Orchid Blues (24 page)

“Will do,” Doug said.

“Ham can’t tell us where this is happening,” Harry said, “because he doesn’t know, but we do know he’s supposed to shoot at two or three men in a limo, and on Monday. It’s a start.”

Fifty-one

HAM EXCUSED HIMSELF RIGHT AFTER DINNER, claiming to be tired, and walked back to the bunkhouse. The place was empty when he arrived, so he walked out to the lakeshore. It was a cloudy night, so there was no moon, and the water looked very dark. He needed to be able to see, if he was going to find that phone. He would have to wait until morning and take a chance on looking for it in broad daylight.

The others arrived at the bunkhouse an hour later, and Ham was already in bed. He pretended that they woke him up, then he grabbed a blanket and a pillow. “I’m sleeping outside,” Ham said. “You guys are going to be snoring away in a few minutes.” He walked out of the house, this time dragging a bunk mattress, and stretched out beside the lake.

Half an hour later, it was quiet in the bunkhouse, and Ham was tempted to go after the phone, but he only wanted to do this once. He knew his warning to Jimmy about cottonmouths and gators might be more real than imaginary. He settled in for the night.

Holly went to bed early, with a movie on the TV at the end of the bed, but it bored her, and she was soon sleepy. She switched off the TV and lay in bed, thinking of Jackson and waiting for sleep to come.

Ham woke in the green-gray light of the pre-dawn, and soon he could see that the sky had cleared during the night. The others would be waking soon, so if he was going to do it, now was the time.

First, he walked quietly back to the bunkhouse and looked in through a window. The four men were all still fast asleep. Then he walked to the corner of the barracks, looked for the stone he had left at the lakeside as a marker, and walked toward it. When he got to the stone, he stripped off his shorts and waded gingerly into the lake. The bottom was soft, and he stirred up a lot of mud.

“Shit,” he said softly to himself, “that’s going to make it harder.” Then the bottom fell away in front of him, and he was shoulder deep in the water. He looked back at his reference line, then took a deep breath and went under, hoping that the lake didn’t get much deeper.

The water was reasonably clear, and he swam along the gently sloping bottom for a few yards, sweeping his hands along the bottom, feeling for Holly’s package. He began to run out of air, so he surfaced and looked back at the barracks. He was off his line a bit and farther from shore than he intended to be. He reckoned that the package was ten yards from shore, and he had swum fifteen or twenty.

He got back on his reference line and swam a little closer to shore, then he dove again, feeling his way along the bottom. There was not as much light as he had hoped, since the sun wasn’t really up yet.

The water became shallow again, and he popped up, looking back at the barracks to be sure no one was watching him. He was, maybe, five yards offshore.

He checked his reference line again, adjusted his position, dove and started back toward deeper water. He had only swum three or four strokes when his hand brushed against something soft. He stopped and looked, but he had stirred up the bottom, and he could see nothing. He returned to the surface, got another breath and dove again, keeping as much as possible in the same spot.

He still couldn’t see well, but this time he came into contact with a plastic bag. He came back to the surface again, and as he did, he saw Jimmy standing on shore, looking out at him.

With his free hand, he waved. “Come on in,” he said. “It’s a little chilly, but not bad.”

“What about all those snakes and alligators you told me about?” Jimmy called back.

“I figure I can see them in daylight,” Ham replied. He was clutching the plastic bag, dying to look at it, but having to keep it underwater. He turned on his back and floated a little, hoping Jimmy would go away.

“You okay out there?” Jimmy called.

“Just fine,” Ham called back, not looking at him. A moment later, he heard the screen door slam.

He swam around for a while longer, then started back toward shore. He couldn’t leave the water carrying the bag, so as he found the bottom, he began looking for a place to leave the plastic bag. He saw a clump of tall grass and headed for that, surreptitiously stuffing the bag into the grass as he passed it, then he got out and walked up to the barracks and stuck his head inside the door. “Somebody toss me a towel?” he called.

Somebody did, and he dried himself, then went back for his bedding. By the time he was back inside the bunkhouse, the four were already dressing.

“Better hurry, Ham,” somebody said. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

“You guys go ahead,” Ham said. “I’m going to grab a quick shower and get some of this lake mud off me.” He went into the heads, shaved slowly, then took a shower. When he got out, they were gone. He dressed quickly, then went outside and made sure he wasn’t being observed. Then he trotted over to the clump of grass and retrieved the plastic bag. He walked back to the bunkhouse, skimming a couple of rocks over the lake to appear innocent, then he went back inside.

He sat down on his bunk and unzipped the bag. The contents—a tiny phone in a belt clip, an earphone on a thin cord, three batteries and a note—were dry. He stuffed the plastic bag into a pocket and read the note.

Ham,

The phone works like any other cell phone, except when you want to scramble, you press the function key, then one, two, three, send. When you want to unscramble, you do the same thing again. The phone is set on scramble now. It’s also set to vibrate, instead of ring, so if you want to leave it on, you can. Just keep it next to your body, so you can feel it vibrate. Call us whenever you can. Here are the numbers.

Love,

Holly

P.S. Now eat this note.

Ham laughed and quickly memorized the phone numbers Holly had jotted at the bottom, then stuffed the letter into a pocket. He heard a sound and looked up to find Jimmy standing in the door.

“You coming?” Jimmy asked.

“Just let me make my bunk,” Ham replied, pulling the blanket over the phone and batteries beside him. “Why don’t you go ahead and order me some ham and eggs?”

Jimmy went out and closed the door, and Ham quickly put the phone and batteries into separate pockets. There was no time to hide them.

He followed Jimmy out the door and back toward Peck’s house, looking for someplace to ditch the plastic bag and the note. He was going to have to hide the phone, too. He didn’t like having it on him.

Fifty-two

HAM HAD BREAKFAST WITH JOHN AND PECK, AND he hoped to hear more about what they wanted him to do, but nothing was said. He felt nervous about having the phone on him, and he was made more so when John brought up cell phones again.

“I checked this morning,” he said, “and there’s an antenna on that power pole where the van was parked yesterday.”

“The van was gone?” Peck asked.

“Yes. There was just the antenna and a box that could contain a transformer and some electronics.”

“I’ve got a man stationed at the scanner twenty-four hours a day,” Peck said. “We haven’t heard a peep from a cell phone.”

“You know,” Ham said, “it’s not inconceivable that they would install a new cell on that road, since it connects I-95 with the Florida Turnpike.”

“Maybe,” John said.

“I expect one of these days soon they’ll have every square mile of the country covered,” Peck added. He turned to Ham. “You shooting today?”

“I thought I might take the rifle down to the lakeshore and practice firing back toward the woods to the west. There’s a breeze today, and I’d like to see how it shoots with windage.”

“Good idea. I’m tied up this morning, but I’ll send somebody with you.”

“I don’t need any help,” Ham said. “I don’t even need any targets. I’ll shoot at trees.”

“Okay,” Peck said, digging in a pocket and coming up with some keys. “Take the jeep.” He turned to John. “I’ve got a class to teach. I’ll see you later.”

“Right,” John said, and he seemed preoccupied.

When Peck had left the table and Ham was alone with John, he lowered his voice. “John, about the cell phone business.”

“Yes?”

“My assumption is that you’re worried about somebody reporting our plans for Monday.”

“That’s right.”

“I assume you’ve kept that information close, the way you do everything.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I mean,
I
don’t know the details. Does anybody besides you and Peck know what’s going down?”

“No.”

“I just wondered,” Ham said. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some shooting to do.” He left John sitting alone at the table. That’ll give him something to think about, Ham thought. He went to the armory in the cellar, drew the Barrett’s rifle and some ammunition, got the jeep and drove down to the lakeshore. It was Friday; three days to go.

Harry bent and looked over Eddie’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Have you come up with anything?”

Eddie shook his head. “Monday’s a real quiet day,” he said. “No sports events, nothing at all that would draw an important visitor. I mean, there’s a convention of furniture dealers in Miami, and a literary festival in Key West, but it’s not like the president—or anybody else important—is attending either of them. There’s a citrus grower’s meeting on Tuesday, and God knows, there’s always something going on at Disney World, but we’re looking for a prominent target, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Can you check with the Secret Service and see if the president is planning some unannounced visit on Monday, something that isn’t on his published schedule?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry said, then he jumped.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry was clawing at his belt. “My phone just goosed me.” He snapped it open. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Ham said. “This thing is working, huh?”

“Are you scrambled?”

“Yes. And a good thing, too, because they’re monitoring cell phone use with a scanner twenty-four hours a day. Did you do something to jump up the reception out here?”

“Yes, we installed a portable cell. I take it John noticed.”

“Right.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m out by the lake. Hang on a second.”

Harry listened, and suddenly, the phone seemed to explode in his ear. “Ham?”

“Yeah? Sorry about that; I’m supposed to be practicing shooting.”

“Is it safe for you to talk?”

“Yeah, but let’s make it quick. I don’t have any more information about what they’re planning, just that it’s on Monday, and it’s two or three men in a limo.”

“We got that over the smoke detector,” Harry said.

“I’ll call you back if I get any more information. Tell Holly I’m okay.” Ham broke the connection.

Harry snapped his phone shut. “Ham got the phone. Thank God for that.”

“Anything new?”

“Nothing. I’d better call the White House.”

Ham sat cross-legged, the Barrett’s rifle resting on a tripod attached to the gun’s barrel. He unplugged the earphone, wound up the cord and stuffed it into a shirt pocket. He dropped the tiny phone in, too. It hardly made a bulge in the baggy fatigue shirt pocket.

He watched the movement of the trees, made a guess about the wind and fired again. He hit a tree, but not the one he was aiming for.

Fifty-three

HAM FINISHED FIRING FOR THE MORNING. HE stowed the rifle in the rear of the jeep and was about to get in when he saw a roll of duct tape on the floor of the rear seat, and it gave him an idea.

He lay down on his back in the footwell of the driver’s seat and looked under the dash. Satisfied, he tore off a strip of the duct tape, stuck the phone and the three batteries to it, and taped them to the underside of the dash, satisfied that even hard bumps wouldn’t dislodge them. Feeling better, he drove back to Peck’s house for lunch.

Harry knew the head of the White House Secret Service detail, so he cut some red tape and called him directly. He got a voice mail tape and left a message. Five minutes later, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Harry, that you?”

“Chip, how are you, boy?”

“I can’t complain, except they’re working my ass off. I’m traveling just about all the time. Good thing I’m already divorced.”

Harry laughed.

“I heard you got the Miami job. That right?” Chip asked.

“It’s right, and I’m away from home right now, too.”

“Where?”

“Little town called Orchid Beach, in a rented beach house.”

“Sounds like tough duty. What’s up?”

“I got a question for you. Is the president going to be in Florida next Monday?”

“Why? You want to take a shot at him?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Well, Harry, I can tell you that the president has no official visits outside Washington planned for Monday.”

“What about unofficial visits? Anything that’s not on the published schedule?”

“What’s this about, Harry?”

“I just need to know. It’s something I’m working on.”

“It sounds like something the Secret Service should be working on,” Chip replied.

“Come on, Chip, you know I’d call you if I thought there was a credible threat.”

“Do I?”

“Sure you do. I’m not about to get my tit caught in
that
wringer.”

“Let me put it this way, Harry: if the president had an unofficial visit to Florida planned for Monday, I couldn’t tell you about it.”

“I understand, Chip, but you could tell me if he
didn’t
have an unofficial visit planned, couldn’t you?”

“That depends.”

“All right, Chip, what’s this going to cost me?”

“The best dinner at the best restaurant in Miami in the company of the best-looking single female FBI agent in your office, the next time I’m down there.”

“Oh, so now I’m pimping for you, huh?”

“You think of it any way you like, Harry. That’s my price.”