Billy switched on the ignition and brought up the car’s navigator. He pressed the button that showed him his position, then cranked the zoom knob until he had a large-scale map of the immediate area. It took only a moment to find what he was looking for. To his left, another road turned off the main highway, then intersected with yet another road that ran behind the Grosvenor property. He started the car again and pulled into the main road, then took two rights, keeping the house on his right. As he made the second right, he turned off the headlights and stopped at a wide place in the road.
Billy got out of the car, took off his tan windbreaker, and turned it inside out, making it black. He put on a black knitted cap, as well, then checked his little 9mm semiautomatic and returned it to its holster, then he closed the car door, climbed over a fence, and began walking toward the house.
As he did, he screwed a silencer into the barrel of his weapon.
44
By the time the first course arrived, the four had, by common consent, divided into two couples. Croft got Pam, Morales got Sherry, and everyone seemed happy with that.
The bottle of wine Pam had selected arrived and was poured, then glasses were clinked.
“Now,” Pam said, taking a bite of her pâté and leaning forward, “tell me everything.”
Croft took a deep breath and started into Barbara Eagle’s history of trying to murder her husband, while Pam listened avidly and Sherry and Chico mumbled to each other. When Croft had finished, Pam said, “Wow.”
Billy Burnett moved through some trees and plantings behind the house until he could see people entering a room at a rear corner and sitting down. Dinner, he supposed. He ran the last few yards to the house, broke through some bordering shrubs, and knelt down, listening. Nothing: no alarms, no footsteps, no dogs. He rolled down his knitted cap, which covered his face but left openings for eyes and mouth, then, carefully, he stood up and looked in the window.
Seven people were around a round table, and Barbara’s back was toward Billy. He unzipped his fanny pack, took out a small battery-operated amplifier, plugged a cord into it, then he licked a suction cup, stuck it to the window, and put an earbud into one ear. They were, apparently, continuing a conversation begun in the living room over drinks.
“I tell you,” Barbara was saying, “Ed Eagle has made my life hell for years. He’s made at least four attempts on my life, then blamed me for trying to kill him. The latest you may have seen on TV. He hired someone to plant a bomb on his airplane, and the man cocked it up somehow and blew himself up, as well. Then, of course, he told the Los Angeles police that I had hired someone to kill him. Two LAPD detectives were here until an hour before you all arrived, questioning me.”
“Why don’t you sue Eagle?” one of the women asked.
“What for? I don’t want or need his money, and, anyway, Ed is one of the best trial lawyers in the country. It would cost me millions, then nothing would happen.”
“Why don’t you go public, then?” the man asked.
“Jack, what do you mean by ‘go public’?”
“Take the offensive — give a few, select interviews to the right members of the press, and turn the whole thing back on Eagle. Show him up for the villain he is, ruin his reputation, cost him clients. Maybe he’d get the message then.”
“I never thought of that,” Barbara said. “But I wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it.”
“A good friend of mine, Hugh Gordon, is the top publicist in the city,” Jack said.
“But I’m not selling anything,” Barbara replied. “I haven’t written a book or anything like that.”
“You’re selling your story, nothing else. Of course, a book might come later. Hugh would know exactly how to handle this situation. He knows every important journalist on the West Coast, and a lot in New York, too. If you like, I’ll have him call you tomorrow. You could discuss it with him and, if you feel it’s the right thing to do, come up with a plan.”
“Perhaps I should at least talk to him,” Barbara said.
Billy heard a noise. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was enough for him to pocket his listening gear and sit very still, huddled next to the house, behind bushes. As he continued to listen, he heard soft footsteps approaching, and a powerful beam of light began flitting around the rear of the house. Billy curled into a ball, his head tucked against his knees, exposing only black to the approaching threat.
“I know you’re here,” a voice said. “You didn’t count on our security system, did you? I’m armed, and unless you come out and identify yourself, I’m going to start firing randomly into the shrubbery.”
Billy uncoiled, stood up, and saw a very large man — Blunt Instrument. He had read about him in his research: ex-NFL player, knee injury. Billy walked confidently toward him, and the man raised his pistol. Billy slowed, but continued, doing what his opponent had not expected, coming closer.
“Hold it right there,” the man said.
Billy took one step closer to him and swung the edge of his left hand at the man’s right wrist. The pistol flew out of the man’s hand. He emitted a short cry of pain, then Billy kicked him, not too hard, in his right knee, and the man collapsed and held the knee.
“That’s the correct knee, isn’t it? If I encounter you again, I’ll ruin it permanently for you. It will take you months to get over the surgery. And you would be wise not to mention this little tiff to your mistress.”
Billy turned and walked toward his car, picking up the man’s weapon along the way and tossing it as far as he could into the darkness. He looked back once and saw the man still lying on the ground, clutching his knee.
45
Stone and Ann were at lunch the following day, when Mike Freeman called. Stone spoke to him briefly, then hung up.
“The Strategic Services G650 will be ready for us tomorrow morning at ten,” he said.
“Oh, good,” Ann said. “And when I get back all hell will have broken loose, and it will remain loose until the election, then a different kind of hell will break loose, assuming Kate wins. Then, on January twentieth a special kind of hell will await me. Everyone who has ever held this job has said that it was the hardest work and the toughest job they ever had.”
“You sound as though you’re reconsidering,” Stone said hopefully.
“On the contrary, I can’t wait to get started,” she said.
Stone laughed. “Kate is lucky to have you.” The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Yes?”
“It’s Billy.”
“Hi there. Feeling better?”
“As good as new,” Billy said, “but shortly, Ed Eagle is going to be feeling a lot worse.”
“Oh, God,” Stone said, “is there another attempt coming?”
“Not on his life — on his reputation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Barbara is hiring a press agent in San Francisco named Hugh Gordon. I checked him out. He’s among the two or three best publicists in the country, and he’s arranging a series of interviews in which Barbara will insist that Eagle is trying to kill her. She’s going to blindside him, and he’ll never be able to catch up.”
“Oh, shit! What should I tell him to do?”
“This is outside my area of expertise, but I should think the only thing he can do is beat her to the punch.”
“Thanks, Billy. How did you find out about this?”