Beautiful, thought Kaplan. Here they go with their amateur bomb, Crow wearing shoes that make sparks on the pavement, Lockwood with a lit cigar in his mouth, and they’re both on their way to a fuel dock. If God was good, if God had a sense of humor, he would finish this whole thing in one loud ka-boom. Talk about not leaving a trace.
“Arnold? You call me if Whistler shows up.”
“Call you for what? Where the hell could you hide?”
“Lots of other boats down there. We’ll duck in one until it’s clear. You just keep your eyes open up here.”
Kaplan watched them go until they sank from his view on reaching the ramp to the docks. He wished that he could call Mr. Aubrey again but Lockwood had the Aubrey phone with him. His impulse was, once again, to drive off. He could go to the airport; he could sit there and wait until Aubrey showed up with some help. But that was no good because God only knew what these two might do if he stranded them here. They’d have to snatch another car and throw its owner in the trunk because they couldn’t leave someone who could give their description. They might even decide to stay near Whistler’s boat and take Whistler and the girl when they got back. And Mr. Aubrey had said, “I’m relying on you.” He said, “See that they behave until I get there.”
He would stay, thought Kaplan. He would give them twenty minutes. In the meanwhile, he would check out the contents of the golf bag and see what else he was dealing with here.
Whistler waited until they’d returned to the car before he told her how and when he’d met Olivia before. She responded, “Did I tell you? I knew it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Well, not that you’d known her, but I felt a connection. I was right. She was practically family back then.”
“She knew my mother and she went to her funeral. That’s all. You’re reading too much into this.”
“Adam, how can I help it? This all ties together. Don’t you feel that it all ties together somehow? Don’t you feel that we have to find out how?”
“Claudia…I’m leaving. Are you coming with me?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s a man who is asking the woman he loves to get out before someone else gets hurt.”
“And you’d leave without me? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not a chance. I was trying to be forceful.”
“Then we’ll go.”
This was what he’d hoped to hear, but it was still a surprise. “You’re…not going to say, ‘Let’s see how this plays out?’ You’re not going to insist that we stay?”
“If you want to leave, I’ll leave with you, of course. I’ve a feeling that we’re not going to get very far, but sure, let’s give it a shot.”
“And you have this feeling…because why, exactly?”
“Because I think we were sent here. I told you.”
“Claudia…wait a minute. This impression you have. Is this what I have to look forward to with you? A new mission from the white light every few months? Because I’ll tell you right now, if that’s how it’s going to be…”
“You’d leave me?”
“No.”
“Then you’d what?”
“I’d just hate it.”
She leaned into him. She embraced him. “I know. And you’re right. I can see how this could get a little creepy for you.”
“Claudia…what happened back up there with Ragland?”
“We just talked and held hands for a while.”
“Did you know that he thought you were an actual angel? I mean the kind that materializes out nowhere?”
“I do now. He still did when he opened his eyes.”
“Did you tell him last night that it wasn’t his time. That he shouldn’t be afraid. Did you say that?”
Claudia frowned. She was trying to remember. “I…suppose I might have said something like that. But so did his wife. We both said he’d be okay. It wasn’t meant to be a prophecy, Adam.”
“You’re saying you were only encouraging him. Good.”
“Except he still thinks I made his bullet come out. Did you know that he thought I did that?”
“Yes, I did. On the boat. From Sergeant Moore.”
“Do you think there’s any chance that it could possibly be true? Do you think I could have possibly done that?”
“You didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t think so either, but there in his room…all I did was hold his hand and he felt better.”
“He felt better because he was under sedation. He felt better because he expected to feel better just by seeing you and having you touch him. I feel better myself every time I see you smile. None of this is miraculous, Claudia.”
“Okay.”
Uh-oh, he thought. “That’s it? Just okay?”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re resisting this, Adam. He felt better. He was happy. Who cares why?”
“I suppose.”
“First you’re afraid that I think I’m immortal and am going to be unpleasantly surprised. And now you’re afraid that I think I’m a healer. You think that every time I see someone on crutches I’m going to want to run up and touch him. It’s nothing like that, Adam. I just held the man’s hand. Wow, talk about reading too much into things.”
“It’s what other people read into it, Claudia. I know something about reputations.”
“Want to screw?” she asked. “Would that lighten you up?”
“Claudia…”
“Adam, I’m making a point. Mystics and healers who think they’re immortal almost never think in terms of a romp in the sack. That should give you a clue. I’m still me.”
“Which reminds me…”
“Of course, screwing is healing. It does wonders for tension. Unless you’ve been hanging out in bathhouses lately. That would crank up the tension on my end.”
“Which reminds me,” said Whistler, “of what I think is sexy. I have a fetish for women who wear kevlar vests. They make me soar to new heights of passion. Too bad you no longer have yours.”
“I see what’s coming.”
“If you were to wear mine until we’re well out to sea…”
“Smoothly done. But you keep it. No one wants to shoot me.”
“Claudia…”
“Adam,” she touched him, “I can’t lose you either. End of discussion. Let’s get back to the boat.”
“We can be out to sea in an hour.”
Lockwood hated to admit it, but Kaplan had a point. A guy wearing golf shoes would tend to stand out on your average marina or boat. Crow had left a trail of little patterns of punctures in the planking all the way to the fuel dock. But they’d come this far and no one paid them much attention. Whistler’s boat was ten feet in front of him.
He’d approached it from the stern with one hand in his bag. The hand gripped the Glock with the silencer on it. This was just in case. He would prefer not to need it. From the looks of the boat, he would not.
The first thing he noticed was the open hatch. Knowing Whistler, it was almost too good to be true, even without last night’s shooting. He stepped closer and listened for sounds from below. There was nothing. Not even a radio.
Someone had left what looked like a crab trap next to the gasoline pumps. He told Crow to go get it, pretend that he’s crabbing. Do it facing the ramp, sing out if someone comes, try not to get stuck to the planks.
“Do you know how to set the bomb’s timer?” Crow asked.
“Like any alarm clock, right?”
“Pretty much. But how do you know when they’ll be here?”
“Figure dinner. They all should be here about then.”
“I’ll want to watch. I’ll want to be back here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re around.”
Not alive, thought Lockwood, but somewhere around. He spotted a little hinged plate on the deck a few inches inside the railing. It seemed to be a gas cap, just like on a car. He said, “Good. Now we know where the tank is,
Mr. Crow. And it figures that the tank is nice and full.”
“In that case,” said Crow, “I’d dispose of that cigar.”
Lockwood puffed it. “It’s okay. It’s almost out.”
He stepped aboard Last Dollar with his bag in one hand and his other hand still on his Glock. But no question about it; there was no one below. A tangle of rope had been left across the hatch. On purpose, he wondered? Let’s assume it’s on purpose. Gently, he placed the bag on the deck. He used one hand to anchor the coil and the other to ease the loops to one side as he backed his way down through the hatch. Once inside, he reached out to get the bag.
The boat’s main salon seemed the most likely place. It was where they would probably gather. He looked around for a cabinet or drawer in which he could place Crow’s contraption. There were several in the galley; it adjoined the main salon, but they all were stocked with utensils or food and seemed likely to be opened once the guests were on board. Same problem with the bar. They’d be using the bar. He found a hatch on the floor of the main passageway with a chrome-plated ring at one end. He lifted the hatch. Underneath was the engine. He got down on his knees and reached for the fuel line. He tried to loosen it. It gave. But only a little. He felt cool moisture on his thumb and forefinger. Not much of a leak, but it might leak a lot more once the engine was started and the pressure increased. Whistler might smell the gas, but he’d think it’s the fuel dock. With luck, he wouldn’t bother to check.
Lockwood looked for a place where the bomb could be stashed. Near the engine would be good, but he could see no nook or cranny where the bomb would be completely out of sight. Better not trust to luck in this case, he decided. If Whistler did lift this hatch, he would spot it. Lockwood knew what he’d do. Stick it under Whistler’s bed. If he put it just under the foot of the bed, that was also just about where the fuel tank should be. He walked back to the stateroom. This was perfect, he thought. Very carefully, he set the timer.
He was on his way out when he saw a blinking light on a panel that held all kinds of instruments. He paused to look, but he was hesitant to touch any of the boat’s electronics. They all had black sign plates that said what they were, but he knew very little about such devices. Lockwood was afraid that he might mess something up and then Whistler would know someone had been here. Kaplan would know what these instruments were. He could call him and ask, but that would just bring more bitching. Kaplan needed a lesson in who’s boss around here. That could wait, though. One lesson at a time.
Lockwood leaned closer to that one blinking light. He saw that it said “Mailbox” beneath it. There were buttons nearby that said “Play” and “Delete.” Oh, hell, he thought. It’s just an answering machine. And if it was blinking that probably meant that Whistler didn’t know he’d been called. He decided to chance it. He pressed the “Play” button. In an instant he heard an electronic voice. It announced that two messages were waiting.
He played the first. It was from the girl’s mother. It only confirmed what Kaplan had known. She was on her way to the island. But the way she spoke, it also confirmed that this would be the first that Whistler knew of it. Lockwood hit delete, not entirely sure why, except that, in general, it seemed an advantage to know things that Whistler didn’t know.
He played the second message, this one from the father, this one much longer than the first. The father’s coming too; he would arrive before six. Beyond that, this message was a goldmine. Kaplan had been right; Whistler’d lied to his father and said he was nowhere near the shooting. Not only does his father now know that he was lying, his father has doped out that Aubrey and Poole are connected with Joshua Crow. Or at least he suspects it. He doesn’t sound sure. He sounds like he thinks they could not be so dumb as to want to pop someone like Ragland.
The father had also somehow figured out that this boat must have a tracker on it somewhere. He says find it, get rid of it, then move the boat out; keep it away from the dock. The father then mentioned some other names. A woman’s name first. Olivia something. It sounded like Olivia Tory. The father thinks that Whistler must have met her in his travels, but he doesn’t say who the hell she is.
Lockwood tried to think, but the name drew a blank. The father also mentioned somebody named Bannerman. This Bannerman, he says, was sending some help…it sounded like to watch Whistler’s back. The father says that’s all; they’re not going to fight your battles, but they’ll be there in a couple of hours.
Lockwood looked at his watch. Two hours from when? It had to be from when they saw Whistler on the bridge, so that’s less than an hour from now at the most. The mother could get in even earlier.
Lockwood wondered why the father never mentioned the girl’s mother. You’d think he would have wanted them to meet her flight, but now they can’t because they don’t know she’s coming. So where was Whistler going when they saw him on the bridge? Can’t be to the airport. The hospital, maybe. Which would prove that he’s in bed with Ragland.
Lockwood hit “Delete” on that message as well. Now Whistler’s in the dark about a whole lot of things, especially about Aubrey and Poole. Hey, Mr. Aubrey…do you see what I just did? I just covered your ass again for you. And now I’m going to cover it once and for all. I’m going to finish this thing.
He was tempted to meet the mother’s flight himself just to see the look on her face. Hello again, lady, remember me? Remember when you threw me out of your house? Remember me standing with my foot on your neck after my cops shot your daughter? You and me, it’s time that we had a little talk. Like, for instance, what happened to those cops after that? Whistler killed them, right? Yeah, but him and who else? Who were these people who showed up in town and had all of us not knowing what hit us? Who was the one who caught Briggs at the airport? Who was the guy who snatched that Cherry Creek judge and scared him so shitless, he saw double?
But he wouldn’t meet her flight. No point. Let her come. She would have a look on her face soon enough when that bomb blows her ass out through the hatch.
Speaking of which…he climbed back out on deck. He walked to the stern and leaned over the rail. He ran his fingers along a ridge that was formed by the trim on the transom. His fingers found the tracker. It was still there, glued tight, where Kaplan said it would be. Not that it would matter much longer.
His cell phone chirped. It had to be Kaplan. He hit a button and asked, “Are they back?”
Kaplan’s voice said, “No, but get out of there now. It’s Leslie, the barmaid; she just drove in. She’s got to be headed for that boat.”
“What for? They’re not here.”
“Vern…she wouldn’t know that. Don’t talk. Just get off that boat fast.”
The phone on Whistler’s boat was ringing again. He’d have liked to stay and listen to who else might be calling, but Kaplan was right; he would have to get off. He glanced around the dock. He no longer saw Crow. He said into his cell phone, “Crow’s not here. He with you?”
“No, he’s not.”
“You don’t see him?”
“Oh…damn. Yeah, I see him. Top of the ramp. It’s too late; the girl’s gotta walk past him.”
“Okay, be cool. She won’t recognize him. She won’t know me either. I’m coming.”
“Vernon…Oh, Christ. He’s walking up to her now. He’s talking to her. Why’s he talking to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. I bet it’s your cult priestess shit. He’s grabbing her, Vernon. Get up there.”
THIRTY ONE
Kate Geller’s final leg, from Savannah to Hilton Head, was only a twenty minute hop. Upon landing, she went to a phone in the terminal and tried once again to call the boat.
And again, no answer. She got the machine. She hung up without leaving a message. If she had, she reasoned, it might only cause confusion. They would have played the message, God only knows when, and perhaps be on their way to this airport after she had already been met.
She thought it best to sit tigh
t, to wait for Harry’s two friends, these women he was having flown in.
“They’re your protection,” he said. “You’re to do as they say. Get used to it. It comes with knowing me.”
He didn’t really say, “Get used to it, Kate.” He would never be that disrespectful. And of course she knew that she’d long been protected. Those snipers he’d posted throughout Cherry Creek…whether real or a bluff…did protect her. And then the twins, who were certainly real. They’d pop up out of nowhere in the damnedest places, but they no longer bothered her quite as much. She was almost beginning to enjoy them.
She understood it. She did. This need for protection. But she hadn’t been nice to Harry at all. She’d said, “Then I’m better off not knowing you.”
What a bitch. That wasn’t fair. They were both upset. Especially Harry, being so far away and not knowing what Adam had got himself into. In the end, she’d bet, it would probably be nothing. A misunderstanding. Two parents who panicked. Adam and Claudia were probably on some beach. They would all get together; she and Harry would feel foolish, then they’d break out a bottle of wine and forget it.
Speaking of wine, she wouldn’t mind a glass now, but she’d probably better stick with something lighter. She went to the snack bar, bought some hot tea to go, then walked back to the airport’s departure lounge. There was only one lounge. It served all the flights. She would sit and wait for these two women to arrive. Harry said that their names were Molly and Carla. He said that she’d like them. No…he said she’d like Molly. He had trouble finding the right word for Carla. “Unusual’ was the best he could do.
She found a copy of the New York Times that someone had left in the lounge. That someone had left the crossword partly done with at least two mistakes that she could see. She pulled a pen from her purse and went to work on it.
Another ten minutes had hardly gone by when she heard a plane coming in. Soon it taxied up to the gate. She saw no airline markings; it was a private plane, one of those with a tail that seemed too large for it. So soon, she wondered? Harry said a half-hour. She watched as the door of the plane swung open and she waited for two women to step out.
Whistler's Angel Page 29
