Fast Track. Fern Michaels

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      “How much money are you talking about?” Annie asked as she leaned closer to the table, her eyes locked with those of the woman who was speaking.

      “Close to two billion dollars.”

      “Billion with a b?” Kathryn asked.

      “I believe billion is spelled with a b. Yes,” the woman said curtly.

      “And you can’t find two billion dollars?” Nikki asked, disbelief ringing in her voice. “Do you mind if I ask who minds the store?”

      “Oh, we could find it if we want a world crisis on our hands. We prefer to let sleeping dogs lie and to exercise other…options. I believe that’s an expression Americans use to mean leave things as they are, is this not so?”

      “If you’re concerned about keeping this under wraps, aren’t you concerned that the poor countries for whom those funds are earmarked might go public?” Alexis asked.

      “Of course we’re concerned. That’s why we’re here. The situation is contained for the moment. Time, however, is of the essence.”

      “How much time?” Nikki asked bluntly.

      A stoop-shouldered man with a gray beard raised his head and spoke quietly. “No more than two weeks, and that’s extending the time beyond what we’re really comfortable with.”

      “Where does the current president reside?” Yoko asked.

      “He owns an apartment in the Watergate. A very lavish apartment, I might add,” a rotund little man with jet-black hair said. He had a heavy beard and glassy dark eyes. “He also has several mistresses. He’s a divorced man whose ex-wife hates him. He has two children. They aren’t particularly fond of him, either. He leads a very expensive life.”

      The woman spoke again with apparent distaste. “Maxwell Zenowicz held a very high post in your current government’s administration prior to taking on the job of president at the World Bank, but he was not qualified for the job. He is an appointee. I believe it was a political favor that secured the job for him. He has surrounded himself with people with the same moral compass he has.”

      A tall, stately gentleman with chiseled features looked around the table and focused on Charles Martin. “We want him out. And the people surrounding him. We want no repercussions of any kind. Nothing must lead back to any of us or to any member of the World Bank. It goes without saying we want the funds returned as quickly as possible. We,” the man said, motioning to his colleagues, “have it on good authority that the current president of the World Bank is a close personal friend of many people in the current administration, not just the president of the United States. We have been told that if anyone can do this, it’s your little band of women.”

      “Little band of women!” Kathryn exploded. Her eyes narrowed as she looked around at the others to see how they were reacting to this sudden blasphemous statement.

      Before things got out of hand, Charles hastened to step into what he knew could well turn into a battle royal. To his eye the volatile Kathryn looked like she was single-handedly going to wipe up the floor with the current speaker. The speaker looked like he was wondering how he would fare.

      The man realized that his poor choice of words had created a situation. “I apologize, madam, but I do not know how to refer to you and the others. I only know what I have read in the papers and seen on television. My sincere apologies. Do you prefer the term ‘vigilante’?”

      “No harm, no foul,” Kathryn said grudgingly. She wondered if the stiff talking to her knew what the phrase meant. She leaned back in her chair, her hand dropping to stroke Murphy’s head. The bad moment was over.

      With the preliminaries ended, Annie said, “It’s time to talk turkey, ladies and gentlemen.”

      And they got down to business.

      Chapter 2

      Breakfast on Big Pine Mountain was served in the main dining hall. When they first came, it had taken a while to get used to the walk because the women had to trek from their individual living quarters across the compound. They liked to complain about the rain and the snow and having to get dressed three times a day just to eat. These days they didn’t think twice about sprinting outdoors as they raced one another to the dining room.

      Living as fugitives on Big Pine Mountain had its pluses and minuses. The main plus was that they were back in the United States. The main minus was that they were still fugitives. Although they hadn’t actually lived on the premises of Pinewood in Virginia, Myra’s palatial estate, they had had access to all the amenities, and they hadn’t been wanted fugitives. When the law caught up to them, and they moved to Barcelona, Spain, atop a mountain owned by Countess Anna de Silva, they’d lived as fugitive recluses unless their help was needed on special projects brought to them by Charles Martin.

      Here, back in the States, as Isabelle had said, they were merely trading their lavish style of mountain living for a more rustic one. Or, as Yoko had put it, “We’re on our home turf here.”

      The women seated themselves in the dining room. It was a pleasant room with a huge fieldstone fireplace that rose from the floor to the ceiling. Beautiful flowers from one of the many gardens were on all the tables. Greenery hung from the beams overhead. All the tables, chairs, and end tables were solid oak, all polished to a high sheen. The floors were also solid oak, buffed and polished so that you could see your reflection in the old wood. In the days of Kollar (Pappy) Havapopulas’s reign on the mountain, this very dining room had hosted all the covert agents under his tutelage who came there for training. Nothing had been changed because, as Charles had put it, “We don’t know how long we’ll be in residence.” The women were all right with that simple explanation because they knew nothing lasted forever.

      They all had chores. Yoko saw to the plants and flowers, Alexis tended the vegetable gardens, Isabelle did kitchen duty, Kathryn maintained the pool, while Nikki helped Charles in what they called the command center. Myra and Annie supervised to make sure everything ran smoothly. Unlike their command centers back in Virginia and Spain, this particular computer center was Kollar’s and occupied a separate room in the Big House. It worked for all of them.

      Breakfast this morning was simple and hearty—bacon, eggs, ham, toast, fresh fruit, coffee, and juice. It was all set out in chafing dishes on a sideboard that ran the entire length of one wall. At each end of the sideboard were two glorious arrangements of yellow roses, thanks to Yoko. The smell was sweet and heady.

      Myra, a stickler for the finer things in life, marveled that here on this mountain, the Havapopulas family, father and son, had exquisite crystal, china, and silver. There was no sign of a paper napkin or a plastic tablecloth. Everything was linen. Everything was as fine as her heirlooms back in Virginia. She did love a pretty table setting.

      Charles’s main rule—never discuss business until a meal is over—was strictly adhered to. They made small talk, Yoko talking about the gorgeous roses that were now in full bloom, Kathryn discussing the water temperature of the Olympic-size pool.

      When they were finished eating, the women all carried their dishes to the kitchen, poured more coffee, and got down to business.

      “What time did our guests leave?” Nikki asked.

      “I heard the helicopter at first light,” Alexis said. “Grady СКАЧАТЬ