Power of Attorney Read online

  “You’re pulling Mrs. Merrivel out of Istanbul?”

  “She’s emotionally compromised by this situation with her husband. You don’t think the wisest course of action would be to remove her from the mission?”

  “Well, if she knew about her husband’s heart attack, then I’m sure that would be the wisest course of action.”

  Miss Drake leaned back in her chair, and tapped a pen thoughtfully on her desk.

  “You haven’t told her?”

  “No,” said Nikki. “And I don’t intend to.”

  “Why not?” asked Miss Drake. She looked thoughtfully at Nikki as if examining a new specimen.

  “She can’t affect the outcome here. She can affect the outcome in Istanbul.”

  “And what about her husband? Will he not miss her?”

  “John supports this decision and specifically asked that we not call her home. He has also granted me power of attorney to assist in any decisions that need to be made.”

  Miss Drake’s pencil tapped a staccato beat on her desk. “You realize that if he doesn’t survive... This is the kind of thing that Mrs. Merrivel might never forgive you for.”

  “I’ve assessed the risks,” said Nikki.

  Well, for your sake, I hope so,” said Miss Drake. “Please let us know if there’s anything you need from the corporate level to support you during this effort.”

  “Thank you, Director,” said Nikki. “I believe we have it all under control.”

  “Famous last words,” said Miss Drake, smiling faintly.

  The screen went black, and Jenny and Ellen popped back into the room.

  “You can’t ask for anything,” said Jenny without preamble. “I heard the Ohio director asked her for assistance once, and two weeks later she was the director of the Carrie Mae branch in Deadhorse, Alaska.”

  “We don’t have a branch in Deadhorse,” said Jane.

  “Exactly,” said Jenny.

  “Are you making up names again?” Ellen looked around the room for Mrs. Merrivel’s globe.

  “I don’t need to ask for assistance,” said Nikki. “We don’t need anything. We can handle this.”

  “Miss Lanier,” said the secretary over the intercom. “There’s a Brett Merrivel on line one.”

  Tara

  “Well, how was I supposed to know that when he said he’d get on the next plane out that the next plane was going to be in two hours?” demanded Nikki, squinting through the rain sloshing across the windshield. “Or that he’d actually make it? I mean, come on, who can actually pack, get to the airport and through security in under two hours?”

  Nikki slowed down to make the turn into the Merrivel’s driveway, but apparently not enough for Jane’s comfort. Jane’s knuckles were white on the armrest as they charged up to the house.

  The Merrivel’s lived in a white, five-bedroom house outside of LA with a founding-father style rolling green lawn and Grecian columns marching across the porch.

  “Don’t know,” said Jane, through clenched teeth.

  Nikki pulled to a stop and yanked the key out of the ignition. Jane bolted for the house, practically before the car had reached a stop — she just did not appreciate the beauty of a speeding car. Nikki followed close behind, trying to duck through the rain-drops. A native Washingtonian, Nikki occasionally missed the misty days of the Pacific Northwest, but found the California deluges were simply annoying.

  “Miss Nikki?” The maid opened the front door, with a worried expression. “There’s news about Mr. M?”

  “No,” said Nikki shaking her head. “He’s still in the hospital.” The maid’s shoulders sagged. “Darrin and Sean will be coming home soon,” said Nikki and paused. She liked Consuela, but she wasn’t sure how much she was aware of the Merrivel family dynamics.

  “Bueno! This is good news. They will take care of Mr. M.”

  “Yeah, but his other son, Brett, is also coming,” said Nikki clearing her throat. Consuela’s expression hardened into skepticism. “And he wants to stay here. And he’ll be arriving within,” she checked her watch, guessing which route Jenny and Ellen would take from the airport, “about an hour.”

  “He sends back Miss Katie’s Christmas cards,” said Consuela. “She’s his sister. Every year she sends one with a letter. I see her writing. Every year, he sends it back.” Consuela was apparently perfectly aware of the Merrivel family dynamic. “Why should he get to stay here?”

  “Because,” said Nikki, sighing. “It’s what Mr. M would want.”

  Consuela considered the argument carefully. “Fine,” she said at last. “But I’m not cooking for him.”

  “Well,” said Jane, piping up, “If you did, I suggest spitting in his eggs.”

  “We’re here to tidy up Mrs. M’s office before he arrives,” said Nikki, while Consuela appeared to be considering Jane’s suggestion.

  “Of course,” said Consuela, letting the door swing open wider. “I’ll be upstairs preparing a guest bedroom.”

  “Thanks Consuela,” said Nikki, but the maid merely waved in response, already climbing the stairs to the second floor.

  “We don’t really think Mrs. M left anything out in the open, do we?” asked Jane as they walked down the paneled hall to the office. “She’s such a professional.”

  “Yes, she is, but this is her home, and people relax in their home. Plus, she didn’t know she was going to be gone this long, and she certainly didn’t expect to have guests. I’d rather be safe than to join the Ohio Director in Deadhorse, wouldn’t you?”

  “Truth,” said Jane, nodding. “How long do you think Jenny and Ellen can stall him?”

  “Ellen will drive,” said Nikki. “And she’ll probably do her Grandma driving impression and say she knows the Merrivel’s through bridge or something.”

  “So we’re in no hurry then,” said Jane, opening the office door. “That’s probably good.”

  Mrs. Merrivel’s office was usually neat as a pin, but her abrupt departure had left the office in a state of towering file stacks and scattered papers.

  “Aw, crap,” said Nikki, lifting the cover on one of the files. “Recruit files. I thought we dealt with all these?”

  “We dealt with them digitally,” said Jane, with a sigh. “Mrs. M is old school. She likes to see the print outs.”

  “I should have remembered,” said Nikki with sigh. “OK… we’ll shove them in a file box and take them out to the trunk of my car.”

  “Possibly two file boxes,” said Jane, looking around. “Also, we might want to sweep the house for photos like those.”

  Nikki followed Jane’s pointing finger and sighed again. The framed photo showed Nikki, Ellen, Jenny, and Jane mugging next to a Soviet T-72 tank. Nikki and Jenny carried Ak-47’s and Ellen carried an Accuracy International AW50. Jane straddled the tank barrel and gave her best riot-grrl face.

  “I knew that was a bad idea when we took that photo. I don’t how you talk me into these things.”

  “Oh, come on, that was flippin’ hilarious,” said Jane. “Besides, when are we ever going to get another picture with a tank? All of us together like that?”

  “That drug dealer was pretty nice about loaning it to us,” conceded Nikki. “All right, papers first, then sweep for crap in the house. Oh, and you should check the desktop — make sure it’s appropriately passworded and what not.”

  Jane was still camped in front of the computer and Nikki was toting the final box out to her car when Jenny and Ellen pulled up. Nikki tossed the tank photo in on top of the files and slammed the trunk. At least the rain had let up.

  “Hey guys,” said Nikki as Jenny opened the door and slid out of Ellen’s Acura. “How’d it go?”

  “Peachy,” said Jenny, her flat tone implying otherwise.

  “I should have known he’d buy fucking Tara,” said Brett Merrivel, climbing out of the backseat. “He always did like to be lord of the manner. I bet he even has horses.”

  Brett was shorter than his father and thicker, wit
h a little bit of a paunch. The only real resemblance could be seen in the shape of his face and the curve of his eyes. He was dressed in a button-up tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and he carried a head full of salt and pepper hair. He might have been handsome, except for his expression which seemed permanently set on amused condescension.

  “Dad, seriously?” From the other side a younger man exited the car. He was tall and wiry, built like a runner, and his sandy hair was close-cropped. In build, he looked far more like a Merrivel and when he turned his head, Nikki saw that they shared the same nose shape. “We just got here.”

  “Nikki,” said Jenny. “I’d like you to meet Brett Merrivel and his son, Mark.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Brett, shaking her hand and smiling, but Nikki watched his eyes slide over her assessingly. “I have to say I was a bit surprised to get your phone call. I didn’t think Dad would want me here.”

  “He asked that I call all of the kids,” said Nikki.

  “The kids, huh? You mean, his wife’s kids.”

  “And their daughter Kate,” said Nikki, abruptly changing the diminutive “Katie” to the more adult “Kate.”

  “Hm. Well, thanks for arranging a ride from the airport. I didn’t want to take a taxi all that way.”

  “We should have rented a car,” said Mark, unloading luggage from the trunk.

  “Nonsense, I’m sure we can borrow Dad’s car while we’re here,” said Brett.

  Nikki felt, rather than saw, Jenny and Ellen turn to look at her. Brett was also watching her, his eyes sparkling, like a man waiting for a cockfight to start.

  “I’m still not sure,” began Mark, but Nikki cut him off.

  “I’m sure that would be fine,” said Nikki. “As long as you’re both insured drivers, of course. Mark, why don’t you bring the bags into the house.”

  Nikki turned and lead the way into the house without waiting for the Brett to reply.

  “You know,” said Brett, hurrying after her. “You never did say how you got mixed up in all of this.”

  “Mixed up?” repeated Nikki, holding the door open for Mark. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Oh, why you’re handling all of this.” Brett waved his hand, gesturing between himself and Mark. “Surely, it’s a family matter.”

  “I thought I explained that Mrs. Merrivel was out of the country?”

  “Yes, Turkey or something, you did say that. Well, I’m here now, so I’m sure you can just go back to your life.”

  “Actually,” began Ellen, her expression sour.

  “There’s two of them?” asked Consuela, coming down the stairs. She muttered a phrase in Spanish and marched back up the stairs.

  “Didn’t quite catch that. What’d you say?” Brett called after her.

  “Dad!” Mark protested.

  “Hey Nikki,” said Jane, coming out of the kitchen, poking at her iPad. “I’m done with…” She trailed off as she looked up and saw Mark Merrivel.

  “You know,” said Brett, looking around the now crowded vestibule. “There seem to be an awful lot of women around.” He laughed as though he’d uttered a joke. “How did you say you all know my Dad again?”

  “We work with Mrs. Merrivel,” said Nikki.

  “Hi,” said Jane breathlessly, extending her hand to Mark. “I’m Jane.”

  “So, you’re not really friends with Dad, then?” Brett’s expression glittered with gleeful confrontation, as if he’d caught her in a lie.

  “Actually, he and I were golfing when he had his heart attack,” said Nikki. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re both very tired from your flight, so we’ll leave you to get settled. We’ve left you directions to the hospital on the kitchen table. There’s also some information about visiting hours and so forth, as well a list of local restaurants, since Consuela doesn’t cook.”

  “Yes, she does,” said Jenny, bringing in the final bag from the car. Nikki gave her the raised eyebrow of WTF and Jenny looked from her to Brett. “Oh right, no, she doesn’t. Thinking of the last housekeeper.”

  “Thanks so much for helping us,” said Mark, coming forward to take the bag from Jenny. “We really appreciate it.”

  They all heard the soft snort of disagreement from Brett.

  “We just want to help Mr. M,” said Jenny politely.

  Nikki held the door open and the girls began to file out.

  “Maybe we’ll see each other during visiting hours,” said Jane, somewhat hopefully, over her shoulder.

  “Looking forward to it,” said Mark, as Nikki firmly shut the front door.

  Vietnam

  Nikki read field reports while they waited for the anesthesiologist. Her eyes skimmed the words, but she found herself bouncing back to the top of the paragraph as she neared the end having absorbed none of the information. At last she gave up and closed the iPad.

  Mr. Merrivel cracked an eyelid opened and smiled a tiny ghost smile around the edge of his oxygen tube.

  “Waiting is always the hardest part,” he said.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” said Nikki.

  “Well, the incredible lack of oxygen every time I move kind of helps,” he said. “Did Brett give you any trouble?”

  “No,” said Nikki. “He was… fine.”

  “He was a pompous ass, you mean.”

  Nikki smiled reluctantly. “A little bit, yes. His son was nice though.”

  “He brought Mark with him? I haven’t seen him since he was… nine? Ten? I don’t remember.”

  “He looks a bit like you,” said Nikki. “He’s got your nose.”

  “How unfortunate for him. Do you think they’ll actually show up?”

  “I talked to Mark on the phone and told him when your surgery was scheduled to start,” said Nikki. “He sounded very positive that they would be here.”

  “Hmm.” Mr. Merrivel sounded non-committal at best.

  The conversation lapsed into silence, the way they do in hospital rooms. Nikki thought about trying to revive it.

  Don’t keep talking; it just reveals how uncomfortable you are with a situation.

  Her grandmother, even on her death-bed, had a sharp tongue. As per usual, Nikki tried not to think about her father’s mother. The negative voice of doubt that sometimes took up residence in the back of her mind frequently spoke with that same sharp tone and French-Canadian accent.

  “Well, hey,” said Brett, pushing open the door. “Don’t drop dead of shock; it’s only me.”

  “I don’t guarantee anything,” said Mr. Merrivel.

  “You never did,” said Brett, and then noticed Nikki. “I see you have your friend here.”

  Before Nikki or Mr. M could reply, the nurse leaned through the open door. “We’re almost ready, Nikki. We’ll need you to clear the room now.” The nurse glanced suspiciously at Brett and then at Mr. M’s heart monitor.

  “Thanks, Carol. OK,” Nikki said, leaning down to kiss Mr. M’s cheek. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “See you on the other side,” he said, squeezing her hand, and Nikki noticed that it shook slightly.

  “I’m counting on it,” said Nikki. She stood up and moved toward the door to find Brett blocking her way with bitter eyes and an angry sneer on his lips. “The waiting room is this way, Brett.” She gestured to the door and he reluctantly turned, letting her slide past and lead the way from the room. When she found Mark at the nurse’s station, he looked up and waved.

  “Sorry, we got here so late,” he said. “I was really hoping to see Grandpa before he went into surgery, but the nurse says we’re too late.”

  “You didn’t miss much,” said Brett, brushing by them and continuing out to the waiting room.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mark, watching his father’s retreating back. “Dad has never really resolved things with Grandpa.”

  “Well, he’s not making much of an effort,” snapped Nikki, then took a deep breath and smiled at Mark. “It’s a tense situation fo
r everyone.”

  “Yeah.” Mark hesitated. “He tends to get confrontational when he’s nervous and I think… I think he’s always been jealous of Grandpa’s other kids.”

  Nikki appreciated that he was breaking ranks with his father to admit Brett’s weakness and explain his behavior, but she had also reached the point where she no longer cared.

  “Well, the other kids aren’t even here,” said Nikki. “Do you think he could tone it down a little bit?”

  Mark stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’ll try to keep a lid on him,” he said at last.

  “Thanks,” said Nikki, with a perfunctory smile.

  They barely reached the waiting room, where Brett had now ensconced himself in the one comfortable chair and was flipping channels on the TV, when Nikki’s phone rang.

  “Lanier,” answered Nikki, recognizing the Carrie Mae number. “Go.”

  “Hold for a call from the field,” said the operator. There was a slight buzz and then a click. Nikki walked out of the room and into the hall.

  “Hi, it’s Deborah. You told me to call if I got confirmation on Rodriguez.”

  Deborah was a transfer from the New York branch and her rushed, clipped tones had never quite faded away despite over a decade on the West Coast.

  “What do you have?” asked Nikki.

  “Forwarding photos now.”

  Nikki walked away from the waiting room, pinching her phone between her ear and her shoulder and flipped open her iPad. An email pinged through seconds later.

  The photos showed the drug dealer they’d been searching for; he was now a blond and seemed to be masquerading as preppy douche-bag in a purple Izod.

  “Is he at Disneyland?” Nikki zoomed in on the background of the photo.

  “Yes,” said Deborah. Nikki could hear the laugh she was holding back.

  “Awesome. We’ve got a three state manhunt going on, and he’s at Disneyland.”

  “Pretty much. We cleared to move in?”

  “Is he with anyone?” asked Nikki.

  “Yeah, his girlfriend and her kids.”

  “What’s the likely collateral damage?”

  “Taylor thinks we can isolate and extract without any problems.”