banana tree.

“Where do you want this, bud?” one of the guys asked.

“I didn't order that,” Jack said, trying to close the door behind Tony.

“It says here on the card it is a gift. So where do you want it?”

“Gift? Anywhere. Just put it down.”

“Find a place so you don't have to move it yourself. This damn thing weighs a ton. Why do you think it's on wheels?”

“Okay, okay, stick it in the corner over there. Who sent it?”

“Like I know? Enjoy your banana tree, mister.”

Jack peeled off two five-dollar bills and handed one to each of the two men. Ted practically shoved them out the door, then quickly locked it.

The boys stared at the tree, their eyes wide with suspicion.

“Do you think it's bugged?” Abner asked.

“Who sent it? Who knows we're here besides Sparrow and Lizzie?” Ted asked.

“Why don't we open the card that's stapled to the container?” Dennis said helpfully.

“Now why didn't I think of that?” Jack wondered aloud as he whipped at the envelope. “Oh, shit!”

“What? What?” the others clamored.

“Let me read you the card. It says, ‘If you need us, just call.' It's signed by Nikki, Alexis, Kathryn, Isabelle, Yoko, Myra, Annie, and Maggie. I don't think they signed it personally, probably some worker at the shop, and it was probably a call-in. The bottom line is,
they know
.”

“Oh, crap, Maggie knows,” Ted groaned.

“They
all
know. How'd this happen?” Jack demanded. “Who gave it up?”

No one said a word.

“I know Sparrow didn't talk, and for damn sure I know Lizzie didn't spill her guts. So how did the girls find out?” Jack snarled.

No one said a word, but all eyes turned to Ted. Almost in unison, they said, “Maggie got hold of your phone, didn't she?”

Ted was so outraged his face turned purple. “No way!”

“Prove it,” Harry said, menace ringing in his voice.

Ted cringed. “Since this all started, Maggie has not had a single opportunity to sneak a look at my phone. If you're insinuating that she got hold of it while I was sleeping or something like that, you're wrong. And everything on this phone is password protected anyway. I'm not stupid, you know. No, no, no. There's no way. That's the truth.”

“I can vouch for Ted,” Espinosa said. “There haven't been any sleepovers. Dennis?”

“I agree with Ted and Espinosa. No way.”

“Then who is the snitch?” Jack demanded again.

“You sure Maggie didn't follow you guys a time or two?” Harry asked lazily, flexing his fingers.

“I can't guarantee that didn't happen,” Ted said angrily. “I know she's sneaky, but I can't believe she'd let us get this far without saying something. She wants to be in on everything. She lives for crap like this and would die to one-up me.”

“She wouldn't say anything if the girls told her not to. She's one of
them,
” Jack observed.

“So where does this leave us?” Espinosa blustered.

“It leaves us with a damn banana tree that has to be watered, probably every day. And you have to shine the leaves with some kind of spray. Plus the girls know what we're doing. That's where we are,” Jack said, peering at a tiny bunch of bananas growing on the big, ugly tree.

“Maybe it was that guy Snowden,” Dennis said hesitantly.

The guys looked at one another. Ted looked hopeful that they were considering someone other than himself.

“Never,” Harry said.

And that was the end of that.

“We'll figure it out eventually,” Jack said as he led the parade back to the conference room, carrying the bagel bag. He plopped it in the middle of the table and took his seat. He looked around at his friends. “Obviously, the girls are okay with what we're doing. I did get the dig about us possibly needing them. That's not going to happen, right? Hands up if you agree.” Every hand shot into the air.

Jack took a deep breath. He slid yellow folders across the table. “The name of the persons we're targeting are Tyler Sandford and his wife, Fiona. Tyler Sandford is the lieutenant governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia. He and his wife are slum landlords. This guy came onto our radar by way of Harry, who just happened to overhear two agents talking about the guy and how they couldn't do anything because an order came down as hands off. Too high-profile. There's a very good chance this guy is going to enter the gubernatorial race when Governor Rossiter retires next year.”

“Every city and state has slum landlords, so what's the big deal about these two?” Ted asked.

“The big deal is that three children died in one of his buildings. One from rat bites and the other two from lack of heat last year. That was all swept under the rug. Friends in high places. I think we should roll up that rug with Mr. and Mrs. Sandford in it. I'm open for some suggestions here.”