by AFN CLARKE
Just before we stepped inside I quickly scanned the street and spotted the grey sedan I saw earlier, pull into a parking space just down the road. The occupants stayed in the car.
We were shown to our table in the funky restaurant that was full of happy customers and given the menu, which Julie eyed with surprised delight.
“I hope the food's as good as the menu promises.”
“It was the last time I was here.”
“You are full of surprises, Thomas Gunn.”
“Money doesn't buy everything and great food doesn't have to be expensive.”
A homely waitress, with bright eyes and winning smile approached the table. “Hi, my name is Amy and I'll be your server today. Are you ready to order?” she asked welcomingly.
“I'm having the fresh Dungeness crab steamed in sake with aioli and avocado, red onion, apple and endive salad,” Julie replied decisively. “And a glass of ice cold Chablis.”
“The lady knows what she wants. And I'll have the Spicy Alaskan Salmon cakes, with hot and sour sauce and the same salad. But being a simple soul I'll have an ice cold Sam Adams draught Boston Lager.”
“Great choices, I'll be right back with your drinks,” Amy said approvingly and walked busily away to the back of the restaurant.
“You said I should enjoy this car while it lasts. What did you mean?” Julie said quietly.
“We change when we get to the Country Club. The Bentley goes back to Portland with a couple who look surprisingly like us and we carry on to San Francisco.”
“I thought as much. And I did see the grey sedan.”
“You're getting way to good at this.”
“Nobody pays any attention to a woman looking in a mirror, and I'm just trying to stay alive,” she said gravely as Amy approached the table with our drinks.
“Here you go, I'll have your meals here in ten minutes. Anything else I can get you?”
“This is great, thanks,” I said giving her the biggest smile I could muster.
“Who are the people in the sedan?” Julie asked as soon as Amy walked away.
“Rogue British Special Forces, now working for some group within the UK Government. Or De Costas' men.”
“I have a funny feeling about this Thomas.”
“We're just on a fishing expedition.”
“Sure, but you didn't say how big the sharks were.”
We were back on the road within the hour, feeling as if we had dined at the most expensive restaurant in the world. Julie gushed about the crab for ten minutes, before settling down in the comfortable seat and falling asleep. Her ability to do that amazed me. If there is something on my mind, I can't sleep. It bothers me; worries me; nags at me until I find a solution. And if I don't find a solution, I stay awake until I do.
Not Julie.
It was one of the things that attracted me to her. Apart from the obvious stunning body and intelligence that flowed from her like some sort of ghostly plasma. No wonder men just stared, and women looked as if they could kill her and happily serve time.
She was an enigma.
The free soul I so desperately wanted to be.
She slept, and I drove on alone with my thoughts about the 'mission' at hand. But I was flying blind as usual. I thought I had a plan. I thought I knew what I was doing, but being here in the US with fond memories of a life in a country that seemed so easy and carefree, with a beautiful woman that I loved, I wondered if Hamish was right. Why didn't I just leave it alone and let Hamish and the Government investigate?
But there was this part of me that couldn't let go. That needed to know everything. That didn't trust the Government. That didn't trust anybody.
Coos Bay went by as a blur and before I knew it, we were entering California just south of Brookings. Julie woke from her nap and looked around as the sun began to dip to the ocean, an orange light bulb shaped illusion that kissed the horizon for a brief moment before disappearing from view.
“Beautiful,” she breathed.
“Sleep well?”
“Just a little nap. We there yet?”
“Close. Another hour.”
“Grey sedan still with us?”
“Yup. Lay back about a mile, but closed up in the last five minutes. He's hoping he won’t lose us through Crescent City.”
“But you won’t let him.”
“Nope. I want him on our tail all the way to the country club.” And that is precisely what happened, and as we turned into the driveway of the Club stopping to clear through the security before entering the grounds, I watched as the grey sedan slowed and then accelerated past the entrance as it became obvious they would not get past security. Wealth has its advantages and expensive, exclusive Country Clubs with serious security is one of them. Of course any well-trained professional can breach any security, but it takes time, and by then we would be long gone and our 'stand-ins' on their way back to Portland in the Bentley.
Timing is everything.
Julie had warmed to her role as the girl friend of a wealthy businessman, striding into reception as if she owned the place, smiling winningly at the young man behind the counter as I handed over my membership card.
“Thank you Mr Gunn, we have been expecting you and your suite is ready. Alicia will show you the way.”
Alicia, a pretty nineteen year-old, was well trained, pleasant and efficient. Once in our suite, Julie heaved a sigh of relief and headed for the bathroom, discarding her clothes as she went.
“I want to lie in hot soapy water for an hour with a tall glass of ice cold vodka tonic, one ice cube and two olives.”
“Yes ma'am,” I replied. “I'll follow you on both counts, just hope the bath tub is big enough.”
“Oh it certainly is,” came Julie's muffled reply followed by the sound of running water. I checked the drawer in the side table beside the bed and found credit cards and driver's licenses in the name of Tommy and Martha Blacket, my mother's maiden name, and the keys to a three year-old Volvo XC70. Then I poured two strong vodka tonics, with one cube of ice and two pimento stuffed olives, stripped naked and walked to the bathroom.
“There you are,” Julie said quietly. “After I soak for a while, finish my drink and ravish your body, what do you have planned?” She snaked a long leg out of the bubble filled bath and rubbed it up my thigh.
“I've forgotten already,” I said, staring at her beauty and wishing this was another time.
“Come on in, the water's lovely,” she said taking her drink. “I'll help you remember.”
The light knock on the door was barely discernible, but I was awake and expecting it. Julie finished dressing and watched as I crossed the room, Glock in hand and, standing to the side, tapped twice, paused and then tapped once more. There was a responding two taps. I opened the door carefully and let the man and woman into the suite. They looked exact twins of Julie and me. The prosthetics were unbelievable and nobody would be any the wiser when they checked out of the Club in the early morning.
“Down the hall to your right, there is a staff door, this electronic key opens it. Take the stairs to the first floor. One of our men is waiting for you. He'll get you out of the grounds,” the woman said quickly, sounding disturbingly like Julie. “Good luck.”
As she left the room, Julie smiled at them. “Enjoy the Bentley,” she said mischievously and followed me down the corridor to the 'Staff Only' door.
Between three and four o'clock in the morning is always the best time to start a battle or leave a building unnoticed. Most people are deep into REM sleep and those that aren't are either insomniacs or up-to-no-good. I doubted our friends with the grey sedan would have had time to fully reconnoitre the clubs grounds and form a plan, so I wasn't concerned about them.
At the bottom of the stairs, the Security Guard who had checked us as we arrived stood waiting.
“The electronic key please.” He asked crisply. I handed it over. “Follow me.”
It took nearly forty-five minutes meandering through th
e woods that skirted the golf course at the back of the Club, before our guide pointed to a small group of houses on the edge of the golf course.
“The house on the right is the one you want. Car's in the garage and the hardware you requested is in the back under the floor. Go in through the gate on the right hand side. Back door's open. Make yourselves some breakfast. Wait until six before you leave, that's when the neighbours get up and they won't be surprised to hear you go.”
“Thanks. We appreciate your help.”
“Any friend of Danny's...” he smiled and let the sentence hang, shook my hand and disappeared. Within a few minutes we were in the house, making breakfast, and at six o'clock, went through into the garage. I checked the false floor in the back of the Volvo and was happy with the weapons and spare clips that were secreted there. The Volvo was full of fuel, the electric garage door slid open at the touch of a switch and we were on our way, following the route pre-programmed into the GPS navigation system.
“What do we call ourselves?” Julie asked.
“Tommy for me, and this is for you.” I handed her the driver's license and credit cards.
“Martha Blacket? Dear God, do I look like a Martha?”
I glanced at her and grinned. “Oh I don't know, kinda suits you hon, and we are husband and wife,” I laughed trying my American accent.
“You're gonna have to work on that, hon. Try just doing a New England accent, it's lazy British with a bit of West Country. Then you'll get away with it.”
“These are just so nobody can track us from here to San Francisco. Once we confront De Costas, all bets are off.”
The drive was uneventful. For the first hour Julie slept, and then took over while I tried to rest, unsuccessfully. There was too much going on in my mind and I still kept a look out behind, just to make sure our cover hadn't been blown. Hopefully by now the grey sedan was following the Bentley back to Portland.
Julie turned off Highway 101 at Novato and headed across country to Stinson Beach just as the female voice on the Navigation system instructed.
“God that voice is so sleazy,” she said seeing I was awake. “Makes my skin crawl.”
I reached over and changed the settings. “There, no more voice.”
“You could have done that a few hours ago, you know.”
“Thought it would keep you company.”
She snorted and turned right onto the road that led to Stinson Beach, rounding the lagoon and turning down Calle del Arroyo towards the gated community where a beach house awaited us.
Julie pulled up at the security gate. “Mr and Mrs Blacket. We're renting a property.” She handed over her driver's license.
“Yes Mrs Dawson is expecting you at the house. Take a left here and follow the road,” he said handing back her license.
“Thank you,” Julie flashed her toothy smile, and watched as the security guard blushed beneath his California tan.
The split level beach house, with the lounge, dining room and kitchen on beach level; bedrooms, bathrooms, den on the top, drive level. The living room opened out onto a large deck with steps leading down to the beach. I stood and looked out to where the surf ran up the sand, and thought once again how easy it would be to forget the reason we were here. Julie came quietly up behind me and took my arm, snuggling into my shoulder.
"Well, when do we start work? " She didn't look at me, just stared at the waves breaking on the shore.
"Not today, that’s for sure," I said. She turned, smiled and handed me a pair of swimming shorts.
"That's exactly what I hoped you would say. There’s plenty of time, let's just enjoy a few days, without any hassles."
So we did.
Free of any pressures or worries. We forgot everything and swam, enjoyed beach barbecues and pretended we really were Tommy and Martha Blacket from Rhode Island on vacation at the beach. We regained our Mediterranean tans and made love in the king size bed as if nothing else in the world mattered.
But of course we couldn't forget, and Julie brought it up over dinner as we sat on the deck watching the last glows of the sun eating a delicious clambake.
"I see you brooding, Thomas," she said and took a sip of chilled Pinot Grigio. "You're anxious, antsy. I feel it too."
“It's time to rattle Mr Samuel De Costas' cage.”
I got up, went into the house and came back with a manila envelope, handing it to Julie. “I found this in the mail box this afternoon.”
She pulled the sheets of paper from the envelope and read through them quickly. “Wow. These from Danny?”
“Yes.”
“So that guy you shot in Belfast, Boyd, his real name is Charlie Mullen, with a rap sheet that goes back decades, mostly for drugs and smuggling illegal immigrants into the country. It says here that he worked for Coltrane Engineering and Construction Company outside Mojave. Near Edwards Air Base, or spaceport or whatever it's called now.”
“But there doesn't seem to be any connection to De Costas, at least nothing Danny could find. But we do know that De Costas has a new office building downtown and there is an opening gala tomorrow evening.”
Julie put the papers back into the envelope and tossed it onto the table. “So what's your plan?”
“Crash the party and see what Samuel De Costas has to say for himself. I want to know what this guy looks and sounds like.”
“And just how do you propose to get invited?”
I paused for a moment smiling before answering. “Your father. Get him on the phone, I know it's early but he can add us to the computer's guest list as Mr and Mrs Thomas Gunn. We don’t want our aliases compromised.”
“Is that a proposal, Thomas? I thought you weren't into the whole marriage thing.”
I leaned over and kissed her. “Maybe. Guess you have to wait to find out.”
“Yeah, right I won't hold my breath. Anyway I'm not sure he's going to want to hack into somebody's system,” Julie said doubtfully.
“Don't be too sure. And I want a recording of my father's video as well as schematics of the building.”
We waited another hour so it wasn't too early and then Julie called. I was right, Professor Oldfield was more than happy to oblige, even providing Julie with an algorithm to install in De Costas' computer system if we could get to the mainframe, which would enable us to track all De Costas' online transactions, past present and future. Julie downloaded it to a small flash drive.
The new headquarters of De Costas Global Enterprises was impressive. A tall, thin, glass and steel skyscraper with transparent lift shafts running up the outside of the building.
As we walked towards the entrance I thought that this structure made the Gunn Group office look like a shabby back street walk-up. Once inside the foyer, we discovered a sign on one of the elevators for the 'De Costas Automotive Gala'. The ride up to the twentieth floor was spectacular as San Francisco unfolded below us. It was a shame when the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the reception area. A girl with a bright smile greeted us and asked us for our names which she checked off against the computer list. Beyond her, in the ballroom sized conference room, the sound of light jazz and murmur of voices, drifted sinuously through the sterile air dampened by the plush carpet and insulated walls.
“That's wonderful, enjoy the party Mr and Mrs Gunn,” the receptionist breathed showing off her extremely white teeth.
“Actually I have a meeting with Mr De Costas. Please tell him we are here.”
The girl frowned. “He asked not to be disturbed for the next thirty minutes. If you don't mind waiting until he returns to the party.”
I turned and looked at Julie. “A bit rude to leave your own party, isn't?” I said turning back to the girl, who was now flustered.
“He hasn't actually arrived yet.”
“Then perhaps we should wait in his office until he does, he did give a specific time for the meeting.” There was no way we were going to be allowed to wait in De Costas office, but that's not what I was lo
oking for, it was the involuntary movement of her eyes which pointed the way to De Costas' office.
“Please if you will join the party I will let him know you are here just as soon as he arrives,” she said nervously, and again flickered her eyes down the corridor to the right.
Julie smiled and took my arm. “I want a glass of champagne and a plate of caviar please darling. Business can wait.”
I put my best 'I'm pissed off but I'll do what my wife says' face on, glowered at the receptionist and allowed Julie to steer me into the party.
Galas are the same the world over. Expensive food, expensive drink, beautiful women hanging onto the arms of mostly balding rich old men, and young wannabes eying the room for any opportunities to enter the elite circle of the city's wealthiest and most powerful people.
But I wasn't thinking about any of that, I was looking for a door at the end of the conference room that would lead back into the corridor and so to De Costas' office. I saw what I was looking for and steered Julie slowly across the room, stood with my back to the door and tried the handle. It opened and we slipped out into the corridor unnoticed. The receptionist was busy with more guests and did not see us walk away down the corridor and turn the corner. In front of us was the outer office to De Costas' suite, with a well-built young man sitting at a desk facing us. He looked up as we walked toward him.
“May I help you?” he asked politely, his eyes cold and a slight bump beneath the left breast of his immaculately tailored suit, indicating a small automatic, I guessed a Beretta rather like the one I had given Julie.
“Thomas Gunn to see Mr Samuel De Costas.”
“I'm afraid Mr De Costas is....” the young man began.
“Please. Just tell him I'm here,” I said quietly but firmly.
“Really....” the young man started to say, then rose quickly to his feet as I crossed to the closed door and flung it open before he could stop me.
There were three men and one woman in the office. One man I took to be Samuel De Costas sitting behind a large oak desk with his back to the window overlooking San Francisco Bay, a woman seated in an armchair to the side and two well built young men, obviously bodyguards, standing on either side of the room. They moved quickly toward me as I walked toward the desk. The man behind the desk waved the young bodyguards away and stared at me.