Orchid Blues

52

Ham had breakfast with John and Peck, and he hoped to hear more about what they wanted him to do, but nothing was said. He felt nervous about having the phone on him, and he was made more so when John brought up cell phones again.

"I checked this morning," he said, "and there's an antenna on that power pole where the van was parked yesterday."

"The van was gone?" Peck asked.

"Yes. There was just the antenna and a box that could contain a transformer and some electronics."

"I've got a man stationed at the scanner twenty-four hours a day," Peck said. "We haven't heard a peep from a cell phone."

"You know," Ham said, "it's not inconceivable that they would install a new cell on that road, since it connects I-95 with the Florida Turnpike."

"Maybe," John said.

"I expect one of these days soon they'll have every square mile of the country cowered," Peck added. He turned to Ham. "You shooting today?"

"I thought I might take the rifle down to the lakeshore and practice firing back toward the woods to the west. There's a breeze today, and I'd like to see how it shoots with windage."

"Good idea. I'm tied up this morning, but I'll send somebody with you."

"I don't need any help," Ham said. "I don't even need any targets. I'll shoot at trees."

"Okay," Peck said, digging in a pocket and coming up with some keys. "Take the jeep." He turned to John. "I've got a class to teach. I'll see you later."

"Right," John said, and he seemed preoccupied.

When Peck had left the table and Ham was alone with John, he lowered his voice. "John, about the cell phone business."

"Yes?"

"My assumption is that you're worried about somebody reporting our plans for Monday."

"That's right."

"I assume you've kept that information close, the way you do everything."

"You're right about that."

"I mean, I don't know the details. Does anybody besides you and Peck know what's going down?"

"No."

"I just wondered," Ham said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got some shooting to do." He left John sitting alone at the table. That'll give him something to think about, Ham thought. He went to the armory in the cellar, drew the Barrett's rifle and some ammunition, got the jeep and drove down to the lakeshore. It was Friday; three days to go.

Harry bent and looked over Eddie's shoulder at the computer screen. "Have you come up with anything?"

Eddie shook his head. "Monday's a real quiet day," he said. "No sports events, nothing at all that would draw an important visitor. I mean, there's a convention of furniture dealers in Miami, and a literary festival in Key West, but it's not like the president-or anybody else important-is attending either of them. There's a citrus grower's meeting on Tuesday, and God knows, there's always something going on at Disney World, but we're looking for a prominent target, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Can you check with the Secret Service and see if the president is planning some unannounced visit on Monday, something that isn't on his published schedule?"

"I'll take care of it," Harry said, then he jumped.

"What's the matter?"

Harry was clawing at his belt. "My phone just goosed me." He snapped it open. "Yeah?"

"It's me," Ham said. "This thing is working, huh?"

"Are you scrambled?"

"Yes. And a good thing, too, because they're monitoring cell phone use with a scanner twenty-four hours a day. Did you do something to jump up the reception out here?"

"Yes, we installed a portable cell. I take it John noticed."

"Right."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm out by the lake. Hang on a second."

Harry listened, and suddenly, the phone seemed to explode in his ear. "Ham?"

"Yeah? Sorry about that; I'm supposed to be practicing shooting."

"Is it safe for you to talk?"

"Yeah, but let's make it quick. I don't have any more information about what they're planning, just that it's on Monday, and it's two or three men in a limo."

"We got that over the smoke detector," Harry said.

"I'll call you back if I get any more information. Tell Holly I'm okay." Ham broke the connection.

Harry snapped his phone shut. "Ham got the phone. Thank God for that."

"Anything new?"

"Nothing. I'd better call the White House."

Ham sat cross-legged, the Barrett's rifle resting on a tripod attached to the gun's barrel. He unplugged the earphone, wound up the cord and stuffed it into a shirt pocket. He dropped the tiny phone in, too. It hardly made a bulge in the baggy fatigue shirt pocket.

He watched the movement of the trees, made a guess about the wind and fired again. He hit a tree, but not the one he was aiming for.