“I know how this works. Thank you.”
“Just so you know. I did my best on a Saturday morning with a little hangover. You should have been at this club last night. This babe, Sally-”
“Sarah. Okay, do me a favor and e-mail me any other Winslows that might fit. I’m checking out of here, and I’m not on my cell phone today, but you can leave a message. I should be back in my apartment tonight.”
“I left a bottle of champagne for you and Kate.”
“That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Actually, a half case that I didn’t use. When is she coming home?”
“Monday.”
“Great. You must be having a whiteout by now.” He laughed.
“Okay, I’ve got to go.”
“You going to Old Brookville?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me know if I had the right Jill Winslow. Okay?”
“You’ll be the first to know, right after me.”
“Yeah. You close?”
“I think.”
“The last ten yards are a bitch.”
“I know. Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
I hung up, went into the shower, and washed the salt off. As I was drying off, the phone rang. There was only one person in the universe who knew where I was, and I just spoke to him, so it must be the hotel. I picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”
A female voice said, “Mr. Corey?”
I said, “I’m checking out now. Have my bill ready.”
She replied, “I’m not with the hotel. I’d like to speak to you.”
I dropped my towel and asked, “About what?”
“About TWA 800.”
“What about TWA 800?”
“I can’t speak on the phone. Can you meet me?”
“Not unless you tell me what this is about and who you are.”
“I can’t speak over the phone. Can you meet me tonight? I have what I think you’re looking for.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Information. Maybe a videotape.”
I didn’t reply for a few seconds, then I said, “I have what I need. But thanks.”
She ignored that, as I knew she would, and said, “EightP.M., tonight, Cupsogue Beach County Park, the inlet. I won’t call again.” She hung up.
I tried star 69. A recording informed me that the number I was trying to reach couldn’t be dialed by that method.
I looked at the clock on the nightstand-3:18P.M. Not quite enough time to drive to Old Brookville and back to Cupsogue Beach.
More to the point, why would I want to meet somebody in a deserted place after dark? If you have to, you have to, but youmust be wearing a wire, have a backup team, and remember to bring your gun.
In this case, however, it was all moot because I was acting on my own, and my Glock was in the diplomatic pouch somewhere between Yemen and New York.
It was also irrelevant because I wasnot going to that meeting.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I changed my mind.
Regarding clandestine meetings: Always arrive an hour early, and never go by a direct route. So, at 7P.M., rather than park my car at Cupsogue Beach County Park, I pulled over on Dune Road and found a beach access path between two houses.
Dressed in my swim trunks and black T-shirt, I walked barefoot along the ocean beach. A sign on the beach informed me I was entering the park grounds.
Official sunset was 7:17P.M., and the sun was now half submerged in the ocean. The water sparkled with red and gold flecks.
The few remaining people on the beach were packing up and heading back to their cars.
By the time I could see the inlet at the far tip of the barrier island, I was the last person left on the beach, except for a park ranger in a four-wheel drive who was patrolling the beach with a bullhorn, announcing that the park was closed.
He drove past me and called out, “Park’s closed. Please exit the park.”
I turned inland and climbed up a dune. At the top, I could see the nature trail that cut between the dunes. Two couples carrying beach gear were trudging toward the parking lot. It was 7:15P.M. I had forty-five minutes to come to my senses. Actually, I’d had nearly forty years to do that, and still no luck.
The sun set, and the sky turned from purple to black as the nautical twilight lingered, then died on the horizon. Stars appeared, and a sea breeze rustled the tall grass around me. The surf washed over the beach, making a soft, rhythmic sound. Now and then, a small breaker crashed on the sand.
I moved slowly through the grassy dunes and reached the last dune from which I could see the inlet, about fifty yards away.
To the right of the point was Moriches Bay and to the left was the ocean, both connected by the short inlet. A few pleasure boats with their running lights on were entering the bay, and lobster boats were heading out to deep water. Across the bay, I could see the lights of the Coast Guard station.
I had no idea which way my so-called informant would travel to the meeting place at the tip of the island, but I was here first, I’d reconnoitered, and I had the high ground. Having said that, I’d feel even better if I had my gun.
This hadn’t seemed like a bad idea when the sun was up.
My digital watch read 8:05P.M., but there was no one on the sandy point waiting for me. My informant was late, or was somewhere in these grassy dunes waiting for me to walk out to the point first.
At 8:15, I considered making the first move, but that could possibly be my last move.
I listened intently for any sound around me, but it would be almost impossible to hear anyone walking in the soft sand, though I thought I heard the rustling of sea grass when there was no breeze.
I turned my head slowly and tried to see through the darkness, but nothing moved.
The moon was rising now-a bright half-moon-and the beach and sea were illuminated. The sea grass where I sat was not offering much concealment in the moonlight, and I felt a little exposed sitting there on the dune with a few thin blades of grass around me. At least my clothing and skin were dark.
At 8:20, I realized I needed to make a decision. The smart thing to do was to leave, but getting out was not going to be as easy as getting in. I decided to sit tight. Whoever wanted this meeting had to make the first move. That’s the rule.
Five minutes later, I heard what sounded like a cough, but it could have been a dog. A few seconds later, I heard it again, and it seemed to come from the direction of the sand dune behind me.
I turned slowly toward the sound, but I couldn’t see anything. I waited.
I heard the sound again, and this time, it did not sound like a dog. It was human, and it was moving, circling around me. Or there could be more than one person out there, all of them armed with automatic pistols fitted with silencers. I heard another cough in another location.
Someone, obviously, was trying to announce his or her presence and wanted a response, so I decided to play the game, and I coughed, then I changed my position in case I’d just become a target.
A second later, a male voice, not too far away, said, “Where are you?”
The voice had come from the sand dune to my right, and I turned toward it. I lowered my profile and said, “Stand where I can see you. Slowly.”
A figure rose up from behind the dune, about thirty feet away, and I could see the head and shoulders of what looked like a big man, though I couldn’t make out his face.
I said, “Come closer-hands where I can see them.”
The figure rose higher, and the guy crested the top of the dune, then began to walk down the slope into the dark valley. I said, “Stop there.”
He stopped about thirty feet from me.
I said, “Okay, turn around and get down on the ground.”
He didn’t follow my instructions, which always pisses me off. I said, in my best NYPD voice, “Hey, pal, I’m talking to you. Turn around and get down. Now!”
He stood where he was, looking up at me, then he lit a cigarette. In the glare of the lighter, I caught a glimpse of his face, and I thought for a moment it was someone I knew, but it couldn’t be. I said, “Hey, asshole, I’ve got a gun pointed at you that you’re going to hear in about three seconds. Turn around.Now. And get the fuck down. One, two-”