She tilted her head with that half-amused, contemplative look. "They have a van in front, probably a man in the woods at the rear. And you're seeing advantages?"
"For one thing, they probably don't know I'm in here. Secondly, even if they did, they don't know when I'm liable to come out."
"Our advantage is surprise, in other words."
He nodded. "And we'll choose the optimum time to spring our surprise."
"Am I supposed to guess?"
"The hour between two-thirty and three-thirty a.m. is at the low ebb of the life cycle. Even people who've rested up during the day tend to get bored and drowsy then."
"So we should make our move at three—"
"Not we," he said pointedly. "Me."
She gave him a caustic look. "I told you I wanted to help."
"And help you shall, dear lady. But here, where you can monitor our chums at Langley. With your contacts, you should be able to keep up with what they've managed to find out about me."
She looked disappointed, a little hurt. "I can do better than that. You're ignoring the fact that I've been through the rigors of the Agency's training program at The Farm. Plus the years I put in with the Clandestine Service. I'll wager I'm a hell of a lot better than anybody out in that van."
He smiled. "I have no doubt you're better, Lori, but I'm keeping you as my ace in the hole. Right now it's just a matter of checking out the New Orleans airport, looking for an airplane. If I can find Jeffries and his Jabberwock training site, then I'll need help."
She knew he was hedging, that he was reluctant to expose her to any danger. She appreciated his concern, but she wasn't about to let him off the hook. "All right. I'll be your ace, but don't think you can keep me in the hole for long. I'll give you some safe phone numbers and the times to call. I want to know that you're okay, and I want to know what's going on."
"You'll know everything I know. I promise. Now, getting back to tonight, we want to make our move appear random, so instead of three o'clock, we'll make it at three-oh-nine."
She noticed he took pains to say "we" this time.
She smiled. It was a minor point, but she liked the way he was thinking now. He was acting more like the professional she knew he could be. "Remember, you won't have the rain for cover tonight. There may be a moon out instead."
That obviously bothered him. "It sure would help to know what the moon'll do tonight."
She shrugged. "Sorry. I don't have an Old Farmer's Almanac."
"Too bad. That's what we need, information on what phase the moon is in, how big and bright it'll be. Better yet, moonrise and moonset tables. You could call and get it, but that would be a sure tip-off to our listen-in buddies."
She thought about that for a moment. "I have a briefcase full of sea charts and weather information I brought back from sailing last Monday. Walt Brackin—he and his wife were on the sailing expedition—left it with me. They were headed for a day or two at Virginia Beach and he didn't want to have to fool with it."
She brought the briefcase to the table and they sifted through its contents, ultimately finding what they were after. The moon would not be a significant factor.
When he had finished outlining his plan, she felt much better. Burke was leaving nothing to chance. Events of the last few days had obviously left him with no illusions about the threat he faced.
"I'll put those clothes you had on last night in the washer," she said as he helped her clear the table.
"Good. Since they're all I've—"
The ringing phone interrupted him. Lori answered it.
"Hi, doll. You okay?" Chloe Brackin’s breezy voice was as upbeat as ever.
"I'm fine," Lori said. "Slept late, ate a big breakfast."
"We thought we might drop by this afternoon. Just for a few minutes, if it's all right with you. We're supposed to play doubles with one of Walt's partners and a friend around four. We could stop by your place three-ish."
Lori glanced at Burke. She could hide him in the bedroom upstairs for a short time. If she discouraged them from coming, the watchers might get suspicious. "Sure, Chlo, come on over. I have Walt's briefcase full of charts to get back to him."
"That's right. I'll bet he's forgotten all about it. See you in a little while then. Bye."
Lori told Burke what was planned. She gave him a brief rundown on the Brackins and assured him they were close friends who could be counted on to be discreet. He agreed it wouldn’t be wise to get them involved in a lengthy explanation of his presence.
She grinned. “Walt would probably forget about asking questions, though, if you got him to show you some magic tricks.”
“What’s with that?” Burke asked.
“Walter Brackin is known around the pediatric wards as Doctor Wizard. He’s very talented with sleight of hand. Chloe says he keeps the kids mesmerized.”
Burke stared out toward the street with narrowed eyes. “Too bad we can’t get him to pull some tricks on those guys in the van.”
ACAPULCO, MEXICO
Chapter 30
Robert Jeffries' intention was to be seen as conspicuously enjoying the vacation with his family that weekend. He soon found it wasn't working. A jovial, confident man under normal circumstances, he had seen his jaunty mood erode ever since arriving Friday afternoon to learn about the call his son had taken. Within a short time he resembled a bundle of nerves. He had phoned his office and made a few oblique inquiries of his secretary, hoping it might turn up some clue as to the caller. He learned nothing. He thought about contacting Ted at Oyster Island, but knew if it had been Ted, he would have merely left word for Jeffries to call back. As would most anyone with a legitimate business interest. What about the airport where he had parked the Lance? That was out. Nobody there knew his ultimate destination. Then who? This was the highest stakes game he had ever played. He couldn't afford any loose ends at this stage.
Saturday, he and his wife played a round of golf with a couple they had met in Acapulco. The rest of the foursome found him poor company. He appeared too preoccupied with his thoughts. Had he slipped up somewhere, leaving a trail for some outsider to follow? A friend of his had been indicted by a federal grand jury once after a prying investigative reporter had targeted him. What if some nosy newsman had tied him to rumors of a strange operation in the works? It could be disastrous.
He went parasailing that afternoon, which he found as invigorating as ever, but afterward he slipped back into that funky mood. He took his son and daughter to see the cliff divers at La Quebrada. They stood and cheered excitedly as the daredevil divers plunged into the frothy Pacific waters. Jeffries appeared distracted. He would have to report the call to Ted and Goldman. What would their reaction be? What would they do?
When he answered the phone around noon on Sunday, a tremendous wave of relief came over him. It was Goldman, calling from somewhere in Alabama. His plans had changed and he wouldn't be in Tallahassee Monday morning. He had called Ted to get Jeffries number at the Acapulco Princess. Of course, Jeffries realized, it had been Goldman calling Friday afternoon. He knew Jeffries would be flying in from New Orleans, but he didn't know what time he was due to arrive in Acapulco. Goldman probably wasn't where he could leave a number for Jeffries to call back.
"No sweat, Andrew," he said, cheerful once again. "Why don't you come on down to Panama City. I can pick you up there and get the mail, too. Just be at the Bay County Airport by nine."
The sandy-haired man answered to the name Grover, and he appeared at the van across from Lori Quinn’s condo around ten Sunday evening to take over the late watch. He knew the security company he worked for was a front for some hush-hush government agency. Exactly which one, he wasn't sure. A stocky, one-time middleweight boxer of medium height, he was married, with four kids, and happy as hell to be somewhere other than at home. His wife had bitched all day about his refusal to agree on buying a new station wagon. What kind of job did she think this was to have that kind of money? They had a mortgage to pay, d
octors' bills, overused credit cards. The old wagon was just a little more than four years old, barely paid for. He shook his head like a boxer who'd just taken an eight count and turned to the man he was relieving.
"Have anything unusual on your shift"?
"A black couple driving a Mercedes stopped by a little after three. They stayed about thirty minutes and left. We checked out the license number. Name's Walter Brackin, a doctor. Has an office in Fairfax."
"You sure it wasn't Hill in blackface?" Grover asked.
The other man, who was black, laughed. "You think I can't recognize a brother? He was too tall for Hill. The tap logs from earlier in the day show his wife called, name Chloe, said they were coming over."
Grover settled down in the swivel seat on the side toward the condo complex and checked the image on the TV monitor. He always got a bang out of this assignment. It made him feel like a TV director, the kind he'd seen in the trucks during pro football telecasts. The camera feeding the monitor had excellent low light capabilities. It was mounted inside, looking out through a barely noticeable bubble on the side of the van. A tape rolled silently in the video recorder attached to it, transferring into magnetic code a permanent record of everything within its view. The lens was currently aimed at the front of the Quinn woman's house.
A microphone hung from an overhead boom, and Grover adjusted it to his liking, then pressed a button on the console beneath the monitor. "Come in Bravo," he said into the mike.
After a moment, the reply came through the single earphone. "Bravo, go ahead."
"Zebra here, Bravo. All clear. What's your status?"
"Ain't nothing happening, man," said Bravo, a weird character who would have looked youthful except for his hair. The top of his head was bald, the hair ringing it quite long, giving the impression of a large egg with a grass skirt. "Light just went out in the kitchen, one showing upstairs. Drapes all pulled, can't see a damned thing. Back to you."
"Okay, Bravo. Check in with me every half-hour. I want to be sure you're awake."
"Shit fire, man! You wanting me to wake you. I know."
"Zebra out!"
The beeping of his wrist watch alarm beside the bed woke Burke from a sound sleep. They had made love just before drifting off and had hardly moved since then. He glanced at the red digital glow of the bedside clock. Two-fifteen. He could feel the soft contour of Lori's body against his own, and it stirred something more than his emotions. He groaned resignedly. There was no time to dally.
He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear, "Hey, sleeping beauty. Time to rise and shine."
She gave a low moan at the touch of his hand reaching across her breasts to give her a firm hug. "I love you," she said.
"And I love you, my dear, but we've got to get moving. I'm due out of here in about fifty minutes."
Her eyes snapped open. "What time is it?"
"Two-eighteen and counting." He turned her face toward him. "One more kiss for the road."
She leaned her body toward him and snuggled close as he kissed her. The reaction was predictable. She sighed. "Do you have to go now?"
With a massive force of will power, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "If I don't go now, I may never."
"Then go quickly," she said with a mock snarl.
He rolled out of bed, his feet sinking into the thick carpet. "Remember, no lights."
"Not even the bathroom?"
"Not this one. You can use the other one and close the door, since there's no window."
He dressed quickly in his black outfit. Going from room to room, he carefully scanned the area outside. There was hardly any glow from the moon. As anticipated, it would not be a factor. The van still occupied its accustomed spot. He could detect nothing in the rear beyond the fence but felt sure someone manned a stakeout there.
Lori came down shortly, dressed in dark blue slacks and a matching sweater. She presented only a ghostly outline in the dark.
"Did Cam leave any kind of hat around here?" he asked.
"I think there's a Scottish style cap on the closet shelf upstairs."
"That ought to do," he said.
She leaned against the bottom of the stair rail. "Are you going to take the bug detector case?"
"No. Stash it away in a closet. We may need it later."
He turned into the kitchen as she headed back up the stairs. As the designated hour approached, the adrenalin had begun to flow. It always made him hungry. But the only thing he could find, rummaging in the glow of digital clocks on the range and microwave, was a fruit bowl. He picked out a banana and began to peel it.
"How's this look?" Lori asked, walking into the kitchen. She had the cap pulled down, the bill just above her eyes.
"Hat's fine, but if you’re going to be me, you're too slim."
"What if I wore one of Dad’s coats. That should make me look bulkier. "
She came back in a few moments wearing a black trenchcoat several sizes too large for her.
"Much better,” he said. “It’s a little much for the current weather, but the length fits so they could think it’s me."
He glanced at the glow of the clock. Three-oh-two. Everything required by the plan had been done. Now it was simply a matter of execution, and of the opposition reacting in the manner he anticipated. That was the only thing he couldn't control.
"Ready to do your thing?" he asked.
She came over and put her arms around him, her face close to his. "Please be careful. I'll probably be a wreck until you call."
"Everything should go just fine." He kissed her firmly. "Let's get moving."
He went into the dining room and opened the door, careful not to make a sound. The patio furniture, sheltered by the tall shrubs, appeared only as a vague outline. He pushed the security door open enough to slip through.
"Okay," he whispered to Lori. "Give me sixty seconds." Then he squeezed past the door, crouching low, and crept cautiously across the patio behind the shrubbery, moving out beyond the tall plants in the direction where his car was parked, hugging close to the brick wall that was shrouded in darkness.
Agent Bravo almost missed his three o'clock check-in. He yawned broadly, accompanied by rapid blinking of his eyes. He hated stakeouts like this. Having grown up in a tough inner city neighborhood, he wasn't particularly enamored of wooded areas either. No telling what kind of slimy creatures would be wandering around on a night like this. Somebody on an earlier shift had dragged a two-foot-high stump up next to the fence as a jumping off point should a quick rush toward the condo be called for. He studied it momentarily in the darkness, then began flexing his knees. A guy could get cramps standing around like this.
The earpiece connected to the box in his pocket suddenly crackled. "Bravo, something's going on here."
He lifted the radio to his mouth and whispered. "What's up, man?"
"Somebody just came out the door. Standing there in the shadows, looking around. Dressed in black, looks like. Long coat. Cap pulled down."
"Is it him?"
"Don't know. Could be. Damned sodium light in the parking lot's too far away to tell for sure."
Rather than keeping his eyes on the long, rambling structure of the condo complex, where an indistinct black shape was moving steadily away from him, Bravo's attention was riveted on the voice in his ear.
"He's walking out toward the cars. Unlocking one, getting in."
"You ready to give chase?"
"Yeah. It's her Corvette, but he hasn't started it. Looks like he's just sitting there."
"What the hell's he up to?"
"I don't know but I'm calling in the troops."
Lori pulled off the cap and squirmed out of the coat, tossing them on the seat beside her. She checked her watch in the pale glow of the light farther up in the parking area. Three-seventeen. Burke had been gone for eight minutes. He had said to wait fifteen. She decided to add on a few more for good measure.
Her watch showed three-twenty-
five when she heard a car coming up the street, moving fast. It skidded to a stop just beyond the parking area. Looking in the mirror, she saw two figures jump out. Almost before she could turn around, the door on her side was suddenly jerked open and powerful flashlight beams from each side struck her eyes. She held up her arm to shield them.
"Don't move!" A sharp voice sounded beyond the door.
She could make out a gun next to the flashlight, pointed in her direction. "What is this, a holdup?"
"Shut up." The voice changed to a hoarse whisper. "It's the girl," he said to his partner, bewilderment tempering his tone.
The light on the other side shut off as the second man started around the car.
"What are you doing out here?" the first man asked, still holding the gun on her.
She looked up, scowling. "This is my car and that's my house," she said, pointing. "I couldn't sleep and I came out here. I was trying to decide whether to go find an all-night restaurant."
The indistinct figure put away his pistol. "Sonofabitch."
"Let's get the hell out of here," his partner said.
And in little more than the bat of an eye, they were gone. Lori looked at her watch again. Three-thirty. Burke should be well away by now. She got out of the car, locked it, and walked back into the house.
NEW ORLEANS
Chapter 31
Burke's flight arrived at Moisant Field just after nine. He walked out to the street to find a long line of taxis with engines rumbling, reminding him of speedway drivers awaiting the pace car. And considering the driving habits of most big city cabbies, he didn't find the analogy too far-fetched. He took the first available cab and directed the driver to a fixed base operator whose sign he had spotted as the plane was landing.
Instead of entering the building beneath the welcome sign at the doorway to the operations office, he walked out beyond the hangar toward the parking apron. A man dressed in smudged coveralls, a dark grease spot on his cheek, was climbing onto a bright yellow towing vehicle. Burke hurried over.
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