Unacceptable Risk (32 page)

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Sam was methodically clenching his abdominal muscles; he had learned to work them while sitting at a table. Regular exercise was more a matter of adjusting to tedious consistency than it was dressing for exercise and hanging around the health club ab machines. He wore a hat of Scotch-plaid wool out of the 1950s and sported a carefully trimmed blond beard and sat in a corner with a glass of red wine, an old vines Napa Valley Zinfindel, and a copy of the
Wall Street Journal.
With Brie cheese and smoked-salmon salad—the salmon was very moist and lightly smoked to perfection—it was hard to beat, and as the glorious flavors mingled on his palate, he was alert to every nuance of his environment.

About one hundred feet away sat Michael and Grady and the entire entourage with bodyguards spread about. None of them would have a clue that he was anywhere near, though his dark complexion in contrast to his beard color might cause an observer to wonder just how tan an Anglo could get. His shoes were ungodly-looking saddle backs, his trousers nondescript dark wool without pleats, and he had a visible paunch with rolls like footballs. He wore a gold watch that was a cheap knockoff of a gawdy Rolex, and he looked the part of a fat, self-indulgent businessman taking it easy while his minions worked their asses off to give him the good life.

He noticed when Michael rose from the table and watched him coming toward the foyer and the restrooms at the far end. There was a long line of chefs and gorgeous foodstuffs on display and a short section that was an oyster bar for those inclined. Sam was inclined, but oysters weren't his concern of the moment: Michael Bowden was.

As he watched the man talking to Michael, Sam slipped the 10mm Glock from his shoulder holster and placed it under a newspaper in his lap. The move wasn't quite slick enough because a young woman seated nearby had eyes grown wide with fear. Quickly Sam flopped open a gold shield that he carried for just such occasions and she seemed to calm slightly. Sam memorized the stranger's appearance, the brown close-cropped hair, the mustache, the thin lips, and the lack of animation in the face. The man was probably a very linear no-nonsense type. He had a wedding ring, an expensive three-button suit, good shoes. It was no ordinary encounter, but neither did it seem like a setup for a grab.

Yodo stepped away obviously at Michael's insistence. Both men appeared intense, concentrating on their conversation. They had been talking for at least a couple of minutes.

It was out of the corner of his eye that Sam caught the most interesting action. An old man in the waiting area folded his newspaper and rose. By the way he folded the paper, two ends to the middle and then again, and placed it under his arm, and the way he rose and his bearing as he stood, Sam knew him by heart. There was a great tendency for spooks to do as Sam had done and to go the Santa Claus route. Add fat, age, hair, and a hat. Voila.

By the time Michael returned to the table, they were ready for more Amazon stories.

"Let me get you something else," Rebecca said. "How about some salmon?"

"Sounds delicious, but I have ordered up some catfish filets."

"All this rich food must seem strange if you're used to manioc, jungle fruit, rice, beans, and fish."

"I see the things in magazines and I remember what I ate as a child. You know like pizza, spaghetti, giant hamburgers. Western food is in the large cities but I often pass on that. We have beef now and then from ranches on the Maranon and once I made a pizza for my friends on the river. Everyone loved it. They ate too much and got sick. So that was the last pizza. If I am not too busy working, I mix many fruits and make a compote and use a little pepper or curry and put it on the fish. When I get to California, I will try all sorts of what you call international cuisine for a little while. But I think I will always like fruit, fish, and vegetables. Actually, my favorite thing about the United States is its vegetables."

They talked on about life in the rain forest and what it was like to paddle around water-filled villages built on stilts. Everyone listened and asked questions until the middle of the afternoon and then the group broke up. Michael and Grady would return to the publishing house in their own cab, but for the moment they were taking a breather and standing in the corner looking at the wine. Although Michael did not know a great deal about wine, he knew he liked drinking it.

"I'm thinking I would like to go be bait in California and start my work. I thought maybe you could come with me."

Grady paused and he could tell she was thinking.

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. "You are one hot guy. The kind of guy girls wrap themselves around in their sleep. Right now I have some thinking to do in my life. I need to get back to California and see my boyfriend. I haven't really resolved my situation there. I think I need to be in LA to think things over and I know you want to go up north to the forests." She paused. "I know you'll return to the depths of the Amazon before too long and I haven't figured that out. Maybe while I'm in LA, you could find a place to live in California. Then maybe, who knows?"

"I see," Michael said, determined to look cheery. "Well, maybe Gaudet will come and find me and we can end all this one way or the other."

"Don't say that. It needs to end our way."

Once back in his room, Michael found a slow depression settling over him. Perhaps the man in the restaurant was telling the truth. Perhaps Grady was part of an elaborate trap. After a few minutes of mulling it over, he conceded that he couldn't know for certain about Sam, but Grady he was sure of. It wasn't hard to imagine Sam having more on his agenda than he was letting on to Grady.

All this suspicion was troubling; Michael was not used to it Perhaps he was influenced by Grady's rebuff more than he ought to be. Not knowing what else to do, he called Rebecca, who was in his view a wise woman.

"You know the young woman Grady."

"Yes?"

"She is leaving for LA soon. I will be going to northern California, to the wilderness."

"You sound a little forlorn."

"I guess I was enjoying her company."

"She was certainly enjoying yours."

"Really?"

"Take it from me."

"You know some things are not meant to be. She is maybe for me a
Chullachaqui."

"Which is?"

"The natives believe that sometimes you run into a person in the rain forest that is really a spirit. To figure it out, you look at their right foot. If it isn't a hoof then they are flesh and blood. Maybe she is a product of my imagination created from a life-and-death situation." He smiled into the handset. "I know of course that she is as real as you and I, but maybe I have made of her something in my mind that she is not."

"Maybe she has done the same. Maybe she's afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should try to find out," Rebecca suggested.

"I'll think about that. You're a good friend. I have something else I needed to speak with you about. Do you know a law firm called... let me find it... Binkley, Hart, and Rove?"

"Of course. They're huge."

"And reputable?"

"As reputable as a big New York law firm can be. You'll have to pardon my cynicism. They are very reputable."

Michael received the call shortly after speaking with Rebecca.

"Have you thought over our offer to meet? We would like to meet the day after tomorrow at six in the evening."

"I said I would call. Have I called?"

"We would like some assurance that you will be there."

"Or what?"

"We will need to do business with someone else. You will miss out. We'll wait for you at six." The man hung up.

Michael was weary of people telling him what to do, of being followed, of having bodyguards, of being the bait It did not feel as if he were a free man. It was troubling that these unknown, undefined people knew his comings and goings even down to the restaurant selected by the publishing house. Notwithstanding the fancy law firm, he was suspicious of their intent, and their identity. Greed was a powerful force, and he wasn't sure he trusted people motivated by greed more than those, like Sam, motivated by emotion or revenge.

Michael didn't want to be part of any plot but one of his own making. It was as simple as that.

He thought about the proposed meeting time: 6:00 p.m. It seemed a little late in the day. Or was it? He considered calling Grady. He was less inclined to call Sam because he wanted to keep his options open. Although he had resolved himself to helping catch Gaudet, he wasn't sure he wanted to do everything else on Sam's agenda. This was not the Amazon and the rules were different. Still, he didn't want to change to fit somebody else's rules. For years he had made it in the jungle by himself and he had decided he would continue to live his life pretty much in that fashion. Talking with Grady, on the other hand... After a few thoughtful moments he decided the situation made a perfect excuse to see her.

At that moment his phone rang. When he answered, it was Richard Lyman.

"A Dr. Raval called. He was very secretive and mysterious. He asked if I thought you could meet him in Manhattan. I didn't know what to say, but I said I thought you could. Of course I didn't tell him that you are already there. He says he could meet you on any of the next three evenings at five at the Christopher Street subway station for the one or nine train. It's the side of the station that serves trains coming from lower Manhattan—from the area of the financial district. If you want to meet him there, he says he will explain through Rebecca. He says send a message through Rebecca or otherwise to confirm. I didn't understand the 'or otherwise,' but he said you would."

After reassuring his friend that everything was okay, Michael hung up. He noticed that his heart was pounding.

Michael called Rebecca.

"I need a confidential favor. Very confidential."

"Of course you have it. There is more intrigue in your little finger than in my whole life. Please don't think me gauche if I tell you it's really fun."

"I need you to write another e-mail."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Send an e-mail to macaquemania at hotmail.com."

Will meet tomorrow as per your last. I will be with a blond young woman. She is a safe friend. There will also be bodyguards. But we will talk in private, and when I approach, I will leave all others behind. Perhaps you have ideas on how and where to meet. Anyplace in Manhattan is good for me.

Rebecca sent the e-mail and within ten minutes was back on the phone with a response.

I
will be at the Christopher Street subway station by the newsstand near the entrance at 5:00 P.M. wearing a long coat with a white carnation. You watch from Starbucks. When you see me, come to the doorway of Starbucks and pause just outside. Put on your gloves. If I remove the carnation from my lapel, then follow me. I will go to the doorway of a large apartment building. You follow. Leave all other persons at least one hundred feet distant. You and I will go inside the building for privacy. Once we are inside, your bodyguards may wait anywhere outside the building. If you see anyone suspicious or strange who looks like they might have an interest in our business, walk back to the Lutheran church. Go inside and sit in a pew. If you don't hear from me in twenty minutes leave and I will contact you again. Stay safe. I believe we are both in the gravest danger.

"I think you should call the police," Rebecca remarked.

"No. He's only a scientist. I already have people who can call the police."

"He doesn't sound like a scientist. And he says you are in the gravest danger."

"He's right, Rebecca. You've done enough for me now. Thank you for your help. Really."

"Of course. But—"

"Rebecca, where could I go that would allow me to return to the Christopher Street station that he describes?"

"You're not going to listen to me, are you?"

"I have bodyguards. I have people who know the police. It's all taken care of."

"Well, if you're sure." She sighed, obviously thinking it over. "You're staying in Greenwich Village, I take it."

"Yes."

"You could go down to Wall Street, lower Manhattan."

"Why would I go there?"

"Oh, an excuse. I get it. Uhm, well, you're an explorer, a
National Geographic-type
guy. Abercrombie and Fitch has a store down there at the South Street Seaport shopping mall."

"Has everybody heard of Abercrombie and Fitch?"

"Most people."

"What do they sell?"

"They used to sell things for jungle expeditions. You could be excused for thinking they still do."