Cut and Thrust

28

Harry Gregg sat outdoors at a sidewalk café on Santa Monica Beach, drinking a cup of espresso. Harry worked as a gunsmith at the Centurion Studios armory, which housed all the weapons used in Centurion productions and also rented to independents. He looked around for the person he was meeting but didn’t see anyone likely. He checked his watch: five minutes before noon.

Then somebody slid into the seat opposite him. A woman. It had been a man on the phone. What was this?

“Hello, Mr. Gregg,” the woman said. She was dressed in a large floppy straw hat and dark glasses, and the lower part of her face was covered by a veil as if she were afraid of getting too much sun. He couldn’t even tell how old she was.

“Look over my shoulder or out to sea,” she said, “not directly at me. You shouldn’t want to know who I am or what I look like.”

“Okay by me,” Harry said, shifting in his seat to turn toward the Pacific Ocean. “I believe you’re supposed to have some work for me.”

“Wet work,” the woman replied. “Do you know what that is?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve been there. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“His name is Ed Eagle,” she said. “Ring any bells?”

Harry had heard the name. “Lawyer?”

“Right.”

“In the papers a few weeks ago, won a big murder case?”

“Right.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy I’d want to hire if this went wrong.”

“If you do your work well, he won’t be a candidate. And you won’t need a lawyer anyway.”

“He’s real tall, right?”

“Six feet seven. Wears good suits with cowboy boots and a Stetson.”

“Right, I’ve seen pictures. Where do I find him?”

“He’s staying at The Arrington.”

Harry shook his head. “Not good — too much security. I mean, the president is staying there, you know?”

“I understand you know something about explosives.”

“I know everything about explosives,” Harry said.

“You were a navy SEAL, weren’t you?”

“No, army, Special Forces. Pretty much the same thing. My specialty was booby traps.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “He flies an airplane called a Citation Mustang.”

“I know the one — small jet.”

“What would it take to blow it out of the sky?”

“You want it in tiny pieces?”

“No, it would be better if you could make it unflyable so that it would crash not long after takeoff.”

“I can do that,” he said. “Where is the airplane?”

“It’s parked at Atlantic Aviation, on the ramp. Eagle always stops there.”

“I know the place. The ramp is accessible, if you know what you’re doing. How about this: they use runway 21 for takeoff and landing. Where would he be flying to?”

“Santa Fe.”

“East, good. On takeoff on 21, they fly straight out over the beach and the water, then after a minute or two they turn right. How about if the airplane is disabled right at that point? It would crash into the water, breaking into a thousand pieces.”

“So they could never be sure of recovering all the bits, could they?” she asked.

“Nope, that’s the beauty of it.”

“Do you have access to the explosives?”

“I do. And I wouldn’t need more than half a pound of plastic to do the job.”

“How would you set it off?”

“There are two good ways. The best is with an altimeter rigged to a detonator. How soon do I need to do this?”

“He’s here for the convention and he flies back to Santa Fe tomorrow. And he always takes off around nine A.M. He’s a creature of habit.”

“I can’t get everything I need for the altimeter detonator by tomorrow, but I can use a cell phone.”

“How do you mean?”

“I plug a cell phone into a detonator and the detonator into the plastic. Then I sit on the beach with a phone and wait for the airplane to take off. All I have to do is make a call and, poof! your problem, whatever it is, is solved.”

“Ideal,” she said.

“This one is going to cost you five-zero grand.”

“That’s very steep,” she said.

“I’m sure you can find somebody cheaper,” Harry said and made to get up.

“Sit down.”

He sat.

She pushed a thick envelope into his hand. “There’s twenty-five thousand in there,” she said, “and you’ll get the other twenty-five right here, tomorrow at noon, if you’ve been successful.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you will still be here at noon and bring me twenty back. The five is for your trouble.”

Harry took the envelope and put it into his coat pocket. “I’ll count it later,” he said. “What’s the tail number of the airplane?”

She told him. “They always park it on the ramp, west of the hangars. There’ll be a line of airplanes parked there.”

“I know the place.”

“Stay here and have some lunch,” she said. “Then get to work.” She got up and left.

Harry watched her back as she walked away from the café. “Nice ass,” he said aloud to himself.