Choppy Water

44

Bess had been told by Sykes at breakfast that she was traveling with him to New York within the hour.

“For how long?” she asked.

“Don’t get nosy,” he replied.

“A girl has to know what to pack.”

“What have you got here?” he asked.

“Clothes for a couple of days.”

“Then that will have to do you. We’re not making any stops. You can shop in New York, if you need more.”

“Where are we staying?”

“You and I will be at the Lowell, on East Sixty-third, on Madison Avenue. The others will be nearby.”

“I don’t know the Lowell.”

“It’s enough that I do,” he said. “Ask Elroy to fix us some sandwiches. I’d like a ham on rye. You and the others can tell him what you want.”

After breakfast she walked into the kitchen. Elroy was making his daily biscuits. He walked to the sink, beckoned to her, and turned on the water, the force of which made a drumming noise when it struck the steel sink. He leaned in to her ear.

“I know who you are, Ms. Potter, and that Tom Blake sent you here. I’m CIA. I thought you should know.”

She was not stunned. “We’re going to New York today, and we’ll need to pack a lunch: the colonel wants a ham on rye, and I’d like chicken on whole grain, with mayo.”

Elroy nodded. “I know what the others will want. I’ll bring it out to you at the car; fifteen minutes.”

Bess went up to her room and packed the things she had just unpacked. She took her bag downstairs and found Elroy waiting for her with two bags. “Don’t talk,” he said, handing her a bag.

“Okay, thanks for the sandwiches.”

She put her bag in the luggage compartment and the lunch on the floor of the rear seat, where she could reach it.

Sykes came out of the house, motioned her into the Explorer, and got in behind the wheel. Four others were getting into the van. Eugene and Earl were among them. The other two were Rod and Jimmy, to whom she had barely spoken.

Sykes drove away in silence. Soon they were on the interstate, driving north.

“You know,” Bess said, “when you invited me aboard I thought that you had some respect for my intelligence.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” Sykes asked.

“Your reluctance to confide the details of what we’re doing. I don’t like working in the dark.”

“You should know by now that I’m very security-conscious.”

“Obviously. Are the others better informed than I?”

“I inform whoever, whenever I think they need to know. You and I aren’t there yet, but will be fairly soon, I suspect.”

Bess thought it was time to press the point. “I just want you to know that I’m through taking blind orders. If you don’t feel you can confide in me, then just drop me at the nearest place I can get a cab or a bus, and I won’t trouble you further. You needn’t be concerned about me talking, since I don’t know anything.”

There was a long silence. “Fair enough,” he said finally.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally, she would make some progress.

“There’s a rest stop a couple of miles up the road. I’ll drop you there, and you can call a cab.”

“As you wish,” she said, steadying her voice so as not to sound disappointed.

He pulled into the rest stop and parked. “Go use the ladies’ room. When you come back, I’ll brief you. Take ten minutes. I want to talk to the lads.”

“Shall I take my luggage?”

“You can leave it here. I trust you, Bess.”

“Thank you.” She got out of the Explorer and went into the ladies’ side of the restroom. She checked all the booths, then locked herself into the one farthest from the sink, got out her burner phone, and called Tom Blake’s burner.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Listen. I’m going to talk fast because I may be interrupted.”

“I know you’re at a rest stop.”

“Right. I had forgotten. We’re headed for New York. Sykes and I are staying at the Lowell on East Sixty-third Street. He wouldn’t tell me what he’s planning, so I said if he didn’t trust me I wanted out. Now he says he does. Elroy, the cook, told me he’s with another agency. Do you know if that’s true?”

“It is. His name is Leroy Collins, and he’s CIA.”

“Good. We didn’t have a chance to talk further.”

“Why are you going to New York?”

“Sykes relented and said he would brief me when I get back into the car. Should I continue?”

“Yes. I’ve no reason to believe you’re in danger. I’m in New York. When you learn your room number at the Lowell, leave a message for me, and I’ll send you some things.”

She checked her watch. “I have to go now.”

“Right. I’ll try to arrange a meeting.”

“Okay.” She hung up and tucked the phone in the lining of her handbag, then she flushed the toilet and left the booth. There was one elderly woman in the restroom, washing her hands.

Tom made a phone call. “Sykes and Bess will be staying at the Lowell Hotel, Sixty-third and Madison. I want the manager visited personally by a senior agent, who should work to gain the cooperation of that person to the extent of getting video and audio equipment installed. He should also rent an adjoining room or suite or, if one is not available, urge the transfer of another guest. That failing, take the nearest space available. Apply for a search warrant immediately. You have less than two hours before their arrival.” He hung up.

Sykes had the motor running when she got back to the car. In a minute, they were back on the interstate, with the van following. “Did you talk to the boys?” she asked.

“I did.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them that I trust you and that you are an equal member of our team.”

“To whom does the team report?”

“To me.”

“And to whom do you report?”

He hesitated for a moment. “I report directly to God,” he said, finally.

“Oh, good. I’d like to sit in on your next meeting.”

“Trust me, he wouldn’t like you.”

“Because I’m a lesbian?”

“Among other things.”

“What are the other things?”

“Mainly, your tendency to ask too many questions,” he said firmly.

They drove on in silence.