Long Way Down (12 page)

Grimes smiled and said, “Yeah, baby, that’s me. Get in the van and I’ll sing you a song when I come out.”

“Cool,” Amy said, her voice dreamy. She didn’t seem to notice that he had only one leg and had a gun with a two-inch noise suppressor attached to the barrel. She turned and staggered toward the door, but glanced back at the doctor and said, “You won’t get away with this, you know. Just wait.”

“Here, take this with you.”

Grimes handed her the box of drugs. She took it and went out the door. Grimes grabbed a towel and wiped down the things he remembered touching.

“What are you doing?” the doctor said. But then he seemed to realize his situation and his face contorted. “No, you can’t--”

Grimes pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. It made a sound not unlike that of an air-powered pellet gun, and a red spot the size of a nickel splattered on the veterinarian’s forehead. Amy was right, the doctor wasn’t going to get away with it. His body pitched backward and dropped to the floor, and the man who looked like a rock singer with one leg turned and hopped out of the room.

Chapter 12

S
AM AND J.T. ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant at seven the next morning and checked out a half hour later. They got in the car and J.T. drove up the highway to the place they had been the night before. He went beyond the driveway and pulled the car into a brushy spot hidden from the road, but with a clear view of the entrance. They sat and waited.

“I thought about this last night after I got to the room,” J.T. said. “If I can get inside for a couple of minutes, I can install a program on their computer that'll automatically send a copy of everything they do to my Internet site.”

“Won’t they know it’s doing that?”

“Not unless they’re looking for it. It’ll do the work in the background. But, like I said, I have to get inside and get access to their computer for a few minutes.”

Sam looked out the windshield and watched a car pass the entrance on the highway, going east.

“I think I know a way in,” Sam said. “The guy’s been getting takeout for his meals. After Danilov is gone, he'll probably have food delivered. If that’s the case, we’ll intercept the delivery and I’ll take it down to the fence and get him to come outside. While he’s out, you can slip in and do your thing.”

“It's worth a try.”

At a few minutes past nine, a taxi turned into the entrance and went down the driveway to the facility. The taxi returned five minutes later with Danilov in the back seat, probably headed for the airport. Sam expected a food delivery about noon, but that didn’t happen. The car heated up, even though shrouded in shade from the trees, and Sam's shirt stuck to his chest from the perspiration. Hunger struck about one-thirty and they rode to a store down the road for a sandwich and a drink, and a chance to run the air conditioner. They returned to their place in the trees within ten minutes and sat there for another hour before a car with a pizza sign on top passed the entrance. The driver, an old man, stopped, backed up and turned in. Sam and J.T. got out of the car, hurried to the edge of the driveway and waited for the car to reach them.

Sam held up his hand and the car eased to a stop. He stepped to the window and said, “Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”

The man looked at the bill stuck to the pizza box and said, “Are you Mr. Cicero?” He spoke with an English accent, like someone of nobility.

“Yeah, I’m Cicero. I thought I’d take a walk. How much do I owe you?”

Nobility looked at the box again and read off the price of the pizza. “And it’s a long way up here, don’t you know.”

Despite the smooth voice, he looked a little threadbare, and Sam speculated that he might be a nightclub performer down on his luck.

“It sure is, and this is for your trouble.” Sam handed the man a big bill.

The man smiled and pushed the pizza through the window.

“That’s a pretty nifty sign you have on top,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t mind having one of those for my den. What would you charge me for that?”

Nobility raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t think the sign is for sale.”

Sam pulled a larger bill from his pocket and held it out.

“How about this? You could always tell your boss it blew away.”

The man seemed to consider that for a half-second and then the money disappeared into his wrinkled hand.

“Take the bloody thing.”

Sam handed the pizza box to J.T., unscrewed the mechanism holding the sign in place, and pulled it from the roof of the car. Nobility tossed an electrical wire out the window and backed his car out of the driveway. They went back to the rental car and Sam fastened the sign on top. He stood back and looked at it. “What do you think?”

“Not bad. You don’t see many new cars like this delivering pizza, but the guy probably won’t notice.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Sam got into the driver’s seat, put on his sunglasses and started the engine. J.T. lay down in the back seat. They eased through the scrub and trees and turned into the driveway toward the facility. Daylight made the path look different, and it seemed much shorter than when Sam had walked it the night before. The van sat in the same place, and Sam pulled the car past the far side until he could see the door of the building, leaving most of the car hidden behind the van. He lowered the windows, turned off the engine and blew the car horn.

“Stay where you are until he comes out the door,” Sam said, “in case there’s a camera that isn’t visible from here.”

Nothing happened for a minute or so and Sam blew the horn again, this time standing on it for several seconds. He waited and listened to the whisper of the surf in the distance, the breeze from the Caribbean cooling his sweaty face. The door of the building finally popped open and the man Danilov had called Cicero came out. He saw the car, glanced up the driveway and the woods beyond, and looked back at Sam.

“Bring it to the gate.”

“Can’t. I hurt my leg yesterday. You’ll have to come to the car.”

Cicero rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t they send somebody that can do the job?”

Sam glanced in his side mirror and saw the back door of the car open. J.T. got out, squatted next to the car and closed the door with barely a sound. He duck-walked to the rear of the van.

“I told ‘em I needed to be off for a few days,” Sam said, “but two guys quit and they didn’t have nobody else.”

“Okay, hold on.” Cicero sauntered to the gate and unlocked it with a key from his pocket. “Tell them I’m not gonna do this again, okay? Next guy delivers pizza here’ll have to bring it to the gate.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell ‘em. We should have another person in a day or two.”

Cicero went through the gate to the car window. Sam looked beyond him and saw J.T. pass and enter the building.

“Okay, gimme the pizza.”

“Ten-ninety-five,” Sam said.

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a ten and a one and handed the bills to Sam.

“It’s a long way up here, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but I ain’t giving you a tip. You didn’t even bring it to the gate like I asked.”

“I told you, I’m crippled.”

Cicero sighed and shook his head. “Crippled? I thought you said you hurt your leg yesterday.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You just said you’re crippled.”

“Yeah, as of yesterday.”

Cicero snapped his fingers and held out his hand. “Well gimme the pizza. I ain’t giving you no tip.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m not.”

Sam glanced at the door of the building. It had been only a minute or so.

“Did I say, ten-ninety-five? I meant thirteen-ninety-five.”

Cicero’s face twisted and his upper lip peeled back in a sneer.

“Hey, fella, I ain’t giving you no fourteen dollars for a pizza.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause that’s the price.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m gonna call the store and tell them what you tried to do to me.”

“Won’t matter,” Sam said, “the owner’s my uncle.”

“I don’t care, I’m still calling.”

“Well, looks like there’s nothing I can do about that,” Sam said.

Cicero balled his fists and narrowed his eyes.

“Listen, you gonna give me the pizza or not? If you ain’t, you better give me my money back or I’m gonna drag you out of that car and--”

“I told you I got a busted leg.”

“I don’t care, just give me my money.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? That would mean I came out here for nothing.”

Cicero reached for the door handle and then looked as if he thought better of it. He stepped back and took a deep breath.

“On second thought, just get out of here.”

He started to turn and the door of the building cracked open.

“Hey, wait,” Sam said.

Cicero turned back and said, “What?” His voice dripped with venom.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad. Here, take the pizza. I’ll make the tip on somebody else.”

Cicero had a confused look on his face, but he glanced at the pizza box, licked his lips and stepped back to the car window. He reached for the pizza, and when he did, J.T. sneaked through the gate and ducked down behind the van. He waited until Cicero started through the gate before he got into the back seat.

Cicero glanced at the car before going into the building. “Get outta here.”

Sam put the car in reverse, turned it around and drove away.

“What did you find?”

“About what you’d expect,” J.T. said, his voice shaky. “A high-powered computer and some fancy communications equipment in the end of the room nearest the door. On the other end was what looked like a couple of bedrooms and a little kitchen.”

“Did you install your program?”

“Sure, piece of cake,”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, you just sound a little strange.”

SAM AND J.T. went straight to the airport and bought tickets for the next flight to Miami, which didn’t leave until 6:20 PM. That gave them a couple of hours to kill. They found a table in the corner of the ice-cold airport lounge and ordered beer.

Sam leaned back in his chair and glanced at J.T., who had been unusually quiet after leaving the facility.

“How does this program of yours work?”

J.T. sighed. “Every time the computer issues a command, the program copies it to my website. If they access a file, it copies that too. All I have to do is access my site and see what’s there, for what it’s worth.”

The waiter brought the beer and poured it in tall glasses. Sam didn't speak again until he left the table. “What do you mean, ‘for what it’s worth’?”

“Well, I just don’t think they’re doing anything with offshore bank accounts in that building.”

“Why do you say that? You weren’t in there long enough to do much on that computer.”

“Yeah, but it wasn't the computer that tipped me off.”

“What, then?”

J.T. took a long swallow of beer, draining half the glass. He leaned his elbows on the table, rubbed his eyes with his fists, and looked up at Sam.

“There was no ceiling in the building. I could see all the way to the roof, and a panel on the seaward side looked like it could be slid back like a skylight in a car. Only it wasn’t a skylight.”

“So, what’s the big deal about an opening in the roof.”

J.T. shook his head and sighed. “That wouldn't be a big deal, but the stuff underneath might be.”

“Yeah, go on.”

“It looked a lot like a missile launcher.”

Chapter 13

W
IND AND rain pelted the plane on the flight home, and Sam and J.T. didn't arrive in Miami until after eight o’clock. They got through Customs without fanfare and went to Sam’s rental car in the covered parking area. Prince Alfred sat next to the driver’s door like a stone sentry.

“Hey, you have a new friend,” J.T. said.

“Yeah, he jumped in the car last night before I left and wouldn’t get out. I left him here eating hamburgers.”

Sam mentioned how the dog had chewed up La Salle’s goons.

“Man, this is a special dog. Look how his ears stand up and how steady his eyes are. He might have been a show dog or something. He have a name?”

“I’ve been calling him Prince Alfred, but I don’t know his real name.”

“Prince Alfred, huh? That fits pretty well.”

J.T. squatted next to the car and reached out his hand. Prince Alfred glanced at Sam and then went to J.T. as if they were old friends. J.T. opened the passenger door and the dog jumped in and over to the back seat, as if he had done it a hundred times before. Sam started the car and weaved his way out of the airport’s network of loops and access roads. He got onto Highway 836 and pointed the Chevy toward Miami Beach.

“I bet Prince Alfred is hungry.”

Sam glanced and saw J.T. rubbing the dog’s ears.

“Hey, you trying to steal my dog?”

“Your dog? You just said he’s a stray.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, he is, and he probably is hungry.”

After crossing the MacArthur Causeway, they turned north on Miami Beach and rode to a Burger King drive-through. They ordered three of the largest burgers on the menu and ate them on the way to the Palma Hotel. Prince Alfred jumped out when they arrived and stood by the car.

“They might have someone waiting here for me,” Sam said, “but it’s been an entire day, so I’m hoping they’ve given up.”

J.T. shrugged. “I’m not worried about it if you’re not.”

Sam thought he must be over his scare at the facility on Grand Cayman.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He retrieved two handguns from the trunk and gave one to J.T. They took the side entrance, avoiding the lobby, and went up the stairs to the fourth floor. No one waited in the hall, so they went to the room and inserted the card key. It still worked; that meant she hadn’t checked out. Sam nudged the door open with his foot and peered around the corner. The room appeared to be empty. He stepped inside with the 9mm extended and J.T. followed, easing the door closed behind him.

Sam went into the bathroom and found it empty as well. He put his gun in his pocket, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked around the room.