Vendetta (13 page)

Normally Myra was never at a loss for words, but for some reason she felt like her mouth was stuffed with peanut butter. All she could think to say was, “Thank you, dear. I…I need to…Oh, Charles, I don’t know what I need to do. Just sit here for a while, I guess. Go to bed and get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up. Shoo,” she said, trying to be light-hearted.

Charles leaned over to kiss Myra’s cheek. She reached up and patted his hand. She then pulled his hand closer and kissed it.

She grappled for something to say after Charles left the room. “Did you place the grocery order, Isabelle? Maybe we should think about doing some cooking. Charles is going to be rather busy so I guess it will be up to us. I can’t believe tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Well, I certainly have a lot to be thankful for this year, don’t I?”

Isabelle poured more coffee. She knew Myra was just talking to hear her own voice. She couldn’t help but wonder how she would act and feel when it was finally her time to right the wrong done to her. “I’m not much of a cook, Myra.”

Myra offered up a wry smile. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not much of a cook, either. Like it’s a secret!” Both women laughed. “I think it’s time for me to shower and dress. Is there anything you want me to do, Isabelle?”

“You go ahead, Myra. I have some laundry to fold. I need to feed Murphy, too. I do know how to make stuffing for the turkey. I can do that. It will mean less for us to do later. Or I can make muffins out of a box for when the others wake up.”

“That sounds splendid, Isabelle. I just love Murphy. Make him a big hamburger. He deserves it. He really hates dog food. Sometimes I think he thinks he’s human,” Myra said vaguely before she left the kitchen.

Investigator Conway adjusted the zoom lens on his camera, eyed his subjects, and pressed the button, not once, not twice, but three times. He was confident he’d gotten a clear shot of the old Asian man dressed in black who could barely walk. He clicked again and again as the women moved to withdraw their bags from the trunk. The minute the group was out of sight and in the house, he yanked his cellphone out of his pocket. His voice was excited as he related what he’d just done. “What do you want me to do, Mark? Listen, man, it’s cold as hell out here. These people don’t look like they’re going anywhere. If you want me to take the film to one of those one-hour places, I can do that. Then how about if I conduct surveillance out on the road? I think they’re snuggled in, man.”

“Yeah, OK. Call me when you get the photos back. Either Jack or I will come out and pick them up. How old is old, Conway?”

“He looked old to me. Older than my grandfather and he’s in his mid-seventies. He had little bits of long straggly hair, a stringy mustache that trailed down to his neck, and a goatee. He was stooped over pretty bad. He had trouble walking. Like maybe ninety. I don’t know, Mark. The big guy had to help him walk. He looked sick and frail to me. Can I go now?”

“Sure, but stay in touch.”

The women were busy in the kitchen, cooking and chatting, when Charles entered at midday. He looked rested and freshly shaven. He even smelled good. He eyed the disarray in the kitchen and winced.

“It’s all right, Charles, the girls know what they’re doing. We’re making mince pies and a pumpkin one for you. From scratch, dear. Yoko will come back in the morning. Now, tell us, what should we do in regard to…to…
that man
.”

“I want you all to stop what you’re doing, turn off the stove and come with me. It’s time for you to meet John Chai. We can introduce Julia to Mr. Chai later on when she gets here. It’s time, Myra.”

Myra started to tremble as she rubbed at her arms, her face full of panic. “You…you won’t open the cell door, will you, Charles?”

“No, Myra, I won’t open the cell door. By now, our guest should be completely lucid.” He reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He snatched a piece of stale bread from the counter before he led the parade to the living room. He counted down slowly, then pressed the hidden button in the rosette. One by one the women, all silent now, followed him down the steep steps to the tunnels instead of turning right to the opening that would have taken them to the war room.

They walked for what seemed like a long time. Twice, Myra reached up to ring the old bells hanging overhead. Even though they were rusty, the sound was as clear and pure as the day she’d hung them up for the girls. Tears blurred her vision. Charles reached behind him to take her hand.

The high beam on his flashlight cut a bright swath as Charles suddenly came to an abrupt stop. He turned off the flashlight. Attached to one of the beams he’d used to shore up this particular section of the tunnel was a high-voltage battery-operated lamp. The women crowded around to peer into the dark, dank cell. John Chai bounded over to the steel bars and kicked them. He cursed, first in English and then in Chinese. They all ignored him. “Ladies, allow me to introduce you to John Chai, also known as Gan Jun.” The man inside spit at them.

Myra could feel herself shaking from head to toe. This was the moment she had thought would never come. The moment she had dreamed of. The moment which she’d promised her daughter would perhaps come someday, without truly believed it. She felt a light, feathery touch on her shoulder. Thinking it was one of the girls, she turned around. No one was standing near her, they’d all moved to the side to give her center stage.

“
You can handle this. There are no rules where he’s concerned. The bells sound the same. This is where he belongs. Take a deep breath. I’m right here next to you, Mom.”

Jack Emery stared down at the pictures in his hands. Who the hell was this old guy? Why did Charles Martin, Nikki, the Asian woman and the black girl go to China? Did it take four people to bring back one old guy? Conway said the old guy could walk but with difficulty. None of the women — or Charles, for that matter — had a medical background.

He held the pictures out to Mark. “What do you make of these?”

Mark opened his desk drawer to pull out a magnifying glass. He held it over the pictures as he stared down at them. “Looks like some sick old guy to me. We’re talking
old
here, Jack. Maybe the people of Pinewood are a bunch of humanitarians and brought the old man here for some kind of medical treatment. That would be my guess. What’s your best guess?”

Jack chewed on his lower lip. He knew that when he told Mark what his best guess was, Mark would throw up his hands in disgust and probably boot his ass all the way to the Georgia border. “I think this old guy,” he said, tapping the picture in his hand, “has something to do with the kid who killed Myra’s daughter. That’s what I think, Mark. I think those ladies went to China with Martin’s connections — and we know Martin has connections. I still have the scars to prove it. I think they snatched the old guy — maybe he’s the kid’s father or grandfather — in hopes of having them surrender the kid. The kid — I don’t know why I keep calling him a kid, he’s in his late twenties or early thirties — can’t come back to the States. If he does, the authorities can go after him legally. We both know he’s never coming back here. At least not under his own power. I don’t care if you think I’m nuts or not. Those women at Pinewood are not humanitarians, trust me on that.”

“Well, the guy in the picture is
not
Chai’s father. The guy’s father is a fat little toad of a man with a slicked-back hairdo. He’s in his fifties. I have pictures of him in my file. He’s not the grandfather either, because he’s dead. Chai has one sister who lives in Beijing, but she’s young, in her early twenties. There are, of course, hundreds of aunts, uncles, cousins. Think about it, Jack, why would they snatch some old guy and bring him here to…what?”

“Ransom. The old guy for the young guy? Why not? They can’t get to the young guy any other way. Myra wants someone to pay for her daughter’s death. I don’t think either one of us can fault her for that. OK, having Conway out on the road isn’t going to do us any good. He needs to get back up in the tree. If he won’t or can’t do it, I will. I want to know the second that old geezer makes a move. If he leaves the house I want to know where the hell he goes and who’s taking him wherever he’s going.”

“Shit, Jack, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I thought we were going to do dinner and take the day off.”

“Yeah, yeah, that was the plan when we talked about it. Things changed, as you can see. Get hold of Conway and tell him to get his tail back in that tree. Line up Garrity and what’s-his-name. I’m thinking that crafty bunch of women are hoping Thanksgiving will throw us off. Trust me, they’re going to make a move. I feel it in my gut.”

Mark eyed his friend. He was probably right. Jack did have uncanny instincts. He nodded. “Just so you know, buddy, this is going to seriously deplete our operating expenses.”

“I know. I’m prepared to eat macaroni and cheese for the rest of my life with maybe a little peanut butter thrown in. I’ll do my own laundry, collect aluminum cans if I have to. I’ll take my turn out in the tree.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll take a turn up in the damn tree to keep expenses down. You know we’re going to get our asses in a sling, right, Jack?”

“Probably, but I’m not going to worry about it or go down without a fight,” Jack said.

“Does this mean we’re not ordering a takeout Thanksgiving dinner? You know, in the spirit of keeping expenses down?”

“That’s what it means. Spam sandwiches for us. I’ll make it up to you, Mark. Now, let’s put our heads together and try to get one step ahead of those foxy ladies and their fearless MI6 guy. My gut tells me we’re about to get up to bat and are going to kick some serious ass.”

“Man, I hope to hell you’re right, Jack. I don’t ever want to go another round with those gold shields!”

“Those guys are the stuff nightmares are made of. It’s going to work out, Mark. I feel it.”

Myra moved her hand to touch her shoulder, her eyes lighting up like Christmas trees. She squared her shoulders as she drew in a deep breath and moved closer to the cell door, but still far enough away so Chai couldn’t touch her through the bars.

“Welcome to Pinewood, John Chai. This will be your home away from home into eternity. I’m Myra Rutledge. You killed my daughter and the child she carried. I’ve waited a very long time to meet you. Don’t say a word in your defense, Mr. Chai, because if you do, I will have to close your lips permanently. I want you to take a good look at me and know you took away my child. There’s nothing you can ever do to make it right. What that means to you, Mr. Chai, is this: I’m going to punish you for your crime. I’m going to make you wish you were dead. I am going to do terrible, unspeakable things to you. Even that won’t be enough. Start praying, Mr. Chai.” Without another word, Myra turned and started to walk away, the others following her.

Charles stayed behind a few more minutes. He pitched the bottle of water through the iron bars, along with the slice of stale bread. Chai’s hysterical voice followed him all the way down the tunnel. He didn’t look back.

Before Charles followed the women into the house he took a long moment to ponder what had just transpired. For some reason he’d expected Myra to get hysterical, to vent and wail. But she’d done none of those things. He wondered why.

In the kitchen the women resumed their preparations for their Thanksgiving dinner. They were talking about everything but John Chai. Charles noticed, however, that they watched Myra covertly. Myra was humming under her breath as she got dishes and mixing bowls out of the cabinets and placed them strategically along the counters. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going to go into them. It was a wise man who knew when to retreat. Besides, he wanted to check with his friend Su Zhou Li to see what, if anything, was happening in his corner of the world. Charles excused himself and made his way to the war room. The women waved airily and continued with what they were doing.

An hour later a mantle of worry settled over Charles’s shoulders. Li wasn’t answering either his house phone or the encrypted cellphones. He then tried his BlackBerry with the same result. He placed calls to old friends on the other side of the pond to see if they could find out any news on his old friend. Forty minutes later all his calls were returned with the same information. There was no trace of his old friend Su Zhou Li.

Charles looked down at his watch. Julia should be arriving any second now. He closed up shop, turned off the television monitors and set his machines to take all incoming messages. It was time to follow through on John Chai’s visit.

In the kitchen, which was so fragrant he couldn’t believe it, he headed straight for the circle of women to welcome Julia. She looked up, a radiant smile on her face.

“Charles!” She ran to him and gave him the biggest hug he’d ever had. “I feel like I finally came home! Oh, I missed you all so much. Yes, yes, I feel wonderful! Look at me, I put on ten pounds. My counts are all good. The doctors are more than pleased. Tell me I can do something now that I’m here. I’m not the least bit tired because I slept all the way here.”

“If you think you’re up to a little mission, we have one planned for you.” Charles said, motioning to the others to gather round and listen. “Alexis will strip off your present disguise and give you a new one. You are going to become Mr. Gan Jun and you will be going to the Chinese embassy in Washington. Once inside, you will ask to use the rest room, get rid of the disguise, and leave with a second disguise that Alexis will provide you with. The plan is this. Everyone here will leave in their respective vehicles. If anyone is out there watching, and we have to assume they are, they can’t follow all of you. I’ve taken the time to map out routes for each of you. When Julia leaves the embassy in her second disguise, she will be walking. One of you will pick her up and bring her back here in yet a third disguise. The rest of you will return here at different times during the evening. Go along, girls; Myra and I will finish up here. Lovely bird,” he said, looking at the turkey sitting on the counter.

It was four o’clock when Charles wrapped the turkey in a damp towel and placed it in the refrigerator. He looked up, his jaw dropping. “Good Lord! Julia, you look more like Gan Jun than he did when he came in here. Good work, Alexis! Julia, remember, you’re a mute. This is the paper you hand to the receptionist that simply says you are looking for your granddaughter who came to this country two years ago. Just bob your head up and down when they speak with you and get to the rest room as quickly as possible. Here is a map I lifted off the Internet showing the floor plan of the embassy. Are you sure you’re up for this, my dear?”