Under the Radar. Fern Michaels
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went off the road, the driver’s dead. No identification on him a’tall. No passengers. The bus is a rental, we think. You see anyone around here, maybe walking, looking for help, George? You still got them spikes in the road that tear up a person’s tires?”
“I do for a fact, Deputy Clyde, and, no, I haven’t seen a soul. Heck, it’s a two-mile road to the house. If there were people in the bus, I’d think they’d head right into Sienna. Maybe the guy was deadheading somewhere. You know, dropped off his passengers and was returning to wherever he was headed. Sorry I can’t help you. I’ll watch the local news at noon to see how it’s all going. If you need me for anything like a search party, just give me a call.”
The deputy nodded and got back into the cruiser. George watched until the black and white cruiser was just a speck on the road before he turned and started on the two-mile walk back to the barn. Walking to the mailbox was George’s only exercise, and he was proud of the fact that he did it, day in and day out, rain, snow, or sunshine. Just like the United States mail carriers.
A knot settled itself between his shoulder blades. Clyde might act like a hick, but he was sharp as a tack. And Clyde did not take kindly to any kind of wrongdoing on his watch, which was twenty-four/seven. He’d be back sooner or later. Probably sooner than George would like. He had to make preparations for his guests before that happened.
The knot turned into an itch as he walked along in the bright sunshine. How long before the people at the compound—assuming that’s where his guests were headed—would call the authorities? Or would this be something they handled with their own people? He had to admit he didn’t know. Nor did he want to find out.
George picked up his pace and broke into a trot. Time, he felt, was his, Irma’s, and Missy’s enemy. Yet time was all they had.
Chapter 4
If she had been wearing jodhpurs and knee-high polished boots, Annie de Silva could have passed for General George Patton, ready to announce that it was time to go into battle as she waved Charles’s pointer at the huge seventy-six-inch television monitor on which Lady Justice stood, balancing the scales of justice.
It was always a moving moment for the Sisters as they contemplated their past, the present, and whatever the future was going to hold for them. Breaking the law, serving up justice Sisterhood style, had its upside and its downside. This was always the moment when each of them knew they could bow out or forge ahead. The question was never a verbal one, but it was hanging there like an invisible thread, and they all knew it. One by one they would nod to show they were on board for whatever was to come.
The huge clocks on the wall showed various times around the world. It was ten minutes to twelve, Eastern Standard Time. Almost seven hours since their world had turned topsy-turvy, with Charles and Myra’s departure on the British helicopter and Pearl Barnes’s latest crisis.
Annie stepped down and stood behind her chair at the round table. “Listen up, ladies. We are on a short leash, timewise. Pearl needs us, and she needs us now. We’ve spent the last hour watching video of those strange people out there in Utah. I personally take offense at any man who claims he has the right to take as many wives as he wants. Like this man,” she said, pressing a button to show a middle-aged man, dressed to the nines, on the screen. “He has one legal marriage and says he has thirty-seven spiritual—or celestial, if you like that word better—wives. Which doesn’t say much for those dumb women. That makes thirty-eight wives. The legal wife and the thirty-seven spiritual/celestial wives have given him seventy-eight children. All under the age of seventeen. The man’s name is Harold Evanrod, and he is called ‘the Prophet’ of the HOE sect. It’s a splinter group of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints—the FLDS. The HOE stands for ‘Heaven on Earth.’”
“That’s an Ermenegildo Zegna suit he’s wearing,” Alexis said. “I know fashion, and that suit cost him bookoo bucks. Where does the money come from? And the guy drives a Bentley! I don’t get it.”
“Good question, and you’re right, it is a Bentley,” Nikki said. “A lot of the families are receiving welfare payments from our government. That means everyone out there is footing the bill for the Bentley and the suit. It’s called taxes. Thirty-seven celestial wives collecting welfare checks every week. That’s a lot of money no matter how you look at it. And this is going to make your jaw drop: the Pentagon is helping out with huge contracts to those people. I don’t know how that works because I just plucked it off the Internet a while ago,” she added as she looked down at her notes.
Isabelle waved a sheaf of papers in the air. “This is not only unbelievable, it is disgusting. I can’t wait to get there so we can”—she smiled—“take care of things. You are not going to believe what those creepy people do to their own, to the children. And no one does anything.”
Yoko started to cry. “In a way it is what my evil father did to my mother and all those other young women he brought here to…satisfy those horrible pedophile friends of his. Just tell me what to do, and I will gladly do it.”
Kathryn stomped her feet and stood up. “This little mission calls for everything we can throw at those people. I, for one, can’t wait to get out there, which raises the question, how are we going to do it?”
“We need Charles’s password to get into his…his secret files. There is no way we can even think we can crack it on our own, which means one of us has to call him to demand it.” Nikki looked down at her watch. “He should be setting down right about now on British soil. Will he cooperate? I don’t know.”
She had her special phone in her hand and was punching in a number. The others watched her, their expressions tense.
They all flinched when they saw her square her shoulders. The grim set of her jaw told them some unpleasant words were going to pass through her clenched lips, and they were right.
Nikki didn’t bother with a greeting. “I need your pass code, Charles, and I need it now.” She listened a second or two, then the ugly words flew. “I really don’t give a good rat’s ass about your secrecy and our secrecy. I need it now. We have a crisis here that you left us to deal with, and since you aren’t here, we have to act independently. Are you going to give it to me or not? Really, Charles. I feel for you, but this is a life-and-death matter for hundreds of people, and the son you didn’t even know existed does not enter into what’s facing us. You are dealing with your crisis, and we need to deal with ours. I can’t help you with your guilt. We all are praying for your son and for you, too. So, your answer is no?”
The other Sisters immediately started to jabber, their voices high-pitched, angry, and indignant. Nikki held up her hand for silence. Her voice turned warm in greeting. “Myra, Charles is not cooperating. I need the pass code. If you know it, give it to me, please. Hundreds of lives depend on it. HRM? Her Royal Majesty? I didn’t know there was such a title. Oh, Charles made it up. Okay. Are you sure, Myra? Thanks. Call us,” she said, and then hung up.
“Okay, every operative Charles ever used, all his sources will be at our disposal as soon as I enter his pass code,” Nikki said.
“But if he wouldn’t give it to you, why did Myra offer it up?” Yoko asked.
Nikki sighed. “It wasn’t that he wouldn’t give it up. He couldn’t give it up. There is a difference according to Myra. It’s that covert, British espionage stuff. You know, like a cop never gives up his gun, that kind of thing. Right now it really doesn’t matter, and Myra wouldn’t lie to us. It’s splitting hairs, but what the heck; we have it now, and that’s all that matters. I’m going on the computer, the rest of you delve into all that polygamy stuff. Be sure you understand what we’re getting ourselves into and how we’re going to extricate ourselves. Someone needs to call Pearl and tell her we need at least thirty-six hours before we can be there. That’s providing everything works to our advantage, and I can get us the help we need.”
Annie was already dialing Pearl’s number. The retired justice picked it up on the first ring. “Listen carefully, Pearl. We’re on board, but we need at least thirty-six hours