Long Way Down (11 page)

He went to the passenger side of the van and pulled the door handle. It popped open, almost without sound, and the interior dome light flashed in his eyes. He reached into the door jam, ran his fingers along the surface until he felt a button, and pressed it. The light went off, and he stood for about thirty seconds, listening to his heart pound in his ears, wondering if anyone had seen him. A bead of perspiration rolled down his cheek.

With his free hand, he reached in, snapped open the glove box, and felt around inside. An envelope aroused his interest. Taking it, he closed the glove box and pushed the van door shut.

He went past the building along the outside of the fence. The property ran right up to the sand dunes where the surf lapped just a few feet away. The back yard, if it could be called that, was illuminated by the glow of a dim, yellow light mounted on the rear eave of the building, and two large dish antennas stood in the dirt like twin sentries. Between the roar and hiss of the surf, Sam heard a whirring noise as one of the big antennas moved.

A plastic chair sat next to the wall of the building, and cigarette butts lay in a pile underneath. Sam wondered what could be going on inside. It obviously was some kind of communications facility, but it could be a perfectly legitimate business enterprise. He thought about the envelope from the van and stepped behind the trunk of a large pine. He opened the envelope, unfolded the piece of paper inside and turned on the GPS unit. Faint markings of a government form were visible in the glow of the screen. It looked different from a Florida vehicle registration, but it had to be the same kind of document. He searched in the dim light for several seconds before finding the name of the vehicle’s owner: NeoWorld Corporation, the same as with La Salle’s Jaguar. So much for the idea of the legitimate enterprise. NeoWorld, the new company with almost a billion dollars in assets. Sam turned off the GPS unit and returned it and the papers to his pocket.

J.T. had hit the nail on the head by interpreting the numbers in the e-mail as transposed GPS coordinates. The e-mail confirmed delivery of the dish antennas and whatever else was inside the building. But what did it have to do with La Salle’s project?

An air conditioning unit kicked on a few feet away and screamed like a wounded animal. Sam jerked at the sudden noise, and then felt foolish when he realized what the sound was. He also felt angry at himself for flying all the way to Grand Cayman on a hunch, and not learning anything of real value. There might be lots of places like this owned by NeoWorld that had absolutely nothing to do with Candi Moran’s misfortunes.

Sam thought about the taxi and pressed the illumination button on his watch. It had been more than half an hour. He wished he had paid more attention to the time, because the driver probably had gone.

Stepping into the trees, Sam found a dead limb, threw it onto the roof of the building, and hurried back to the side of the van. The limb made a loud thump when it hit, and probably reverberated inside. A few seconds later, the door opened and two men came out arguing.

“It’s probably just an animal. Something came out here last night and ate the chicken bones I threw out.”

“I don’t care. We must check it out. And I will not remind you again to close the door when you go out to smoke. If you cannot handle the job I will tell your boss to send someone else.” The second voice had an accent that sounded Russian, and Sam wondered if it belonged to Comrade Danilov.

“I can handle the job. All you do is flip a few switches and stand watch.”

“Yes, but I will be gone tomorrow and you will be alone. This is more important than you can imagine. If it is compromised we might have nothing.”

“Compromised? What’s the big deal? Why would anybody be interested in all that computer junk? You act like we’re sitting on a gold mine or something.”

The Russian paused, as if trying to decide what to do. After several seconds, he sighed and said, “Just do as I say, Mr. Cicero. I will speak to La Salle in the morning.” His voice had an edge, and Cicero opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He turned and stomped toward the rear of the building. The Russian shook his head and went back inside. Cicero came back in a couple of minutes, mumbling something under his breath. He went inside and slammed the door, and Sam heard the snap of a lock.

The Russian sounded worried about someone breaking into the building. But he would be gone tomorrow, leaving only the wise ass to stand guard. If Sam wanted to get inside, he would be better off to wait until then. It still wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to figure out how to get over the fence without setting off any alarms, he would have to deal with the man and he’d need some tools. But at least it gave him some time to figure out his next step.

Sam took one last look at the building and turned to leave. Something moved in the path leading from the highway, and he dived for cover behind a bush where he could still see the path. A silhouette of a tall man made a sudden stop and scrambled into the trees. The sound of crunched leaves reached Sam’s ears a few seconds later, and seemed to be advancing in his direction. Running his hand through the leaves, Sam found a tree limb and picked it up. The man kept coming, now just a few feet away. He had to see Sam if he passed, especially if he turned on a flashlight. Sam stood and raised the limb for a home run swing.

The leaf crunching stopped and a voice whispered, “Sam, is that you?”

It was too dark to see the man’s face, but Sam recognized his voice: J.T.

“You almost got yourself a concussion,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

“Probably the same thing you are.”

Sam had hoped J.T. would stay out of this, but right now he just wanted a ride away from here. “You have a car?”

“Yeah, parked back there in the woods. I got here right before you pulled up in the taxi and didn’t want to come down and screw things up, but after the taxi left I wondered if something might have happened to you. You find out anything about this place?”

“Yeah, I think so. Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you about it.”

They went to the rental car and J.T. backed into the highway and headed south. Sam told him about the vehicle registration and the conversation he had overheard.

“I planned to go back there tomorrow. Now that you’re here, we can both go, if you’re game.”

“Sure, you know me, man,” J.T. said and smiled in the glow of the dash lights.

J.T. hadn’t changed much in the year or so since Sam had seen him, his hair a little more gray and slightly shorter, but still long enough for a pony tail. He had put on a few pounds, more like muscle than fat, and he still looked pretty dangerous, especially when he smiled.

They checked in at the Marriot, which Sam had passed in the taxi from the airport. J.T. had an overnight bag and a portable computer with him. Sam had only the clothes he wore. They got their room keys and started toward the elevator.

“How about a drink before we go up?” J.T. said.

Sam looked across at the bar and nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They sat at a table in the corner. A waiter came and took their beer orders.

Sam knew why J.T had come to Grand Cayman; there was the possibility that the facility would lead to some of the billion or so in assets of the NeoWorld Corporation. If anyone could liberate some of that from NeoWorld’s offshore deposits, John Templeton Smith III would find a way. Sam only worried that if there happened to be a fork in the road, one road leading to the money, the other to keeping Sam alive, Sam couldn't be sure which road J.T. would take. He'd decided long ago, that as long as he knew the man’s motivation and planned for it, he would be okay. No doubt, Sam could use his help. He'd had the nagging feeling that if he did get a peek inside that facility, he might not know what to look for. J.T. would know. So...what was he worried about?

Not long ago, J.T. had killed a man about to shoot holes in Sam. J.T. had ended up with something worth a lot of money, but he had come through when Sam needed him. The beer came and Sam took a long pull on the bottle. He set it down and looked across the table.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Sure, buddy, anytime.”

They talked a few more minutes and Sam ordered a bottle of gin to take with him. Back in his room, he called Candi Moran at the Palma Hotel, but got no answer. That bothered him, so he called back and asked for the young desk clerk, who said Candi had left no messages. Sam told him he had another fifty for him if he would give him some information. The clerk said she left the hotel a couple of hours before, about 9:30, with two men.

“I remember because she was hot, even more than when you brought her in last night. I watched her pass the desk and she said, ‘Where are we going?’ The man next to her glanced at me, like I might be trying to eavesdrop or something, and told me to mind my own business. He grabbed her by the arm and they left. I didn’t think too much about it, because we get a lot of characters in here.”

Sam thanked him, hung up the phone, and thought about leaving for Miami, but remembered the time and guessed there wouldn't be any flights out after midnight. He also thought about the men, probably La Salle’s employees, and wondered how they’d learned Candi's location. Candi had been angry when Sam told her about going to Grand Cayman, but he didn’t think she would call La Salle. On the other hand, she and La Salle did share some history that she failed to mention. He decided he couldn't do much about it in the middle of the night.

****

DR. FIXX, of the Fixx-It Animal Hospital, took off his white jacket and hung it on the coat rack. He glanced in the mirror and smoothed his mustache. Amy, his pretty assistant, should be just about ready by now, after the triple dose of animal tranquilizers he’d slipped into her pop can. She’d said she was sleepy and Dr. Fixx told her to take a nap in the back room while he finished cleaning up.

A noise came from the outer office. Fixx glanced at his watch: 7:40.
Another customer at this hour?
A man with spiked blond hair stumbled through the double doors, hopping on one leg, and pointed a long handgun at Dr. Fixx’s chest. Fixx thought his pounding heart might burst. He’d never seen a gun that big, especially one pointed at him.

“You gotta sew this on for me,” the man said, pulling something from his shirt pocket. It resembled a piece of bloody calamari.

“What
is
that?”

“It’s my ear, you dope.” The man sat on the examination table, his gauze-wrapped stub of a leg sticking straight out.

  Dr. Fixx wished he had left at closing time, rather than stay around and try to get Amy into bed. He glanced at the door to the back room. The drugs should keep her sedated for awhile. He could sew the piece of ear onto the man’s head and be done in ten minutes.

Fixx stretched on a pair of surgical gloves. “How did this happen?”

“That’s none of your business, just start sewing.”

Dr. Fixx gave him a couple of shots of local anesthetic, retrieved a needle and suture material from his cabinet, and started reattaching the piece of ear.

“That hurts, man, give me another shot.”

“All right, all right, just hold on.”

Dr. Fixx looked at the blood on his gloved hands and sighed. He filled another syringe, stuck the needle an inch or so below where he had administered the last shot, and pressed the plunger. It would have been better if he had just given the man a knock-out shot and called the police, except for his drugged assistant. He had wanted only to make her carefree, but had given her too much. Anyway, he couldn't call the police, so he would just hurry up and sew the ear back on and maybe the guy would leave. Who cared if it fell off tomorrow?

Dr. Fixx did the work quickly, and inserted the last suture a couple of minutes later. He tied it off and snipped the excess thread. He stepped back and assessed his handiwork. It did look something like an ear if he squinted his eyes a little.

GRIMES LOOKED sideways into the mirror the doctor handed him and grinned at the bloody reflection.

“That ain’t half bad.”

“I’m glad you like it. Now, will you please leave so I can tidy up here?”

Grimes looked through the glass door of the medicine cabinet. Hundreds of little pill boxes sat inside.

“Yeah, I’ll leave, just as soon as you sack up everything in that cabinet.”

“You can’t take my medicines. They’re prepared for animals and could harm you, maybe render you unconscious.”

Grimes pointed the gun at him.

“Alright, alright, the medicine is yours. Hold on.”

The doctor found a cardboard box and began stacking the little boxes inside.

“Stand back,” Grimes said. He hopped off the examination table and bumped the doctor out of the way. Reaching his arm into the cabinet, he raked everything off the shelf into the box. He did the same with the other shelves and sat back on the table to look inside the box.

“What’s this stuff good for?”

The doctor told him that the blue boxes contained pain killers and the others mostly antibiotics, but something in his smile made Grimes wonder if vets have to take the Hippocratic oath, like human doctors. He quickly forgot the thought when the back door to the room opened and a young woman wearing only a tank top and bikini underwear pushed through. She looked at Grimes, then at the doctor and her eyes narrowed.

“You drugged me, you slime bag.”

Her words came out slurred.

The doctor glanced at Grimes and then at the girl and grinned.

“Now, Amy, I did no such thing,” he said, shaking his finger in her direction.

The doctor did it all right, but Amy
was
pretty fine to look at, standing there in her skivies. As a matter of fact, he might just have to rescue her from this pervert.

“I’ll take you home if you get in my van outside,” Grimes said.

Amy looked at him, trying to focus her eyes, and a slow smile grew across her sleepy face.

“Are you that rock singer? I can’t think of the name.” She sounded like a teenager.