Tyner had given her a satellite phone, saying, “Keep it. Bring it along when you visit me in the jungle.”
Waters had replied, “Sure-when the Amazon freezes. I can tour your art collection.” Sarcastic but taking the phone, anyway.
She thought Tyner was kidding when he replied, “I’d like that. Most people don’t consider shrunken heads art.”
Waters had spent the next hour on the phone, pacing between the porch and kitchen, where I had sliced a haunch of smoked beef, provided by the vaqueros, and opened canned beans and canned spaghetti I’d found in the cupboards.
Shana had also told New York that she knew where to find Kal Wilson-Panama City.
The amphib needed a lighted municipal airport to land at night. Panama City was the closest, but it wasn’t a guess. We found a note inside the ranch house that was crumpled and partially burned. Presumably, it had been tacked to the door when Lourdes arrived. If you came for my head, you will find it at the Panama Canal Administration Building, noon, tomorrow. Kal Wilson
Wilson knew a killer was coming. How?
Vue had the best explanation. The president wasn’t forewarned telepathically, he was tipped-off tele graphically. Telegraph operators develop a unique style on the key. “Fist” is the term, Vue said. He and the president had been practicing Morse code together for months.
Wilson may not have known Lourdes was coming, but he knew it wasn’t Vue who sent the message.
What Waters didn’t share with New York were the specifics. Tomorrow’s Independence Week celebration was a huge story and she wanted to be the only network reporter broadcasting live.
“It’s what Walt would have done,” she told me. We were walking toward the Pacific, where rollers conveyed starlight before collapsing onto sand. “The network’s going to send a crew from Miami first thing. Just in case, we’re also arranging for a local crew to be standing by.”
It was 2:30 a.m., and I’d left the hammock I had commandeered as a bed, too restless to sleep. What I really wanted to do was go for a swim. But I had surprised Waters, who was standing on the porch smoking a joint. She wanted to walk with me.
When she offered the joint, I shook my head and asked, “Did Tomlinson give you that?” I’d thrown his clothes away while he was swimming and couldn’t imagine where he’d hidden it.
“No. I gave him one. Two joints, actually. His day was even worse than mine, and I figured he could use it. I’ll buy more when we get to the city.”
I was tempted to tell her to keep away from the pigs but said, “Very kind of you.”
“I like him. And he was such a mess.”
True, but cleaner now. I had searched the barn until I found veterinary-grade disinfectant soap and a bottle of Betadine. I poured half of each into a bath and told him to go soak. He walked into the bathroom carrying a bucket of ice, a bottle of tequila, and three limes.
“I’m going to attack the bastards from the inside, too,” he said. Meaning bacteria. He was weak but getting better.
As we walked, Waters talked about Key West and Danson. Neither of them recognized the president, she told me.
“I’ve been in so many hotels, staff people become shapes without faces,” she said. “Have you ever run into a friend at some place totally unexpected? They look so different until we make the association. He reminded Walt of an actor-see what I mean?”
It wasn’t until an hour later when she discovered her recorder missing and confronted Danson that they made the connection. After that, they had stood toe-to-toe, arguing, blaming each other for blowing the biggest story of the year.
“It was so damn funny the way we battled back and forth,” Waters said, “trying to beat each other. It’s true that I’ve wanted his job for years. But I’m still going to miss him.”
I wondered.
Waters spoke with warmth and regret. But I couldn’t be sure if she was sincere or trying to manipulate my opinion of her. She wanted to interview me about Wilson-she’d mentioned it in an offhand way, as if I’d already agreed.
Maybe I had, in her mind. This was a woman expert at leverage and she’d been within viewing distance when I shot three men.
But the closest she came to hinting at it-if she was hinting- was when she stopped, looked at me, and said, “In Key West, I knew you were no maintenance man. Even drunk as he was, Walt knew it, too. Who’re you with, the CIA? I’d say the Secret Service, but they’re not allowed to… do the sorts of things you seem good at.”
I said, “I’m a biologist. I was hired as a consultant on the new canal. I was with the president because I’m familiar with the area.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s insulting. Do you really expect me to believe that?”
I said, “It happens to be true, but you’re right-it’s not the whole truth.” She was not expecting me to add, “I should know better. Some of the things I heard on your recorder are memorable. I apologize for underestimating you. It won’t happen again.”
The woman cleared her throat. “You listened?”
“Only portions. It was a long flight.”
“Where is my recorder?”
“I have it. I’ll return it-tomorrow. When President Wilson says it’s okay.”
Waters nodded, letting it sink in. “Did Tomlinson steal it? Or did you?”
I nearly smiled. Wilson had said that no one expects a former U.S. president to break the law. “What does it matter?”
“I thought you might admit it. Tomlinson’s too religious and Kal Wilson wouldn’t have the nerve. You’re different, Ford. Nerdy and industrious-like setting out food for everyone. But underneath, you are one very damn cold customer.”
The woman stopped, relit the joint. Inhaled a couple of times, holding it like a cigarette, then offered it to me once again. When I refused, she said, “Boy Scout, huh? I don’t think so. You and I have a hell of a lot more in common than either one of us is likely to admit. Scary, huh?”
She turned her back to me and began doing something-unbuttoning her blouse, I realized. I replied, “When you put it that way, yes.”
“I can’t imagine what you think of me after hearing what’s on that recorder.”
“Don’t worry. I averted my ears when it got personal.”
She laughed. “Like a boy who covers his eyes when a western gets too romantic.”
“I didn’t hear any romantic parts.”
“That’s because I’m a realist, not a romantic.” Waters slid her blouse off, unsnapped her bra. With the practiced immodesty of an actress, she tossed them above the tide line. Then, using fingers to brush her hair back, she turned to face me. Curtis Tyner and Juan Rivera shared the same fixation, and their interest was not unwarranted.
“Ford? You should let your hair down. Because I’m getting my hair wet. After the day we’ve had, we both deserve it.”
The woman shimmied out of her slacks and panties and I watched her walk into the sea.
25
Use a predator to lure a predator…
Kal Wilson had said it about a hammerhead shark that was shadowing a barracuda. Cayo Costa, five days ago.
It seemed like five weeks ago. I should’ve felt tired after so little sleep and so much travel. Instead, I felt energized.
I am not fanciful when it comes to speculating about emotion attributed to creatures not of my species. When people say their cat, or dog, “believes he’s human,” I attempt to smile as I edge away. But I have speculated-fancifully, I admit-that the single-minded focus of a shark might be the purest sensation in nature.
That’s how I felt. Single-minded.
I was sitting high in a tree, back braced, sniper rifle in my hands, as I watched political luminaries assemble for Panama City’s Independence Week ceremony.
It was 11:05 a.m., Wednesday, November 5th.
I was more than a hundred yards away. Even with my glasses clean, the crowd was a blur-people socializing and finding their seats on a stage decorated with bunting and flags. But when I pressed my eye to the rifle’s scope, individual faces came into focus, filling the lens, as I moved crosshairs from person to person searching for the assassin that Kal Wilson told me would be there.