“Gets you lost in your thoughts, doesn’t it?”
I looked up, startled at this intrusion coming over the headphones I’d forgotten I was wearing, and saw Al smiling beside me.
“Prettiest time of the day, as far as I’m concerned-the one time I really do feel like a bird in this thing.”
He dipped the plane slightly to my side and pointed across my chest at the now inky-black ground beneath us. “That’s him right there-the headlights.”
I nodded without comment. Twisting further around in my seat, I could see the lights of Spinney’s four-car surveillance team, safely trailing several miles behind. I saw Jay Peak, now quite close and to our right, and played a small pen light across my map, surprised and a little embarrassed at how far we’d traveled while I’d been daydreaming.
“We’re coming up on North Troy,” Al told me. “Newport’s just beyond.”
Newport is Vermont’s biggest town this close to the border, so isolated from the rest of the state by the comparative emptiness of its surroundings that it’s almost become a Canadian extension. This illusion is heightened by Lake Memphremagog, a thirty-two-mile-long body of water that lies almost equally half in Vermont, half in Québec, and which provides a natural conduit to a well-populated and nearby neighbor.
As we lazily came around the northern shoulder of Jay, now glistening with its summit-top red warning beacons, the pale expanse of the lake came into view, surprisingly long and flat in this mountainous, tree-choked setting. At its base, the scattered lights of Newport lay sprinkled about invitingly. Certainly it was attracting our friend in the van, whose tiny headlights were steadily drawn toward the downtown area.
By now, although we were all in total darkness, there was enough traffic hovering around the town’s outskirts to make Spinney’s small convoy indistinguishable from any other cars.
“Tango One from Zulu. You better take over.”
“I’ve got him in sight already.” Al put the plane into a gentle bank and slowly circled the lights below, as he had over a half-dozen other towns this long day, waiting to find out if the van was going to make a stop or keep on moving. I suspected the former, since I’d all but convinced myself that this entire part of the trip-straight from St. Albans and with no stops in between-had been to reach a particular goal.
“This is Tango One. He’s pulled into a side street and parked next to a jewelry store.”
“Can you bracket both ends of the street without showing yourselves?”
“Workin’ on it now.”
“Is there an airport nearby?” I asked Al.
“Three miles south of here.”
We circled a couple of more times. “Zulu from Tango One. He’s gone inside. We’re in pretty good position here-got all visible exits covered, and a view through the front window. Want us to get closer?”
“Not yet. You have a car available to pick me up at the airport?”
“That’s affirmative.”
“Okay. That’s where I’m headed. Let’s just babysit this for a while. See what happens.”
Hammond straightened us out toward the south and in a matter of minutes was making his approach to land.
“You want me to stick around?” he asked as we taxied toward the parking area.
“Actually, I’d like to ask an even bigger favor. We’ve been watching this guy play courier all day long, so we know he’s carrying something. If he plans to spend the night here, he’s going to want to stash the stuff somewhere safe. If that happens, I’d like a warrant so we can take a look.”
“Want me to fly someone back to Burlington to meet the U.S. Attorney?”
“If it comes to that, yeah.”
Hammond shrugged. “No problem.”
One of Spinney’s team, detailed from the state police’s Bureau of Criminal Investigations, showed up about ten minutes later and drove me back to town. Spinney was in his car, parked inconspicuously at a meter across the street from the Far East Jewelry Store. My driver dropped me off down the block, and I walked the rest of the way, ducking into Spinney’s passenger seat as unobtrusively as possible. I noticed as I did so that the dome light had been disconnected.
“What’s been happening?” I asked.
Spinney didn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the broad window opposite. “Old-time reunion. These two are chummy.”
“What about the van?”
He pointed to a side street to the right of the store. “Down there. About five minutes ago, the two of them-I guess the other one’s the owner-came out the side entrance and took in several boxes. Tango Two estimates about four of ’em. They’ve stayed in the back of the store ever since. The only one I can see from here is the girl at the counter, and she hasn’t moved.”
He checked his watch. “It’s almost eight. I can’t tell if they’re open, or closed but still have the lights on.”
At that point, as if responding on cue, the girl came around from behind the counter, locked the door, and pulled a shade down over it and the large window next to it.
“Damn,” Spinney muttered. “Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“What’d you think about getting a warrant? Find out what’s in the boxes?”
I saw the glimmer of a grin in the dark. “Yeah.”
I called Maggie Lanier on the mobile phone, explained our needs, and then flipped a coin with Spinney to decide which one of us was going to sign the application-and thus make the trip back to Burlington. He lost.
I glanced out the window at the night sky. “You’ll love it-stars are out.”
Nobody left the store that night. Eventually, all but the nightlights were put out on the ground floor, and others came on one floor above. In the few moments before the curtains were drawn upstairs, I could see the corner of what was obviously a front-facing living room. Presumably, the shipment having been secured somewhere safe, the three friends were settling down for a home-cooked meal and a well-earned night’s rest. I was looking forward to throwing a wrench into that.
As it turned out, I never got the chance. Some three hours later-shortly before I expected Spinney back-a top-down convertible drove quickly down the main street and slowed suddenly before the store’s front window. Half asleep by now, despite the occasional radio chatter we’d been using to keep awake-I was only vaguely aware of what was going on. As if in sluggish slow motion, I focused on the driver, recognized his Asian features, and was bringing the radio up to my mouth when a passenger stood up in the back of the car and aimed something cylindrical at the building. There was a blinding flash as something went shattering through the store’s plate glass.
“We got something…” was all I got out before the squealing tires of the departing car were overwhelmed by a tremendous explosion. The peaceful scene before me vanished in a stunning roar, rocking the car and sending me flying across the seat, my arm covering my head just as both side windows were blown in, followed by a wave of hot air and the by-now familiar clatter of falling debris.
25
The contrast between endless noise and total darkness was enervating. I kept wishing one would give in to the other.
“Mr. Gunther?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to take the bandages off, just to see how we’re doing, and put in some more drops.”
“Be my guest.”