Chapter 18
Fergus Duffy eyed the platter of brownies, loaded with nuts and raisins, which were cooling on the kitchen counter. He looked over at Charles, who was putting the finishing touches to a standing rib roast, which would go in the oven shortly. Charles’s guilty offering to the girls. But it wasn’t going to work. He knew it, and Charles knew it, too. He shrugged.
“I hear water gurgling in the pipes. That means the girls are finally up.” Charles looked around. The coffeemaker was ready, the brownies just waiting to be eaten. “It looks like it’s going to rain pretty soon, Ferg. Let’s take the dogs out now. I could use some fresh air. And perhaps a new perspective will come to me.”
Both men stood aside as the dogs raced through the open door and ran toward the barn. Charles and Fergus followed. “We should have owned up last week, Charles, to our part in the Avery Snowden fiasco. When he asked permission to leave the area to go to Delaware to help the boys, we should have said no. Or we should have told him, at least, to make his case with the girls. It was up to them, not us, to decide. I still can’t believe he didn’t rat us out.”
“That’s not who he is, Ferg. You know that. I’m sure he doesn’t have a very high opinion of us right now, and justifiably so. I’m supposed to be the leader, and as such, I call the shots. He was simply babysitting, when his special talents were needed elsewhere. It was a good decision, though not as good as making him ask the girls. Still, if it was up to me to decide, I’d make the same decision again if I had to.”
Fergus looked up at the dark clouds weaving their way across the sky. Charles was right that it was going to rain shortly. He could feel the dampness settling into his knees and hips.
“I shouldn’t have to explain every decision I make. This is not your fault, Ferg. It’s mine and mine alone.
“I don’t know about you, but I think once I finish the preparations for dinner, I am going to head into the District. Camping out in the BOLO Building sounds like it might be a good idea. I feel very unwelcome here. And I don’t like that feeling. You can either come along or go home, your call.”
“We’re in this together, Charles, so I am with you all the way. If I have a say in the matter, I think we should explain to the girls about Avery. If you don’t want to do it, I will. We owe it to Avery.”
“You’re right. I’ll do it. It’s time to go back, anyway. I just felt a drop of rain, and Lady is already on her way. We’ll just grab our stuff and head out.”
“Is that before or after you explain about Avery?”
“After, of course,” Charles snapped irritably.
“Just asking, mate, just asking.”
The minute the kitchen door closed behind him, Charles eyed the sisters sitting around the table and eating the brownies he’d made and drinking the coffee he’d made for them. He checked the oven temperature and slid the prime rib inside.
He turned to the women, who were staring at him, puzzled expressions on their faces. They knew something was off, something different about the two men standing in front of them. They waited. Then, as one, they sat up straighter in their chairs when they saw Fergus return with the two traveling bags in his hands.
Charles didn’t waste any time or mince his words. “I have a question for you all, then I have a statement to make. Am I, or am I not, the leader of our . . . organization?”
The sisters looked at one another, and they all nodded.
“In that case, I have two statements to make. Being the leader, I am therefore the person who makes decisions—some of which you might like and some of which you might not like. Up until now, we’ve never had a problem, and I’ve never steered you wrong. First and foremost, your safety has always been my main concern.
“I am the one who authorized Avery Snowden to leave the mission. He was, as he put it, doing ‘babysitting’ duty when his expertise was required elsewhere. He asked my permission to leave, and I granted it. Perhaps I should have had him ask you, but that did not occur to me at the time. I would do it again, too, if I had to. Manpower is something you never want to waste. Fergus and I do not require an apology, but you do owe one to Avery. He is loyal, and he has served us all well over the years. It is to his credit that he did not defend himself out of respect for me and the years we served Her Majesty together.
“That’s my statement. Your dinner is in the oven. Fergus and I are going into the District and will remain there until such time as you all feel that you want all three of us back in the fold. If not, we will make other arrangements. One last thing, so I guess that means three statements.
“Earlier you mentioned the name Nigel Bly. There should be no bad blood between him and Avery, but there is. Avery saved Bly’s life—not once, but twice—and the life of his wife. No one has ever figured out what turned Bly against Avery, unless it was his own wounded pride that he’d failed on a mission, and Avery and his people saved the day. See ya around, old girl,” Charles said, offering up a snappy salute.
“You have my number, Annie,” Fergus said, following Charles out the door. Lady reared up, threw her head back, and let loose with an earsplitting howl of displeasure, her offspring doing the same thing.
* * *
The sisters looked at one another, but no one said a word. Seconds and minutes crawled by, and still no one said a word. Lady and the pups stopped howling and had progressed to whining as they frantically paced the kitchen.
“I think someone should say something,” Maggie said as she reached for the last brownie on the platter.
Annie cleared her throat. “I hate to have to admit it, but it appears we might have made a mistake in regard to Mr. Snowden. Everything Charles said is true. I’m willing to take the full blame for the decision we made in anger and haste.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Annie. I agreed with you, and so did the girls. We did what Charles has always told us to do—‘Stay on the mission, no matter what.’ He never explained to us that extenuating circumstances could change things. We know better now,” Myra said unhappily as she swiped at a tear in the corner of her eye. “We’re not infallible, even though at times we think we are.”
“Right now, we’re all feeling pretty proud of ourselves. We do not deserve to feel proud. Possibly humble. Which is hard for us to do, but sometimes you have to suck up some things you don’t like. Avery was the one who planted the listening devices. He is the one, along with his people, who tailed the Forresters and listened in to what was going on both at their condo and at the law firm. Yes, Annie and Maggie planted the bug at the law firm, but that bug came from Avery. And it was Avery and his people who listened to what was said, not us. Without Avery’s contribution, there would have been nothing we could do to help Garland. We need to fall back and regroup right now,” Kathryn said.
“I’m all for that, but I think we need to check on our . . . um . . . guest. He is probably hungry by now. We only left him with a bottle of water. I say we take care of him first, then come back up here to the kitchen and talk out our problem. And make no mistake, it is our problem,” Nikki said. “Raise your hand if you agree.” All eight hands shot in the air.
Alexis headed for the refrigerator. “Cheese and bread should do it, along with another bottle of water.” She looked around for a bag of some sort, found one, and tossed the food and drink in. “We’re good here.”
Garland Lee’s voice thundered at the sisters as they made their way down the moss-covered steps to the war room, where Lady Justice stared down at them. From there, they made their way to the dungeon and its cell, which Isabelle had redesigned from the days of slavery, when Myra’s family aided those in need and got them to a safe harbor as a part of the Underground Railroad’s route to freedom.
Kathryn turned down the volume on the stereo and lowered the overhead lighting.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Forrester. We brought you a little nourishment,” Alexis said.
“Keep your nourishment,” Forrester croaked from his position on the hard bunk. “I don’t want anything from you, not now, not ever.”
“Nicely said, Mr. Forrester, but that is not going to change your current circumstances. As we said earlier, we want something from you. You will not leave here until you give us what we want. Right now, you are reasonably comfortable. That can—and will—change, the longer you fight us,” Nikki said.
Forrester snorted. He looked awful—the bald strips on his head were bloody and scabbing over. His lips, where the skin had peeled off, looked even worse. His ruddy cheeks were like circles of fire. “What the hell else can you do to me, except kill me? Go for it, put me out of my misery, but I am not doing what you want.”
“See, now you aren’t thinking clearly. Eventually you will do what we want. How long you can hold out until that happens, only you can answer. It’s a given that you will do what we want. Even the best of them, and I’m referring to soldiers and agents of our government, who over time found themselves in the same position you are in now, gave it up when they were tortured. No one can hold out forever. Sleep deprivation, ruptured eardrums, infections, and starvation. That’s what you have to look forward to under our care. You don’t look like a man of steel to me, you sack of pus,” Kathryn said.
“Just for the record, Mr. Forrester. We do not kill people. What we do, do, however, is make certain people wish for, indeed long for, death. Keep going as you indicate you will, and I suspect you are going to turn out to be one of those people,” Myra added with a smile.
“Last chance, Mr. Forrester. Are you going to sign off on the escrow monies being held until the lawsuits involving their rightful ownership are settled? And are you willing to drop your lawsuit against her? Think carefully before you respond,” Annie said.
“I don’t have to think. I will say to you what I said to the senior partners at my former law firm. Go to hell, and kiss my ass on the way down. Just leave me to my misery.”
“I guess we have our answer,” Yoko said.
Annie advanced closer to the bars on the cell. “We’re going upstairs now to prepare our dinner, which will consist of prime rib, baked potatoes, salad, and fresh garden peas, along with homemade bread. We’ll come back later this evening to start the festivities in your honor. We’re going to have an early Halloween party just for you. We’re going to have you dunk for apples. Only in this case, there won’t be any apples. That’s just another way of saying we’re going to be waterboarding you. The president may have forbidden the CIA to use so-called enhanced interrogation, another way of saying torture, but we never got the message. Even if you manage to avoid drowning, think about what it will do to your head and those luscious, ugly lips of yours.”
Nikki joined Annie at the bars. “Mr. Forrester, you really need to understand something. You do not—and I repeat, you do not—get to press the reset button. The reason for that is that there is no reset button.”
Arthur Forrester swore as his fists pummeled the paper-thin mattress he was lying on. A strangled sound coming from his ravaged mouth permeated the room.
The sisters laughed as they left the dungeon area to make their way out to the war room, where Kathryn turned up the volume on the stereo and turned up the overhead lights.
* * *
Once again in the kitchen, Myra made fresh coffee, while the girls took over the dinner preparations. As always, when they worked as a team, things progressed perfectly. All that remained to do was to set the table when dinner was ready.
Annie poured coffee. “We need to talk, girls.”
Always the most vocal of the group, Kathryn let it fly. “Just say it, Annie, we screwed up. Now we have to make it right with Avery. I wouldn’t blame him a bit if he told us to go pound salt. Speaking strictly for myself, I am ashamed of what we did.”
“Avery and I have had our differences over time, but I agree with Kathryn. We treated him shabbily. I won’t have a problem apologizing. The kicker here is, will he accept our apology?” Maggie asked.
The others weighed in, and, in the end, they all agreed that each of them would go the distance and apologize to the old superspy.
“He’s a professional,” Annie said curtly. “I might be wrong, but I think he will chalk it up to a bunch of women PMS-ing all at the same time, and he’ll let it go. I will say this, though. I think we should finish up this mission on our own and start fresh the next time around. We’ve gotten this far mostly on our own, and, yes, I am giving credit where credit is due to Avery, so let’s just finish it up and go on from there. We learned a hard lesson, and life is all about learning.”
“Very well put, Annie,” Myra said. “We need to take a vote, so we are all on the same page.” All hands shot high in the air, even Annie’s.
Nikki swiped at imaginary sweat on her brow. “Whew! I’m glad we settled that to our satisfaction. We still have time before dinner is ready. I suggest we call Mr. Snowden now and get it over with. Then we need to call Garland and give her a progress report. Who wants to do it?” All eyes turned to Annie, who nodded in response.
The kitchen turned silent as Annie hit the speed dial on her phone. The sisters listened carefully as Annie extended hers and their apologies. What she received for her efforts was a brisk reply: “Not a problem, Countess. Call me if you need me.”
Myra had both hands on the pearls at her neck. “I think that went better than we had any right to expect.” Everyone at the table looked relieved, Annie more so than the others.
“Coffee anyone?” Alexis asked. All the sisters nodded.
While Alexis poured coffee, Nikki checked on the prime rib. Yoko placed the potatoes on a baking sheet and slid it on the top shelf of the double oven, while Isabelle chopped a purple onion and some tomatoes into a salad bowl full of fresh lettuce from Charles’s greenhouse. It was all done, just as Alexis poured the remainder of the coffee into her own cup.
“I guess I’m the one to call Garland,” Myra said, reaching for her phone. “Do any of you think we should ask her out here so she can—”
The sisters all spoke at once with an overwhelming no as their response. Myra shrugged as she hit the number 9 on her speed dial. Garland picked up on the third ring, sounding as cheerful as ever. Myra quickly brought her up to speed and was rewarded with a laugh of pure joy. The two women made small talk for a few minutes, and Myra signed off.
“I wonder what she would think if she knew every song she ever recorded is blasting in Forrester’s ears twenty-four/ seven?” Maggie asked.
“I guess the next question is, should we call the firm and . . . at least give them a heads-up?” Isabelle asked.
Another vote was called for. Not yet was the decision.
“Then, girls, I think we’re all good here. All we have to do is eat this fine dinner awaiting us,” Myra said.
“I think we forgot something. Actually someone,” Nikki said.
“I guess you mean Charles and Fergus,” Myra said.
“Exactly.” Nikki grinned.
“Not just yet.” Myra grinned in return. Annie agreed.
“Whose turn is it to set the table?”
“Mine,” Isabelle said as she got up to get the dishes from the overhead cabinet. “I have the peas, too.”
“I’ll do the rolls,” Maggie said.
“I’ll do the dressing for the salad,” Alexis said.
“I’ve got the potatoes,” Yoko said.
“I’ll do the gravy,” Kathryn said. “I know, I know, no lumps.”
“I have the roast,” Nikki said, pulling the platter from the cabinet.
“And Annie and I will just sit here and wait for it all to come to the table,” Myra said.
As was their custom when the sisters dined together, Annie said grace.
* * *
While all their heads were bowed, Arthur Forrester was pacing his new living quarters like a raging, caged lion. He cursed at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t even hear himself, what with Garland Lee’s singing coming close to rupturing his eardrums. The blinding white light overhead made his head pound like a drum. He felt disoriented as he paced, his legs wobbly, his equilibrium off. He had wet toilet tissue stuffed in his ears, but it was nowhere near to lowering the horrific sound that shook the old stone walls. He wondered how long it would be before he went out of his mind.
He wished Nala were here with him, the way she had been when they were first married. She would pat him on the back. She had gentle, caring hands. Nala to his rescue. It wasn’t going to happen, and he knew it. He was on his own and batting zip. His loss.
Forrester’s legs finally gave out. He flopped down on the hard bunk and dropped his head into his hands. His head ached, inside and out. His scalp felt like a million bumblebees were eating at his exposed flesh. His lips, where the skin had peeled off, were wet and slimy, and he saw in the mirror over the sink that pockets of pus were forming at the corners of his mouth. It hurt just to open his mouth.
Maybe it was time to give it all up and hope these evil people would just let him go. Their paraphrased message—“We don’t kill people, we just make them wish they were dead”—ricocheted inside his pounding head. The tall one, the mouthy one, had vocalized that. And he believed her implicitly.
If he gave it all up, where would he go? What would he do? They were going to take all his money. Could he live on his Social Security and what little was left in his pension fund? He would have to, since there were no other options.
Maybe he could plead with Nala to take him back. Nala had money. What a stupid thought that was. That bus had already pulled away from the curb.
All he had to do was sign his name, and, hopefully, those ugly, hateful people would turn him loose. God, how he hated them.
Forrester wondered what time it was. He looked down at his wrist, only to see that it was bare. The damn thieves had even stolen his Rolex watch. He looked around, but there was no way to tell if it was night or day or how many hours he’d been here. It seemed like an eternity. Maybe their plan was to keep him here till he went insane and was a drooling idiot. Freedom never looked so good. He would never take it for granted ever again. Providing he got the chance to savor it after this.
There had to be a way out of here, some way to trick them into letting him go. There just had to be. He felt a sob catch in his throat as he realized it was all wishful thinking on his part. They would never let him go until he did what they wanted. His gut told him that even then they were not going to let him go. He wondered what plans they had for him, since they didn’t kill people. He’d probably end up in some third-world country in some gulag. Who would mourn his disappearance? No one, that’s who. Not Nala, not his kids. Not his grandchildren, whom he hardly knew. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Forrester lay down on the hard bunk. He brought his arm up to cover his eyes, to shield them from the blinding light, as Garland Lee kept singing about her man and unrequited love. If she were within arm’s reach, he’d stick his hand down her stringy throat and yank her tonsils out. That would shut her up, once and for all.
He cried then, the way he’d cried when he was five years old and one of his brothers had called him a pissant. His brother had mocked his curly hair, which his mother loved. He had mocked his crooked teeth, which his mother promised would be beautiful when they all came through as he got older. He’d mocked his big ears, which he called elephant ears. His mother hadn’t promised anything in regard to his ears. It was the ugly nickname of pissant that bothered him the most. Even to this day, that brother still called him pissant. He hated him almost as much as he hated Garland Lee and the name partners at the Ballard law firm. He realized in that moment of time that there wasn’t one single person he loved unconditionally, not even his children or grandchildren. The only person he loved was himself. And look where that had landed him.
Forrester cried then because there was nothing else for him to do. Except wait, and he could cry while he waited. When the first tear rolled down his cheeks, he knew he’d made a mistake, as the salt in his tears was eating at the rosy patches on his cheeks. He howled in pain as he beat the brick walls with his bare fists. Another mistake, he realized when he looked at his bloody knuckles.
“Just let me die already,” he moaned. “Just let me die.”