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He wrote back: As soon as you can get here.
Zoe sat on the sofa and cuddled with Betty and Buster. “Listen, you guys, Mommy is going on a little holiday.” She remembered what Sonya Fitzpatrick, the British pet psychic, once told her about letting your pets know you will be away. According to Ms. Fitzpatrick, animals don’t know what a clock is. They measure time by daylight and night, so you must tell them you’ll be gone for whatever amount of darks. You also must tell them who will be taking care of them. When Zoe first began traveling, Buster would climb into her suitcase and pee while Zoe was packing. She heard Fitzpatrick’s television show, and out of desperation Zoe made a phone appointment with her. Zoe was astounded at what the woman told her about Zoe’s personal life; things Ms. Fitzpatrick could not possibly know. It was worth a shot, and sure enough, Fitzpatrick’s advice worked. Zoe hoped it would work again.
After her little cat-chat, Zoe called the airline company and made a reservation to Heathrow for the following Wednesday. Once she got her confirmation she sent Mason another text. He replied immediately:
Blinding!
Zoe remembered that meant “excellent.”
Chapter Fifteen
Monday D-Day
Brooklyn
Donald Walsh could barely sleep the night before. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited. His only concern was being able to stay awake for the fifteen-hour drive. It would be close to midnight before he got to the motel. He arrived at the bank at eight forty-five and waited for it to open. They were expecting him, so the transaction wouldn’t take very long. So he hoped. At the stroke of nine A.M. the security guard appeared and unlocked the double glass doors. Walsh grunted a good morning and scurried to the first available teller.
“Hello. Donald Walsh. I phoned Friday about closing my account.”
The teller smiled. “Yes, Mr. Walsh. A manager will be with you shortly.” He was not expecting that response. Did he think someone was just going to turn over a bag of money to him?
“Please have a seat.” The teller gestured to a waiting area outside a glass-enclosed office. An empty glass-enclosed office. Donald steadied himself. There’s no rush, he told himself. But he couldn’t help feeling panicked. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Instead of sitting, he paced. Then he realized he was drawing too much attention to himself. Maybe the security guard would think he was there to rob the bank. Sit down. Relax. It was times like these when he wished he hadn’t given up smoking. But then again, if he wanted to smoke he would have to do it fifteen feet away from the entrance. He began tapping his foot. Stop. Relax.
“Mr. Walsh?” The voice almost sent him through the ceiling.
“Yes. I’m Walsh.”
“Please come in.” The manager ushered him into the small glass cube. “I’m sorry to hear you will no longer be banking with us.”
“Er, yeah. I have an opportunity to purchase some property down south.”
“You know we offer a service—”
Walsh cut him off. “I know, but this transaction requires a cash deposit.” He was getting fidgety.
“I see. If you don’t mind signing a few documents, we can have you on your way.” The manager slid a sheaf of paper across his desk. Lots of words Walsh didn’t have the time to read. He signed the papers quickly and slid them back.
“Thank you. If you’ll follow me, please.” The manager rose from his chair and walked to a door with a combination lock and an electronic swipe device that recorded each entry and exit to the vault room.
Walsh’s palms were sweaty. He’d never handled this much cash in his life. The manager and assistant manager counted the packets twice before they handed them over to Walsh.
“Mr. Walsh, please sign this document stating you received fifty thousand in cash, thereby closing your account,” the manager said.
Walsh’s hands were trembling while the manager looked the other way. He stacked the neatly banded bills in the nylon bag that once carried his good shoes. Not a bad replacement, he thought to himself. He thanked the managers and followed them back to the lobby, where he scooted out the door. When he got in his car, he sat for several minutes until his hands stopped shaking. He wiped the sweat from his brow, started the engine and began his journey to a new beginning.
Miami
Annie, Myra, Fergus, and Charles got on a group call first thing in the morning. Charles began to explain that in order to complete the plan someone from the Men of the Sisterhood would impersonate Fielder with a fake passport and an airline ticket to Montenegro. “We want it to appear he fled the country to a non-extradition destination.”
“The passport will have Ted Espinosa’s face and Malcolm’s name. Should make it through security without any issues. Once Ted lands in Montenegro, he’ll return using his own passport, which has been “updated” by our outside associates indicating he entered Montenegro earlier, thus avoiding any issues at customs and immigration,” Fergus clarified, referencing one of the Sisterhood’s other allies.
“Perfect,” Annie said. “What about Walsh?”
“Someone with his likeness will cross the Mexican border, where it will be assumed he disappeared. He has no family and is a loner, so chances are no one is going to look for him except the feds, and they will have a photo of him crossing the border.”
“Excellent,” Myra chimed in. “Annie, you all set for your performance as Fielder’s savior?”
“Indeed I am. I shall be heading over to the dealership shortly.”
