Assumed Identity

11

Buchanan leaned against the railing on the dock. Surrounded by the activity of tourists and fishermen, he wouldn’t be noticed as he watched the launch cutting through the green-blue water, passing cabin cruisers and fishing boats, returning to the three-decked, two-hundred-foot-long gleaming white yacht that was anchored beyond the other vessels, a hundred yards offshore. The overhead sun was now behind him, so he didn’t have to squint from the reflection of sunlight off the Gulf of Mexico. He had no trouble seeing that among the three crew members returning to the yacht, a gorgeous redheaded woman was chatting agreeably with them, one of the crew members allowing her to put her hand on the wheel of the launch’s controls.

As they boarded the yacht, Buchanan nodded, glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, and strolled away. Or seemed to. The fact is that as he wandered along the Key West dock, he persistently, subtly studied the yacht, pretending to take pictures of the town, using the telephoto lens on Holly’s camera as a telescope. After all, Holly might get in trouble over there, although she’d been adamant that she was able to take care of herself. Even so, if she came out onto one of the decks and looked agitated, he had told her he would get to her as fast as he could.

Near five o’clock, the launch left the yacht again, coming toward shore: the same three crew members and Holly. She got out on the dock, kissed one of the men on the cheek, ruffled another’s hair, hugged the third, and walked with apparent contentment into town.

Buchanan reached their small, shadowy motel room a minute before she did. Worry made the time seem longer.

“How did it go?” he asked with concern as she came in.

She took off her sandals and sat on the bed, looking exhausted. “They sure had trouble keeping their hands to themselves. I had to stay on the move. I feel like I’ve been running a marathon.”

“Do you want a drink of water? How about some of this fruit I bought?”

“Yeah, some fruit would be nice. An orange or. . Great.” She sipped from the Perrier he brought her. “Is this what you call a debriefing?”

“Yes. If this was business.”

“Isn’t it? You make the agent you’ve recruited feel comfortable and wanted. Then you. .”

“Hey, not everything I do is calculated.”

“Oh?” Holly studied him for a moment. “Good. In that case, the yacht. There are fifteen crew members. They take turns coming ashore. They think Drummond’s-to quote one of the crew members-a domineering asshole. He scares them. While he’s aboard. But when the cat’s away, the mice play, sometimes bringing women aboard. To show off the yacht and get even with Drummond for the way he abuses them.”

Buchanan set a pencil and a notepad on the dingy table. “Draw a diagram for the layout of each room on each deck. I need to know where everything is, where and when the crew eat and sleep, every detail you can think of. I know you’re tired, Holly. I’m sorry, but this is going to take a while.”