Under the circumstances, Delgado could think of only one such matter and he immediately jabbed the button where the light was flashing. “Arrow,” he said, using the code word that identified him. “What is it?”
Amid long-distance static, a gruff voice-which Delgado recognized as belonging to a trusted aide-responded with the code word “Quiver. It’s about the woman.”
Delgado felt pressure in his chest. “Is your line secure?”
“I wouldn’t have called unless it was.”
Delgado’s phone system was inspected daily for taps, just as his estate was inspected for electronic eavesdropping devices. In addition, a small monitor next to the phone measured the voltage on the line. Any variance from the norm would indicate that someone had patched into the line after the telephone system had been inspected.
“What about the woman?” Delgado asked tensely.
“I don’t think Drummond controls her any longer. Her security has been removed.”
“For God sake, speak clearly. I don’t understand.”
“You told us to watch her. But we can’t get close because Drummond has his own people watching her. One of his operatives pretending to be homeless sits in a cardboard box and watches the rear of her building. Various vendors, one selling hot dogs, another T-shirts and umbrellas, watch the entrance from the park across the street. At night, they’re replaced by other operatives pretending to be indigents. The building’s doorman is on Drummond’s payroll. The doorman has an assistant who keeps watch in case the doorman is distracted. The woman’s servants work for Drummond, as well.”
“I already know that!” Delgado said. “Why are you-?”
“They’re not on duty any longer.”
Delgado exhaled sharply.
“At first, we thought that Drummond had arranged for other surveillance,” the aide continued. “But we were wrong. The doorman no longer has an assistant. The woman’s servants left the building this morning and didn’t return. The operatives outside the building have not been replaced.”
Next to the air-conditioning duct, Delgado sweated. A crush of conflicting implications made him feel paralyzed. “She must have taken a trip.”
“No,” the aide said. “My team would have seen her leave. Besides, on previous occasions when she did take a trip, her servants went with her. Today, they left alone. Yesterday morning, there was an unusual flurry of activity, Drummond’s men going in and out, especially his assistant.”
“If she hasn’t taken a trip, if she’s still in the building, why has the security team been removed?”
“I don’t believe she’s still in the building.”
“Make sense!” Delgado said.
“I think she broke her agreement with Drummond. I think she felt threatened. I think she managed to escape, probably the night before last. That explains the flurry of activity the next morning. The security team isn’t needed at the building, so they’ve been reassigned to join the search for her. The servants aren’t needed, either, so they’ve been dismissed.”
“God have mercy.” Delgado sweated more profusely. “If she’s broken her bargain, if she talks, I. . Find her.”
“We’re trying,” the aide promised. “But after this much time, the trail is cold. We’re reviewing her background, trying to determine where she would go to hide and who she might ask for help. If Drummond’s men locate the woman, I’m certain that Drummond will send his assistant to bring her to him.”
“Yes. Without her, Drummond has less power over me. He’ll do everything possible to get her back.”
But what if she goes to the authorities? Delgado wondered, frantic. What if she talks in order to save herself?
No, Delgado thought. Until she’s absolutely forced to, she won’t trust the authorities. She’ll be too afraid that Drummond controls them, that they’ll release her to him, that he’ll punish her for talking. I’ve still got some time. But eventually, when she doesn’t see another way, she will talk. She knows the price is so great that Drummond won’t stop hunting her. She can’t run forever.
Delgado’s aide had continued speaking.
“What?” Delgado demanded.
“I asked you, if we find her or if Drummond’s men lead us to her, what do you want us to do?”
“I’ll decide that when the moment comes.”
Delgado set down the phone. No matter how thoroughly his estate had been checked for hidden microphones and how well his telephone system had been examined for taps, he wasn’t about to say anything more on this topic in this fashion. The conversation had not been incriminating, but it would certainly raise questions if the wrong people heard a recording of it. Delgado didn’t want to raise even more questions and indeed supply the answers by providing the full instructions that his aide requested. For Delgado had forcefully decided what needed to be done. By all means. To soothe his ulcerated stomach. To dispel his nightmares and allow him to sleep.
If his men located the woman, he wanted them to kill her.
And then kill Drummond.
FIVE
1
MIAMI, FLORIDA
The man’s voice echoed metallically from the airport’s public-address system. “Mr. Victor Grant. Mr. Victor Grant. Please go to a courtesy telephone.”
Buchanan had just arrived at Miami International, and as he blended with the Aeromexico passengers leaving the immigration/customs area, he wondered if Woodfield had gotten the message through to Maxwell and how the rendezvous would be arranged. Amid the noise and congestion of the terminal, he barely heard the announcement and waited for it to be repeated, making sure before he walked across to a white phone marked AIRPORT mounted on a wall near a row of pay phones. There wasn’t any way to dial. When he picked it up, he heard a buzz, then another as a phone rang at another station. A woman answered, and when he explained that he was Victor Grant, she told him that his party would be waiting for him at the information counter.
Buchanan thanked her and replaced the phone, then analyzed the rendezvous tactic. A surveillance team is watching the courtesy telephones, he concluded. After Victor Grant’s name was called, they waited for a man to go to one of the phones. The team has either studied a photograph of me or been given a description. In any case, now they’ve identified me, and they’ll hang back to see if anyone is following me while I go to the information counter.
But as pleased as Buchanan was about the care of the rendezvous procedure and as delighted as he was to have escaped the authorities in Mexico, to be back in the United States, he was also troubled. His controllers obviously thought that the situation remained delicate. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have involved so many operatives in making contact with him.
At a modest pace, giving the surveillance team ample chance to watch the crowd (besides, he was in too much pain to walk any faster), Buchanan pulled his suitcase and proceeded toward the information counter. A pleasant, athletic-looking, casually dressed man in his thirties emerged from the commotion of passengers. He held out his hand, smiled, and said, “Hello, Vic. It’s good to see you. How are you feeling? How was the flight?”
Buchanan shook hands with him. “Fine.”
“Great. The van’s right this way. Here, I’ll take your bag.”
The man, who had brown hair, blue eyes, and sun-leathered skin, touched Buchanan’s elbow and guided him toward an exit. Buchanan went along, although he didn’t feel comfortable since he hadn’t received some kind of identification code. When the man said, “By the way, both Charles Maxwell and Wade want us to phone and let them know you’re okay,” Buchanan relaxed. Several people knew about his claimed relationship with Charles Maxwell, but only his controllers knew that Buchanan’s case officer in Cancun had used the pseudonym of Wade.