Either way, it didn't matter to Sam. He'd be long gone by the time Eddie Champagne figured out that decision definitively.
Sam stepped out onto the secluded balcony overlooking the Hotel Oro's pool and set up his homework project. When he was through, he made two calls: one to the IRS and one to the FBI.
Just before six, Fiona and I pulled up at the Hotel Victor, the hotel directly next to the Hotel Oro, and parked in one of the spots directly out front reserved for people checking in. The sign said thirty minutes only, which was about ten minutes longer than I thought it would take us to do our job.
Outside it was one of those nights when Miami feels laced with magic: A mist of fog was in the air, so the glittering lights of South Beach cast a glow into the world, giving the impression you were already remembering what you were experiencing, a soft focus with, at different angles, a sharp glare of truth, of reality, that you were alive in a moment.
I wore a light tan-colored suit, a collared shirt open at the neck, a red pocket square that I removed when I saw that Fiona was wearing a short red dress that would have made Audrey Hepburn give up cocktail numbers for good. We didn't want to match, look too much like tourists after all, particularly since if we weren't careful, our pictures would be in the paper.
Or Palm Life, since an hour earlier Jay Gatz had given James Dimon a call. 'James, sport,' I said, 'I thought you'd be interested in an ad hoc event taking place this evening at the Hotel Oro. Daisy thought you might appreciate the visual experience.'
'Mos def,' he said.
I almost hung up, thought it wasn't worth the two minutes of my life I'd lose to hear James Dimon speak one more word, but marched on nonetheless. The greater good and all that. 'Come at six fifteen,' I said. 'There's a fantastic new Russian model named Natalya Choplyn we'll be entertaining poolside. She's very underground overseas but is about to'-I paused for just a moment, in case I couldn't control the bile in my throat-'jump off here. This would be a real get for you.'
'Hot,' he said.
'Very,' I said. 'Let me spell that last name for you. C-H-O-P-L-Y-N Make sure you get that down.'
Now, sitting with Fiona in the Charger, I couldn't help but wonder what would become of Natalya after this evening. I had a sense that she'd find herself intimately acquainted with the laws governing economic espionage, particularly economic espionage committed by a foreign national on American soil. Fifteen years would be a good starting point if Natalya wasn't ex-KGB, but since she was, there was a good chance the government-ours or hers-might just disappear her after they-the IRS, the FBI, Putin himself-became aware of the transfer of millions of dollars into her account, particularly millions of dollars derived from bogus mortgages.
And if I could time it just right, she'd be sitting with Dixon Woods when it happened.
'You ready?' I said to Fiona.
'Remind me again why I don't get to shoot Natalya?'
'Public place, bigger fish to filet,' I said. 'We can get in and out and not even wrinkle our clothes.'
We stepped out of the car and made our way across the street, sidestepping spillover lines of people from clubs on either side of the street. The people outside had their own unique blush this evening, but then everything felt different to me the moment before action.
Everything slows.
Colors become brighter.
It's as if I can see all the moves before they even happen.
A few steps before the Oro's front door, I stopped Fiona, who was walking with a rather purposeful gait. 'You ready?'
'Let me check my purse,' she said. She was holding a red Kate Spade bag under one arm. 'Five vials of tear gas, a Sig, a BlackBerry, some lipstick. I'm set for the evening. No condoms, though, so let me know if we need to stop off.'
I looked up at the length of the Hotel Oro. Sam was in room 511, overlooking the pool. He and Eddie Champagne were just another couple having a good time, for all the staff of the hotel knew. At six, just to let us know he was in his room, he would flash the room lights five times, followed by another eleven times, so I'd know for certain the game was afoot.
At this point, at this hotel, with whoever was watching, things had to be as low-tech as possible. In a confined space like a hotel, picking up cell signals, if you're looking for a specific one, is freshman-year-at-Quantico sort of stuff.
A moment later, the flashing started. Sam was in.
We were about to be.
We had thirty minutes to make it happen.
We strode past the valet station and I gave a cursory glance for my favorite bookie/valet but didn't see him, though it was hard to be sure who I was seeing, since they were all wearing that same black suit.
'Black Armani is out,' Fiona said.
'You get that?'
Once into the lobby, it was Miami bass and Miami style-the bronzed bodies happy to laze in the cabanas on my previous visit were now thumping across the two bars, filling the dance floor, the cabanas moving right along with them. Lining the walls, looking appropriate surly, were Longstreet men, sweating through their black T-shirts and suits, their entire paramilitary careers boiled into watching other people have a good time. From backing up strike forces to backing that ass up.
We all make choices.
As we walked, the crowd moved imperceptibly away from us. Neither Fi or I projected much of a good-time vibe, and that was good. If they got too close to Fi, she was liable to crack tear gas on the floor just to see the expression on their faces.
We passed the serpentine reservation desk, and I looked for Star but didn't find her, either. Forever must have come to a close. Or maybe she got that job modeling at Abercrombie. Or maybe Natalya had her killed for knowing my name. All were possibilities, none that I could ruminate on now, the music pounding in my ears, adrenaline pushing me out the door to the pool area, where the people nearly having sex at the bar looked positively Amish by comparison.
The infinity pool worked alive with movement, men and women writhing to the same nameless beat from inside, huge amps spreading the dusty bass into the air. Servers whose only bit of indulgence was a strip of fabric over their nipples moved through the crowded tables, stopping every few steps to drop off drinks, pick up glasses, and bend over suggestively in front of men and women wearing even less clothing.
'It smells like sex out here,' Fiona said. 'We should stay. Get a room.'
'I don't think that's a good idea.'
'Maybe we'll come back for lunch one day. Your mother never did get to eat that day, Michael.'
I spotted Natalya the moment we entered the pool area. She sat at a round table just adjacent to the rear bar, a nice crowded locale, but with a fine exit as well, since the bar backed up against the low shrubbery separating the hotel from the ocean. It wasn't beyond reason to assume there was a boat out there, waiting. But it was impossible to see, since the beach was covered with people, some just gawking at the crowd inside the Oro, others simply sitting in the cooling sand, watching the water.
Natalya was alone at the table, but I counted three Longstreet men on a first-floor balcony-smart-and three men who looked like, well, Communists, with their pale skin and inability to find a beat, trying to look natural at the far end of the bar. They were wearing shorts and white T-shirts, their sunburns practically glowing through the fabric.
'In and out,' I said to Fiona. We were only steps away.
'My pleasure,' she said.
I looked up into the sky. I didn't see any large spy satellites, so that was nice. But I did see Sam, right where I knew he would be. Or, rather, I saw the light inside Sam's room.
Natalya stood up when she saw us. 'Michael,' she said, professional charm oozing from her, 'it's such a pleasure.' She leaned toward me and gave me an air kiss on either cheek. Putting on a show.
'Hello, Ms. Copeland,' I said, figuring, You want a show? We'll give you a show.
She turned to Fiona and tried to give her the same air kisses. 'Touch me,' Fiona said, 'and you'll be eating out
