Fast Track. Fern Michaels
five Suburbans available,
plates intact as specified. Can
deliver all five by sundown. Two
to mountain base, other three to
areas as specified.
Charles looked out the window. The sun would be up shortly. He’d been working through the night but now he was seeing results. Going without sleep was one of Charles’s strong points. His thoughts raced. Five Suburbans would have to do. That meant Myra and Annie would have to double up, which they would probably prefer anyway. Still, it was a snafu, and if there was one thing he hated, it was a snafu at the beginning of a mission. He typed in a message agreeing to the delivery of the Suburbans.
He then checked in with a second operative he’d put in charge of housing. No snafus there. Charles’s fist shot in the air. He stretched his neck left to right, then right to left. Time to take a break. Maybe he’d go over to the kitchen and whip up a special breakfast for the girls.
He loved to cook. One time, and now it seemed a lifetime ago, he’d prepared a special breakfast for his very special dear friend in England. He still smiled when he remembered how she’d shooed out the kitchen staff, who were stunned to even see her anywhere near the kitchen. She’d sipped on tea he’d made for her while he cooked kippers and poached eggs. The two of them had actually sat at the enamel kitchen table like two ordinary people talking about nothing and everything. Just two old friends who would always be friends. The day she’d knighted him she’d winked at him. Winked. He’d almost fainted. Of all the people who walked the earth, Lizzie and Myra were the only two people he knew he could count on one hundred percent. He belatedly added Annie to the count.
The starry night greeted Charles when he walked out onto the plank porch. He stopped when he heard a slight rustling to his left. Murphy appeared out of the darkness and nosed his leg. He reached down to scratch the big dog behind his ears. The shepherd whined in pleasure. “Come along, big boy, and I’ll make you some breakfast.” At the sound of the word “breakfast,” Grady, too, walked out of the darkness and waited for his ears to get scratched before he trotted along next to Murphy. Breakfast was always a good treat with Charles mixing real bacon with their dog food.
Charles worked his kitchen duties the way he did everything, with quick, economical moves, no time wasted. Within seconds he had a special banana–macadamia nut pancake mix stirred to perfection and banana syrup warming on the stove. He nuked what Myra termed a ton of bacon and set it aside. Fresh-squeezed orange juice just took minutes and went into the refrigerator to be served ice-cold with crushed ice and a sprig of mint. The last thing he did was to core a melon and slice it. He looked down at the dogs, who were waiting patiently as they sniffed at the bacon aroma wafting toward them.
Charles poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it out to the small deck off the kitchen. He left the door open so the dogs could join him when they finished eating.
This was his favorite time of the day, right before the sun came up, when it was still dark and mysterious. This was when he thought about the new day, with all its possibilities and problems.
Here, alone in the darkness, he could admit to himself that he had qualms about sending the girls back to the Nation’s Capital. He also had qualms about taking on the prestigious World Bank. There were just so many things that could go wrong, no matter how many good people he had in place to head off problems. He still cringed each time he thought about the hair-raising experience of his ladies getting caught and hauled off to jail. He never wanted that to happen again.
He ran each step of his plan over in his mind. On the face of it, it seemed foolproof but he knew there was no such thing. The human element always managed to creep in somehow, some way. All he could do was his best and hope his girls would follow through.
When he got to that point, Charles thought about money and how much of it Myra and Annie contributed. All in the name of justice. He thanked God for Myra and Annie’s robust contributions to the Sisterhood cause. This little gig, as Kathryn called it, was going to net them ten million dollars, not that they would ever see a penny of it, and that was all right, too. His chest puffed out a little, knowing his girls were worth every penny of it. He remembered how he’d felt when they announced that every last penny was to go to worthy causes. They made him so proud. He made a mental note to call his royal friend on the other side of the pond to let her know. The last time they’d spoken, she said hearing about the girls was better than reading a mystery story. He’d willingly given his word to update her weekly. And, she always had one little bit of advice to offer at the end of the conversation.
Charles finished the last of the coffee in his cup and walked back to the kitchen just as the first streaks of dawn appeared on the horizon. The girls would be entering the dining hall any minute.
It was like every other breakfast Charles cooked for his little family. The talk that morning was all about Nikki’s proposal and the glow she was exuding. Charles smiled to himself as he imagined Myra and Annie trying to figure out what kind of wedding they could pull off on top of a mountain. He just knew it would be a formal affair. If indeed it ever came into being. He felt sad at the thought that it might not work out the way Nikki and Jack wanted.
“Talk to us, Charles,” Kathryn said, when the table was cleared and fresh coffee poured.
Charles looked around the table at the expectant faces staring at him. He knew they hated it when he made them wait for finalized details. “All I’m going to tell you right at this moment is your ETD is tomorrow at sundown. I’ll have more details for you at lunchtime. Nikki, I want you to monitor the computer for e-mails. If one comes through from Avery Cromwell, wake me. I’m going to try to catch a few winks, since I was up all night. Talk among yourselves and decide what sort of disguise you will be comfortable with to invade the Nation’s Capital. ‘Normal’ is the key word here. Alexis will accommodate all of you.
“Lunch is whatever you come up with. Dinner this evening will be a pot roast with mashed potatoes and whatever vegetables are ripe in the garden. And, of course, they have to be picked and cleaned.”
Isabelle threw her napkin at Charles as he left the dining room.
“Let’s have another cup of coffee so we can talk our departure to death,” Annie said as she bustled over to the sideboard and the huge coffee machine. When she returned to the table, she said, “We need to talk about how we’re going to invade Mr. Zenowicz’s space.”
From that point on, the women were off and running, ideas flowing at the speed of light, either to be voted on or vetoed. At the end of the lively discussion, the women burst out laughing when Annie came up with what they thought was the ideal punishment for one Maxwell Zenowicz.
“Now we have to concentrate on Miss Rena Gold. We can’t let her walk off into the sunset, now, can we?” Isabelle asked. “And,” she said, wagging a finger, “we need to know who corrupted whom. Do we know if Zenowicz started pilfering before or after he met Rena Gold?”
“Good question, Isabelle. We’ll ask Charles at lunchtime,” Nikki said. “Let’s do some serious computer time. I say we invade Charles’s lair and see if we can put names to our new employers. I always like to know who’s paying the bill.”
The moment the words were out of Nikki’s mouth, the women were on their feet and headed for Charles’s computer room.
“You know what else?” Nikki asked, as they walked across the compound in the bright summer sunshine. “That’s pure bullshit about not involving them just because they’re paying us. Do they think we’re stupid? We go down, they go down. That’s the bottom line. I’d also like to know which wealthy individuals are donating that ten million. I bet we’d all be surprised. It’s coming from inside the Beltway is what I’m thinking. The US wants to be top dog where the World Bank is concerned. But, that’s just my opinion.”
“I think you’re right,” Myra and Annie said in unison. “Let’s check it out,” Myra said. “Everyone in Washington has their own agenda. We just have to find what those agendas are.”
“What