Scandalous Behavior

49

Calhoun was going through his files, deciding what to take with him and what to shred, when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“I’m on-site,” Al Jr. said. “Your man here seems to have everything in hand. I’ve been out there and looked over the estates from the road. The setup is good for an outdoor event. I’ll try for that — it’s a lot less time consuming than getting inside.”

“Sounds good,” Calhoun said. “Keep me posted. I may be leaving the country soon, but my cell phone will work wherever I am.”

“Right.” Al hung up.

Calhoun found himself breathing faster. He took a catalog case from his luggage rack and packed the cash into it, then put it into the safe. He packed the deeds into four large FedEx boxes and addressed them to his secretary at his L.A. office.

He packed some clothes into two cases; those, his briefcase, and the catalog case would make up all that he would take with him. Anything else he needed he either already had in the Rio apartment or could buy there.

Cheree came to the door and saw his luggage. “You’re serious about this, then?”

“Did you ever doubt it?”

“Well, I guess I’d better get packed, too.”

“Try not to take too much.” She always took too much. “Think of how you’ll enjoy the shopping.”

“Are we taking the cash?”

“We are, and there’s more stashed in Rio.”

Al left his hotel and bicycled to the Rose & Crown, arriving early for his meeting with Furrow. He consulted the menu and ordered a lunch of steak and kidney pie and a pint of bitter. Both were good.

Furrow arrived on time, carrying a black aluminum briefcase, which he set under the table until a few people had left the room. When they were alone he set the briefcase on the table and opened it. Al was impressed. “Somebody made this?” he asked, removing the stockless, barrel-less, pistol-gripped guts of the rifle.

“No, I’m told it’s a special sniper’s rifle, made to the army’s specifications. It fires a .223 round, high-velocity. The scope is ten-power.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got a tripod already.”

“The pistol is a general officer’s model, compact.” It fit into the case, too. “The silencers, my man made. All this has to go back to the armory when you’re done with it. He can’t have it missing if somebody takes inventory, and no policeman will ever think to look for it in a military armory.”

“Fair enough,” Al said. “I wouldn’t want to carry it through security or customs, anyway.”

“I should think not. Would you like some lunch?”

“Thanks, I’ve already had mine. I need to do some sighting in.”

“Be careful with that — don’t be seen.”

“Of course not, and I’ll use the silencers, too.”

“Very good.”

Al got up, shook Furrow’s hand, and took the briefcase with him. The case fit nicely into his saddlebag, and the cover closed over it. He pedaled down the road, past the Windward Hall gate and almost to the Curtis House entrance, where he stopped, looked and listened for traffic, then lifted the bicycle over the stone wall and vaulted over. He took the case from the saddlebag, slung his binoculars around his neck, and stuffed his birding book into a jacket pocket.

The wood was only a few yards away; he left the bicycle leaning against the inside of the stone wall and set off through the trees. After a few minutes he came to the riding trail and crossed it, then passed a small wooden house. He peeked through a window and found it deserted, then continued on until he saw clear daylight ahead, beyond the trees.

He picked a spot from which he could fire between trees to a spot on the stone wall that separated the two properties. He could see that the riding trail left the woods and wound down to the wall, the grass pounded flat by recent hoofs. He set down the briefcase and walked to the edge of the wood and brought his binoculars to bear, first on Windward Hall, in the distance, then, slightly nearer, on Curtis House, where there was much activity.

Trucks and cars were parked in the forecourt, and men came and went, carrying tools and materials. He could hear the sounds of power tools coming from the house, a good thing, cover for him.

He went back to where he had left the case, opened it, and removed and assembled the rifle. The barrel was slightly shorter than he would have liked, but it made the weapon more easily concealable. He loaded a magazine, shoved it into the rifle, and sighted toward the stone wall, picking a spot where the hoof marks ended. Excellent; he would be shooting from behind the horsemen.

He sighted through the weapon then looked around at trees, gauging the wind direction and speed. There wasn’t much of either. He picked a stone on the top of the wall, sighted it in, and squeezed off a round. The silencer was very effective, and he watched through the scope as his round ricocheted off the stone below the one where he had aimed. He made a small adjustment to the sight and repeated the process, striking the stone dead center.

Then he heard the sound of hooves on turf.