Whistler's Angel (52 page)

Lockwood looked for a place where the bomb could be stashed. Near the engine would be good, but he could see no nook or cranny where the bomb would be completely out of sight. Better not trust to luck in this case, he decided. If Whistler did lift this hatch, he
w
ould spot it. Lockwood knew what he’d do. Stick it under Whistler’s bed. If he put it just under the foot of the bed, that was also just about where the fuel tank should be. He walked back to the stateroom. This was perfect, he thought. Very carefully, he set the timer.

He was on his way out when he saw a blinking light on a panel that held all kinds of instruments. He paused to look, but he was hesitant to touch any of the boat’s electronics. They all had black sign plates that said what they were, but he knew very little about such devices. Lockwood was afraid that he might mess something up and then Whistler would know someone had been here. Kaplan would know what these instruments were. He could call him and ask, but that would just bring more bitching. Kaplan needed a lesson in who’s boss around here. That could wait, though. One lesson at a time.

Lockwood leaned closer to that one blinking light. He saw that it said “Mailbox” beneath it. There were buttons nearby that said “Play” and “Delete.” Oh, hell, he thought. It’s just an answering machine. And if it was blinking that probably meant that Whistler didn’t know he’d been called. He decided to chance it. He pressed the “Play” button. In an instant he heard an electronic voice. It announced that two messages were waiting.

He played the first. It was from the girl’s mother. It only confirmed what Kaplan had known. She was on her way to the island. But the way she spoke, it also confirmed that this would be the first that Whistler knew of it. Lockwood hit delete, not entirely sure why, except that, in general, it seemed an advantage to know things that Whistler didn’t know.

He played the second message, this one from the father, this one much longer than the first. The father’s coming too; he would arrive before six. Beyond that, this message was a goldmine. Kaplan had been right; Whistler’d lied to his father and said he was nowhere near the shooting. Not only does his father now know that he was lying, his father has doped out that Aubrey and Poole are connected with Joshua Crow. Or at least he suspects it. He doesn’t sound sure. He sounds like he thinks they could not be so dumb as to want to pop someone like Ragland.

The father had also somehow figured out that this boat must have a tracker on it somewhere. He says find it, get rid of it, then move the boat out; keep it away from the dock. The father then mentioned some other names. A woman’s name first. Olivia something. It sounded like Olivia Tory. The father thinks that Whistler must have met her in his travels, but he doesn’t say who the hell she is.

Lockwood tried to think, but the name drew a blank. The father also mentioned somebody named Bannerman. This Bannerman, he says, was sending some help…it sounded like to watch Whistler’s back. The father says that’s all; they’re not going to fight your battles, but they’ll be there in a couple of hours.

Lockwood looked at his watch. Two hours from when? It had to be from when they saw Whistler on the bridge, so that’s less than an hour from now at the most. The mother could get in even earlier.

Lockwood wondered why the father never mentioned the girl’s mother. You’d think he would have wanted them to meet her flight, but now they can’t because they don’t know she’s coming. So where was Whistler going when they saw him on the bridge? Can’t be to the airport. The hospital, maybe. Which would prove that he’s in bed with Ragland.

Lockwood hit “Delete” on that message as well. Now Whistler’s in the dark about a whole lot of things, especially about Aubrey and Poole. Hey, Mr. Aubrey…do you see what I just did? I just covered your ass again for you. And now I’m going to cover it once and for all. I’m going to finish this thing.

He was tempted to meet the mother’s flight himself just to see the look on her face. Hello again, lady, remember me? Remember when you threw me out of your house? Remember me standing with my foot on your neck after my cops shot your daughter? You and me, it’s time that we had a little talk. Like, for instance, what happened to those cops after that? Whistler killed them, right? Yeah, but him and who else? Who were these people who showed up in town and had all of us not knowing what hit us? Who was the one who caught Briggs at the airport? Who was the guy who snatched that Cherry Creek judge and scared him so shitless, he saw double?

But he wouldn’t meet her flight. No point. Let her come. She would have a look on her face soon enough when that bomb blows her ass out through the hatch.

Speaking of which…he climbed back out on deck. He walked to the stern
and leaned over the rail. He ran his fingers along a ridge that was formed by the trim on the transom. His fingers found the tracker. It was still there, glued tight, where Kaplan said it would be. Not that it would matter much longer.

His cell phone chirped. It had to be Kaplan. He hit a button and asked, “Are they back?”

Kaplan’s voice said, “No, but get out of there now. It’s Leslie, the barmaid; she just drove in. She’s got to be headed for that boat.”

“What for? They’re not here.”

“Vern…she wouldn’t know that. Don’t talk. Just get off that boat fast.”

The phone on Whistler’s boat was ringing again. He’d have liked to stay and listen to who else might be calling, but Kaplan was right; he would have to get off. He glanced around the dock. He no longer saw Crow. He said into his cell phone, “Crow’s not here. He with you?”

“No, he’s not.”

“You don’t see him?”

“Oh…damn. Yeah, I see him. Top of the ramp. It’s too late; the girl’s gotta walk past him.”

“Okay, be cool. She won’t recognize him. She won’t know me either. I’m coming.”

“Vernon…Oh, Christ. He’s walking up to her now. He’s talking to her. Why’s he talking to her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. I bet it’s your cult priestess shit. He’s grabbing her, Vernon. Get up there.”

Kate Geller’s final leg, from Savannah to Hilton Head, was only a twenty
minute hop. Upon landing, she went to a phone in the terminal and tried once again to call the boat.

And again, no answer. She got the machine. She hung up without leaving a message. If she had, she reasoned, it might only cause confusion. They would have played the message, God only knows when, and perhaps be on their way to this airport after she had already been met.

She thought it best to sit tight, to wait for Harry’s two friends, these women he was having flown in.

“They’re your protection,” he said. “You’re to do as they say. Get used to it. It comes with knowing me.”

He didn’t really say, “Get used to it, Kate.” He would never be that disrespectful. And of course she knew that she’d long been protected. Those snipers he’d posted throughout Cherry Creek…whether real or a bluff…did protect her. And then the twins, who were certainly real. They’d pop up out of nowhere in the damnedest places, but they no longer bothered her quite as much. She was almost beginning to enjoy them.

She understood it. She did. This need for protection. But she hadn’t been nice to Harry at all. She’d said, “Then I’m better off not knowing you.”

What a bitch. That wasn’t fair. They were both upset. Especially Harry, being so far away and not knowing what Adam had got himself into. In the end, she’d bet, it would probably be nothing. A misunderstanding. Two parents who panicked. Adam and Claudia were probably on some beach. They would all get together; she and Harry would feel foolish, then they’d break out a bottle of wine and forget it.

Speaking of wine, she wouldn’t mind a glass now, but she’d probably better stick with something lighter. She went to the snack bar, bought some hot tea to go, then walked back to the airport’s departure lounge. There was only one lounge. It served all the flights. She would sit and wait for these two women to arrive. Harry said that their names were Molly and Carla. He said that she’d like them. No…he said she’d like Molly. He had trouble finding the right word for Carla. “Unusual’ was the best he could do.

She found a copy of the New York Times that someone had left in the lounge. That someone had left the crossword partly done with at least two mistakes that she could see. She pulled a pen from her purse and went to work on it.

Another ten minutes had hardly gone by when she heard a plane coming in. Soon it taxied up to the gate. She saw no airline markings; it was a private plane, one of those with a tail that seemed too large for it. So soon, she wondered? Harry said a half-hour. She watched as the door of the plane swung open and she waited for two women to step out.

But its passengers weren’t women. Two men emerged from it. From their dress, they were businessmen or lawyers. The first of them was young, very large, short blond hair. He carried a briefcase in one hand. The second was older, perhaps forty, and bald. The second one stood with his back to her. They waited at the door as a third man appeared. This third man handed a crutch to the bald one. The third man was small, rather homely, enfeebled. He needed their assistance to manage the steps as he climbed from the executive jet. Once down, he moved stiffly, bow-legged, with a limp.

The three seemed to be waiting. They made no move toward the lounge. Their pilot and co-pilot joined them for a moment. They had a brief discussion. The two pilots reboarded. Kate’s eyes returned to her puzzle.

She’d been watching their arrival, although not with much interest, but something about them was troubling her. She looked up again and as she did, the bald-headed man raised an arm and he waved it, gesturing toward someone outside. A moment later, a car pulled up. It was black, a big sedan, a Lincoln Town Car. The driver got out; he carried a clipboard; he handed it to the bald man who scribbled something on it. A rental car, she realized. Delivered to planeside. The small one must be someone important. The bald one turned and, for the first time, Kate was able to see his face clearly.

His skin. It shone. It was almost like parchment. She realized with a shock that she’d seen that man before. She’d seen him when his face appeared normal, if unpleasant, and she’d seen him when he had very little face left. She’d held his hand. She’d comforted him. She’d told him that she forgave him.

His name…what was it? Yes, Briggs. It was Briggs.

During that moment of recognition, the three men got into the car. The younger one with the briefcase climbed behind the wheel. And Briggs – if that was Briggs – held the rear door open and helped the one with the limp climb in. He then stepped around, got in the front; they drove off. The man who had delivered their car to them was approaching the departure lounge door.

Kate stood as he entered. She raised a hand. She said “Excuse me. That man who just signed…”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Those men who just flew in. I think I know one of them. Might his name, by any chance, be Briggs?”

The man looked at his clipboard. He shook his head. “He initialed the receipt, but it’s just a scrawled line. Could be Briggs, but it could be almost anything.”

“But…wouldn’t you know who rented the car?”

“Well, I know they’re government, but that’s about all. The order comes in on a twelve-digit code. We don’t even have to bill. It just gets paid.”

“I don’t suppose you know where they’re staying.”

“No, ma’am, I surely don’t. He’s a friend, did you say?”

“I…knew him before he got hurt.”