by Stuart Woods
“Good, Cupie, very good.”
“I can’t estimate how much time it might take, but there are leads I can follow.”
“Please call and tell me of your progress,” the capitán said.
The two men said good-bye and hung up, then Cupie made another call.
“Hello?”
“Vittorio? It’s Cupie.”
“Hello, Cupie,” Vittorio replied. The two men had worked together twice for Ed Eagle, searching for his ex-wife.
“I just heard from our friend, the capitán, in Tijuana,” Cupie said. “Barbara is out.”
13
Ed Eagle sat in a canvas director’s chair on the set of Susannah’s film. It was the first day of shooting, and since he had invested in the film, his name was emblazoned on his chair.
Eagle had never watched a movie being filmed, and he found the process painfully slow. Scenes were shot from different angles; there were master shots, two shots and close-ups, and the lighting had to be adjusted for each setup. Grass grew faster, he decided, and he was pleased when his cell phone vibrated. He got up and walked off the soundstage. “Hello?”
“Ed, it’s Cupie Dalton.”
“Hello, Cupie.”
“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
“It’s all right. You got me out of watching a movie being made. I’ve rarely been so bored.”
“I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Did somebody die, Cupie?”
“Not yet,” Cupie replied, “but you’d better watch your ass. Barbara is out of prison.”
Eagle froze, and it took him a moment to respond. “How?” he asked.
Cupie told him how two men had appeared at the prison with a transfer order and taken her away. “Turns out the order was a fake.”
“When did this happen?”
“I’m not sure, exactly-two, three weeks ago. I think I saw her at Venice Beach about that time.”
Eagle took a deep breath. “Why would she be at Venice Beach?”
“There’s a guy has a photography business down there, and as a sideline he makes paper for those who can afford him. Or maybe the sideline is the photography.”
“So, she has a new identity?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Any idea where she is?”
“No, but sooner or later she’s going to be wherever you are. We both know that.”
“Yes, we do,” Eagle replied.
“I’ve been offered a reward, if I can return her to Mexico, but I need expense money for Vittorio and me.”
“What do you need?”
“Three hundred a day each,” Cupie replied, “and ten grand each if we can take her back.”
“Done,” Eagle said. “I’ll wire you the first week’s expenses immediately. Your account information still the same?”
“Yes. I’ll be coming to Santa Fe. There’s no point in trying to track her, since we know her destination.”
“Get on it, then.”
“You know, Ed, somebody had to arrange this for her, a friend on the outside.”
“Barbara doesn’t have any friends,” Eagle replied.
“Except for one.”
“As it happens, he’s here in Santa Fe right now, in the next room, in fact.”
“Don’t let on that you know she’s out,” Cupie said. “He’s our only link to her.”
“All right.”
“I’ll be there tonight,” Cupie said, “and we’ll start tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, Cupie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Eagle called his office and gave his secretary instructions on wiring funds to Cupie, then he waited until the red light went off above the soundstage door and walked back in. They were changing setups.
Jim Long was deep in conversation with the director, and Eagle’s first impulse was to collar him, drag him outside and beat the shit out of him. As satisfying as that might be, however, doing so would not help him find Barbara, so he restrained himself.
CUPIE CALLED VITTORIO. “I talked to Eagle. He’s wiring expense money, and I’m getting a three-o’clock plane to Albuquerque. Can you meet me?”
“Sure, and you can stay with me. We can save money, not get a hotel.” Vittorio lived in a small adobe house in the desert outside Santa Fe.
“See you in Albuquerque,” Cupie said. He hung up, packed his bags, got into his car and drove to his bank, where he made a cash withdrawal of four thousand dollars. He left his car in long-term parking and caught the bus to the terminal.
VITTORIO, WHO WAS an Apache, descended from his great-greatgrandfather of the same name, stood out in the airport crowd, with his black clothing and black flat-brimmed hat. The inky braided hair to his shoulder blades helped, too.
In the car, Cupie handed him two thousand in cash. Vittorio tucked it into an inside pocket of his vest and started the car. Shortly they were on I-25, headed north toward Santa Fe. “What have we got to go on?” he asked.
“Zip,” Cupie said, “except we know she’s going to go after Eagle, and Eagle is in Santa Fe. So is James Long, who is her only friend in the world, as far as I can tell. He’s going to be our link.”
“Barbara makes friends quickly,” Vittorio observed. “Then she fucks them or kills them, or both.”
Cupie laughed. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” Vittorio had fucked her, and she had pushed him off a ferry in the Sea of Cortez.
“Don’t rub it in,” Vittorio said ruefully.
“What’s the deal with Long?” Cupie asked.
“She fucks him, but she hasn’t killed him,” Vittorio replied. “I guess she has to leave somebody alive to help her when she’s in trouble.”
“Yeah, but why does he do it?”
“Some guys will do anything for a good lay, and Barbara is one hell of a lay.”
“That’s it?”
“What else? Can you think of anything?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But how the hell could Jimmy Long engineer this prison break? Who does he know that could forge a transfer order from the Mexican Ministry of Justice?”
“Somebody in the Ministry of Justice, I guess,” Vittorio replied. “The guy has made movies in Mexico, you know. He has to deal with government officials and probably bribe them to get the necessary permits.”
“Yeah, but the Ministry of Justice doesn’t handle that, do they?”
“Beats me,” Vittorio said. “You think Barbara could already be in Santa Fe? Or maybe she’s just going to hire somebody like last time.”
“Last time didn’t work,” Cupie said, “and the guy’s doing life. She’s going to want to see to it herself this time; I’ll bet on it.”
14
Dolly Parks waited until Tip Hanks had come home from his practice session before trying it. She came into his study from her adjoining office. “Tip,” she said, “I’m going to need to take a day or two off to find a new place to live. I’ve had a week-to-week deal at my current apartment, hoping to get a long-term lease, but the landlord wants it back for his granddaughter.”
Tip swiveled around in his chair. “Why don’t you move into my guesthouse?” he asked. “Connie made me build it for her friends, and I rarely have guests.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Dolly said. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”
“Not at all. Come on, I’ll show you the place.” He led her out of the house by the kitchen door and down a path to the guesthouse. “The house key works in this lock, too,” Tip said, unlocking the front door and holding it open for her.
“It’s beautiful,” Dolly said, looking around the living room, then looking at the two bedrooms and kitchen.
“There’s a patio out back, with a path leading to the pool and tennis court,” Tip said.
“What sort of rent are we talking about?” she asked, turning to face him.
He looked puzzled. “Rent? No rent, just take it as part of your deal.”
/>
She wanted to hug him, but it was too soon. “Oh, Tip, you’re wonderful,” she said.
“Move in whenever you like,” he replied.
Dolly glanced out the living-room window and saw a corner of another house. “Who lives there?”
“Oh, some couple from New York. They’re only here in the summer. That’s their guesthouse.”
Dolly walked to the window and saw a woman taking things from a car and carrying them into the house.
“You’ve got your own driveway,” Tip said. “Right this way.” He led her outside and showed her how to drive to her new house. There was also a one-car garage.
“The house has its own linens and washer and dryer, and Carmen will keep it clean and do your laundry.”
“It’s so wonderful, I can’t believe it!” Dolly enthused. This had been easier than she thought.
“I’ve got to get back to my e-mail,” Tip said. “You stay and look into the nooks and crannies.” He left and went back to the main house.
Dolly went into the kitchen and began opening cabinet doors. It was well equipped, and there were even pots and pans and utensils. She liked cooking, and she would enjoy this kitchen.
To her surprise there was a knock at the kitchen door, and she opened it. A very beautiful woman of indeterminate age stood there in tight jeans and a sweater.
“Hi,” the woman said. “My name is Ellie Keeler. I’m just moving in next door, and I thought I’d say hello.”
“Please come in,” Dolly said. “I’m Dolly Parks, and I’m just moving in, too.”
“Beautiful place,” Barbara said, looking around the living room. “This is the guesthouse, right?”
“Yes. The main house is up the walk.”
“Who lives there?”
“His name is Tip Hanks. He’s a professional golfer.”
“Oh, yes. I watched the end of the tournament in Houston, when he sank that long putt.” Barbara went and looked at the bedrooms. “Looks like you haven’t moved in yet.”
“No, I’ll do that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a hand, if you like.”
“Thanks, but I don’t have a lot of stuff, mostly clothes. I’m moving from a small, furnished apartment in town. Would you like a drink? There’s some liquor in a little bar and some beer in the fridge.”
“A beer would be great,” Barbara replied, settling onto a sofa.
BARBARA WATCHED HER walk away and admired her figure. There was something about this girl, she thought. Something in her is like me. Dolly came back with two beers and took a seat on a chair.
“Where are you from, Dolly?” Barbara asked.
“I grew up in Connecticut – Westport -and I worked in New York for a few years before I came out here earlier this year. How about you?”
“I grew up in La Jolla,” Barbara lied. “When I met my husband I moved to San Francisco with him. He was killed a few months ago in a car crash.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dolly said.
“Well, being a widow requires some adjustment,” Barbara said. “You wake up and there’s nobody on the other side of the bed. I miss the sex. Have you ever been married?”
“No. I had a couple of close scrapes, but I managed to stay out of trouble.”
“Smart girl,” Barbara said. “Someone as beautiful as you won’t have any trouble attracting men.”
“Thank you,” Dolly said, “but it isn’t always easy. Most of the single men I’ve met in Santa Fe have been gay. They’re good company and good friends, but you know…”
“I know,” Barbara said.
They talked and laughed for the better part of an hour and got through another beer before Barbara excused herself.
“I’ve got some unpacking to do,” she said. “Maybe we could have dinner sometime?”
“Why don’t you come over tomorrow evening, and we’ll christen my new kitchen? I enjoy cooking.”
“How nice! What time?”
“Say seven?”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Dolly showed her to the kitchen door, and Barbara went back to her own guesthouse. This was going to work out well, she thought, if she was right about Dolly.
15
Lauren Cade woke up and found Teddy looking at her. “Hey, there,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied. He was sitting up in bed with the morning newspapers.
They had been in Santa Fe for several days now. “I love this town,” she said. “Let’s look for a house to rent.”
“I’ve got the real estate section right here,” he replied. “We’ll start looking today, but first there’s something we have to talk about.”
“What’s that?”
“Your new name.”
“I noticed that you checked into the hotel as Charles Tatum,” she said. “Shall I call you Charlie?”
“That’s good,” he replied, “when others are around.” He handed her a plastic envelope containing a passport, a driver’s license and a credit card.
She took the envelope but didn’t open it. “Tell me why we need new names.”
“I’m officially dead,” Teddy replied, “but there’s always the possibility that someone may be looking for me. Holly Barker, whom we met in Orchid Beach, may be the catalyst for that.”
“Why Holly?”
“She’s an official of the CIA,” he said, “and she may have suspicions.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t necessarily think she does, but I have to prepare for the possibility.”
Lauren thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” She opened the envelope, took out the passport and opened it. “Theresa Tatum,” she read aloud.
“How about Teri, with an I?”
“I like it,” she said. “Who made these IDs?”
“I did. It’s one of the skills I acquired when I worked at the Agency. I also learned how to insert these document numbers into the various federal and state databases, so for all practical purposes, they’re real.”
“What about the credit card?”
“It’s from a bank in the Cayman Islands,” he said. “It will work the same as any other credit card, but the charges will be deducted from my investment balance at the bank, and the statement is available only online, identified by a number instead of a name.”
“That’s very clever,” she said. “How do you cash a check?”
“I open a local bank account with cash, which I always travel with, then use those funds locally. I can always replenish it from the Cayman account with a wire transfer that’s untraceable.”
Her brow furrowed. “I read in a newspaper that the U.S. government can now force offshore banks to give them a list of their depositors.”
“Doesn’t matter. Mine is a numbered account, and the bank doesn’t have a name and address for me, not even a false one.”
“You’re very good, Charlie,” she said, kissing him.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Teri,” he replied.
“One question: I understand why you have to change your name, but why mine?”
“Holly knew you by your real name in Orchid Beach. Her people could trace us through you.”
“Sorry. That was a dumb question.”
“There’s a bio for you in the envelope, too. You have to memorize every detail, like your maiden name, your high school, your college-both of which have very good transcripts for you-your parents’ names-they’re both dead-and every other detail. You have a credit record under both your maiden and married names, too. If you memorize the bio perfectly, you could withstand a prolonged interrogation. You can make up your own details, as long as they fit. After all, there would be details of your childhood that even your husband wouldn’t know about.”
“How long have we been married?”
“Three years. Read the bio.”
“Teri” started reading while “Charlie” ordered breakfast and began calling realtors.
AT MIDA
FTERNOONTHEY STOOD in the living room of the fourth house they had seen, while the agent waited outside to give them some privacy.
“You like it?” Teddy asked.
“I love it. Can we afford it?”
“We can,” Teddy replied. The house was in the East Side neighborhood of Santa Fe, on a quiet tree-lined street. It had a living room with a dining area, a kitchen, two bedrooms, two and a half baths and a study where he could work. It was nicely furnished. “Let’s do it.” He called the realtor back in and filled out the rental application.
“I’ll run this,” she said, “and assuming everything is confirmed, I’ll have a lease for you by six o’clock, and you can move in tomorrow.” Teddy gave her a check on the local account he had opened earlier that day.
They celebrated with a dinner at Geronimo, a restaurant on Canyon Road. The following morning they checked out of the hotel and moved into the house.
“I’m going to need a big safe,” Teddy said, looking for one on the Internet.
THAT SAME MORNING, Holly Barker and Todd Bacon sat in Lance Cabot’s office at the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Todd,” Lance said, “what I have to say to you-indeed, our entire conversation-is limited to the three of us. Do you understand?”
“Certainly,” Todd replied.
“We have reason to suspect that Teddy Fay may not be entirely dead.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Todd replied. “When I pumped those rounds into his airplane’s wing it occurred to me that he might be able to make an airport or a field, then disappear.”
“He must still have the airplane,” Holly said, “because I saw it at the Vero Beach Airport the first time I saw him.”
“Did you get the registration number?” Todd asked.
“No,” she replied, “because I had no reason to suspect him at that time. In any case, it would have been changed by now.”
“It’s a Cessna 182 RG, isn’t it?”
“I can’t remember whether it had fixed or retractable gear,” she said.
Holly told him of each encounter she had with Teddy in Orchid Beach, giving him every detail she could recall.