Near Miss

Chapter 55

Asimov squinted into the morning sky and picked up a black dot, which swiftly became an aircraft on final approach. It set down and taxied to the ramp. The airstairs door opened and a large man descended, followed by a smaller man.

Asimov shook the larger man’s hand and said, “Hello, Sarge.”

“Hello, Dimitri. My friend here is the Corporal.”

Asimov shook hands with the smaller man, then the three of them got into an elderly Lincoln town car.

“Okay,” Sarge said, “let’s hear it.”

“First, we get the ferry; we’ve got twelve minutes.” The Lincoln shot forward.

The gates were just starting to close when they drove aboard.

“Is this the only way out here?” Sarge asked.

“For the public, yes. You may have whatever transport you need when the time comes. Right now, this is the best way to look things over, without attracting attention. There’s a ferry back in an hour and a half we can catch. That should be enough time.”

They drove through the village. “Stay out of the store,” Asimov said. “The island grapevine starts there, and you don’t want to be on that radar.”

“Gotcha,” Sarge replied.

Asimov handed him a large-scale map of the island, then they drove on, until they stopped at a point where a driveway was interrupted by a large log.

“What the fuck?” Sarge said.

“This is where Rawls lives.”

“Rawls?”

“He’s their sharpshooter.”

“Dimitri, let’s move our asses out of here. I can already see four cameras. Drive a little farther and stop where you can.”

Asimov followed his instructions.

“Now, Dimitri, what is Rawls’s first name.”

“Ed.”

Sarge grimaced. “If you’d told me that on your first call, you’d have saved me a trip up here and yourself a lot of money.”

“Why? What do you know about Rawls?”

“That he’s the best shot and the smartest asshole the CIA ever produced. How many of yours has he killed already?”

Asimov looked uncomfortable. “Four.”

“Okay, let’s go back to the ferry.”

“Don’t you want to see the rest of the island?”

“No, whatever we do — if we do anything — starts and ends at Rawls’s house. I don’t want to be seen by anybody else on this island. Just park the car and go over the map with me.”

Asimov did so, and Sarge made small marks on the map.

“This guy, Barrington, sounds familiar,” Sarge said.

“He’s an uptown lawyer, and his best friend is the police commissioner, Dino Bacchetti.”

The ferry docked, and they got aboard for the return trip.

“Stay in the car, and keep the windows up,” Sarge said. “Then let’s go back to your hotel and talk there over a drink.

“All right,” Sarge said when they had settled into the conference room. “Let’s talk money. I initially saw this as a half-million-dollar job, but now we’ve got a powerful New York police official to deal with, not to mention a sharpshooter with the eye of an eagle and the brains of a genius. We’re talking about two million dollars, in my Cayman Islands bank account tomorrow.”

“You bury your dead and get them in and out of the Rockland airport,” Asimov countered. “You eat all your expenses.”

“Two and a quarter million,” Sarge said.

“And you stay on until Rawls, Greco, and Barrington are dead.”

Sarge considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Agreed.”

“One last thing,” Asimov said.

“What?”

“If it is possible, I would like to look Barrington in the eyes before you kill him. He has been an embarrassment to the family for too long. I want to see his fear, and make sure he knows it was me who ordered his death.”

“That ups the risk to me and my people. Two and a half million and we have a deal.”

The two men shook, then Asimov said, “You want dinner? We’ve got room service.”

“I’ve got some calls to make,” Sarge said, “but yeah, I could eat. And tell them to bring up a legal pad. I need to make a list.”