Choppy Water

30

Sykes sat at his dining table and surveyed his people. “Where’s Bess?” one of them asked.

“Good question. Not here yet.”

“That’s troubling.”

Bess strode in from the living room. “Don’t be troubled. Traffic accident on the road, that’s all.” She pulled up a chair.

“Good,” Sykes said. “How’d it go?”

“As planned,” somebody said. “As far as we can tell, they bought it, hook, line, and sinker. They’ll be wasting a lot of manpower guarding the hotel.”

“Where’s Eugene?” Sykes asked.

“Holed up at the apartment you rented. He’s moved in.”

“Good. We want him to be seen around the building and the neighborhood, to become a part of the wallpaper, so to speak.”

“He moved in with two suitcases of clothes that he’s worn once or twice.”

“Good. When he leaves we don’t want it to look like he’s fled the scene. We’ve sent him a couple of boxes of books and some little stuff to make it look like he’s staying awhile.Has he slept there yet?”

“Tonight’s his first night.”

“She’s not going to stay there forever,” Sykes said.

“We’ve caught sight of her working at a desk for periods of time. It’s a better shot from the roof than the hotel window.”

Bess was taking all this in, but not asking any questions. If Sykes felt she needed to know something, he’d tell her. She knew him well enough by now to know that.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Sykes said. “Eugene will carry in his case holding the rifle and the new silencer; he’ll do that this afternoon. He will wear cotton gloves the whole time he’s in the apartment. Before sunup tomorrow he will go to the roof and build himself a little nest in a corner, just enough to hide his presence. Once that’s up, he’ll get the rifle assembled and on its tripod. Then he will wait until she appears at the desk and fire four shots. Pulling the trigger once fires twice — the first two shots will weaken and penetrate the window and the second pull will kill with two head shots. Nobody in the building or the neighborhood will hear anything. The new silencer has been tested; it’s excellent, if I do say so.

“After the kill, he will take the rifle apart, pack it in the case, then take it down a floor to the rear fire escape and drop it from the top level into the garden, where it will be collected and taken away by Arnie. Then Eugene will return to his apartment. He will be dressed in pajamas and a robe and will make himself breakfast and leave the dishes in the sink. He will sit down and read the Washington Post until the first searchers arrive; he will greet them at the door with the newspaper in hand and let them have a look around and answer their questions. He will be curious about their reasons for calling, but they will tell him nothing. He will show them the Maryland driver’s license we furnished him with and the passport made by the same craftsman. They’ll leave him to his newspaper and go.

“Eugene will stay there for another day or two before walking away with nothing but his briefcase. We’ve paid two months’ rent and a security deposit, so the apartment won’t be looked at again until he fails to pay the rent. By that time, everybody will have forgotten about him. He won’t have a beard anymore, and that will help. There won’t be any of his fingerprints to be found, and not so much as a hair on the shoulder of a jacket. He will, in short, be untraceable.

“Also, no one here at this moment will leave this house until after Eugene checks out of his building, and I want all your cell phones on the table now.”

Bess unhesitatingly laid hers on the table, and it was collected with everyone else’s. “Have you provided any entertainment for us, Colonel?” she asked, getting a chuckle from the others.

“Yes, there’s the TV, and you may have the run of my library. Did you bring a suitcase, as directed?”

“Yes, it’s in the car.”

“Go and get it, then. Your room is the first on the right at the top of the stairs. You may as well put your things away.”

“Of course.” She got up, left the house, went to her car, and popped the trunk. She set her suitcase on the ground, then opened a side panel and extracted a burner phone and a .380 semiautomatic pistol, tucking the phone into a pocket of her jeans and the pistol into an ankle holster. Then she closed the trunk, walked back to the house, and started up the stairs.

“Just a minute,” a male voice said. She turned to find one of her companions, whose name was Earl, standing there. “Colonel’s orders: I’m to have a look in your suitcase.”

She handed the case over the rail and stood on the stairs while he placed it on a table, opened it, and searched it thoroughly. He closed it and returned it to her. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said, and continued to her room. Once inside, she duct-taped the pistol to the bottom of a desk drawer and retrieved her burner phone, sat down on the bed, and turned it on. It took a moment to boot up.

“Shit!” she said aloud. “No bars.” There was no cell service in this room; she’d have to try others. She tucked the instrument into her pocket, put away her clothes, then walked downstairs. The house was empty except for Elroy, who was working in the kitchen. She got a look at the phone in each room, and there were no bars showing in any of them.

She went back to the kitchen. “Where is everybody, Elroy?” she asked.

“They left with the colonel,” Elroy said. “Maybe gone to D.C.”

“All of them?”

“All the ones here at breakfast. I don’t know who’s in the bunkhouse.”

She left the house through the kitchen door and walked through the breezeway to the bunkhouse, which was empty, then she went back to the kitchen. “Elroy,” she said, “I’m going to take a little hike up the hill over there.” She jerked a thumb toward the hill where Eugene had been practicing his marksmanship. “Anybody asks, that’s where I can be found.”

“Okay,” Elroy said.

“Can you make me a sandwich, please?”

“Sure,” Elroy said, and began busying himself making and toasting the sandwich.

Bess pulled up a chair to the kitchen table. “I hear you’re an ex-Navy man,” she said.

“That’s right,” he replied.

“Is that where you learned to cook?”

“Nope. I learned to cook at my mama’s knee. I only cook Southern. That was all she taught me, but I don’t seem to get any complaints.”

“Certainly not from me,” Bess said. She accepted the sandwich in a brown paper bag, and Elroy opened the refrigerator door to display beer and soft drinks. She selected a diet soda and dropped it into the bag. “Thanks, Elroy, I owe you one,” she said.

“Think nothing of it,” he said, then went back to rolling biscuits.

Bess left by the back door and set a good pace for herself, following a well-worn footpath.