Choppy Water

47

Tom Blake excused himself to answer his phone. “Yes?”

“It’s Fisk, sir. Sykes had her checked for a wire, but she turned off the system before the wand could pick it up. He’s talking to her,” the man said, “but they’re leaving now.”

“Tell the man downstairs to wait until they’re in a cab. Then get into his suite and go over it with a fine-tooth comb, but very carefully. Don’t leave a hair out of place.” He hung up and returned to the table. “Our agent’s wire is working. They’re leaving the hotel now to go to dinner somewhere. They’ll be followed.”

“Are FBI agents sneaky enough for this kind of work?” Stone asked. “I always think of them in double-breasted suits and fedoras.”

“That’s only in the noir movies of the forties and fifties,” Tom replied. “We run more to blue blazers, tweed jackets, and khakis now. Beards, too.”

Tom’s phone rang again, and he made to get up, but Stone gestured him to sit. “You might as well sit and put it on speakerphone,” he said.

Tom set the phone down and pressed the speaker button. “Yes? We’re all listening.”

“They didn’t take a cab,” the agent said. “Sykes was heard telling the manager that they were going to Rotisserie Georgette, which is within walking distance.”

“I know the place,” Stone said. “Where would you like them to sit?”

“At the back of the room,” the agent replied. “We already have a man and a woman at the end of the bar.”

“You want them near Sykes?”

“Yes, sir, if possible.”

Stone called the restaurant. “Georgette?”

“Stone? What time should we expect you?”

“Not tonight, but there are some people on the way I’d like you to seat at the rear of the room, but away from the kitchen. His name is Sykes. And there’s a couple at that end of the bar that I’d like near them before they arrive.”

“Certainly.”

“And, please, keep it to yourself.”

“Of course. We look forward to seeing you soon.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he said, “if the stars align.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up. “They’ll be placed as you wished,” he said to Tom.

“I don’t know why it isn’t always this easy,” Tom said.

“I’d love to dine there tomorrow evening,” Holly said. “And that would give Tom the opportunity to case the joint ahead of our arrival.”

Sykes and Bess arrived at Rotisserie Georgette in due course, and they were seated at the rear of the restaurant at a corner table. They ordered drinks, then Sykes swept the room with his eyes while Bess looked at the menu.

“See anybody suspicious?” she asked.

“Not yet. Order for the two of us.”

“That’s easy. Looks like the specialty of the house is roast chicken.” She ordered the food and wine.

Sykes continued to look at every table anywhere near them.

“I think the couple behind you must be going through a divorce,” he said.

“How can you tell?”

“They’re talking to each other.”

Bess laughed.

Finally, he turned his attention to her. “The boys are going to have to get used to you,” he said. “They’re unaccustomed to meeting the needs of women.”

“Then I’ll help them out,” Bess said. “By the way, how are you planning to change history with only four men and a woman to help you?”

“History moves in inches,” he said. “But sometimes with a big step.”

“How big are we talking?”

“I think you know who we’re talking about. You visited her home briefly.”

“Ah, that would be a big step, and I wouldn’t be sorry to see her take it.”

“You may have that opportunity. If everybody, including you, does his job well, no one will even notice that it was done but our masters.”

“Masters? Sounds fascinating,” she said.

Any reply was interrupted by the arrival of their first course. Then Sykes stopped talking and started eating.

“They’re eating,” Tom said, “and Sykes isn’t talking.”

“Are your agents getting a divorce?” Stone asked.

Tom laughed. “They’d have to get married first.”

Bess restrained herself from asking further questions for the rest of dinner; instead, she just let him ramble on about the Army, about dealing with Washington, about hunting and fishing — whatever crossed his mind. He became more relaxed as the evening wore on and the level in the wine bottle went down. He mentioned her lesbianism only once, and in regretful terms. She reflected that telling him that had been one of her best decisions, as it kept him off her back without arguments.

“Where’d you find the boys?” she asked, while they were waiting for the check.

“They all served under me in the Army,” Sykes replied. “The best of the best, especially Eugene, who is the best shot with a rifle I ever saw.”

“Are there more of them than I’ve met?”

“Let’s just say we have ample backup, should we need it.”

“Who are my orders coming from? You? Or someone further up the line?”

“That’s a bold question, and I won’t answer it now.”

“So you still don’t trust me?”

“Trust has many levels.”

“Where am I on the scale?”

“Let me ask you a question that might answer your question,” Sykes said.

“All right.”

“When everything is ready, will you be willing to pull the trigger yourself?”

Bess thought about that for a minute, just to make him think she was considering it. “Well,” she said, finally, “I think I would be able to do that, but it remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

“And, based on your response, where would you put yourself on the scale when it comes to trust?”

“At better than ninety-nine percent, I think.”

“Then I’ll trust you all the way to ninety-nine percent,” Sykes said.

“But not one hundred percent?”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”