"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.”
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, doctors' 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.