Sierra that Eve would have a change of heart and get the animal out of the can.
Eve was wearing a glen-plaid cloth coat. A scarf printed with a violent fury of flowers, vines, and greenery covered her hair and shrouded her face like a hood. She had the wicker purse locked to her chest when the yellow cab pulled up in front of her house. The driver stepped out and walked toward the porch.
“Airport, ma’am?” he said.
“Get this.” She tapped the suitcase with her toe. The driver lifted it and carried it to the car. She followed five feet behind and watched as he placed the case on the floorboard and pushed it in.
“Drive carefully,” she admonished from the backseat. Larry Burrows smiled to himself and pushed the ill- fitting cab-driver’s cap back. He had watched her dress on a black and white, he hadn’t been ready for the savage ferocity of the scarf and the effect of the rhinestone-encrusted cat’s-eye glasses with deep green lenses. Her brilliant red lips seemed to float angrily in the center of the luminous white oval of face. The look was withered movie star fleeing the press after a scandal of epic proportions-or a deranged, over-the-hill geisha.
“Taking a trip?” Larry asked.
“I don’t answer personal questions from servants,” she snapped. “USAir.”
Good grief, he thought. Servants?
After a ride conducted in complete silence, Larry pulled the cab against the curb under the USAir sign.
She handed him a twenty, which was worn almost white in places. He tried to hand her the change, but she waved it off. “That’s for you. You drive okay and you’re quiet.”
She turned and handed her ticket to the porter while Larry climbed into the cab and drove away past the other airline entrances.
At the end of the next airline’s entrances he pulled over, opened the trunk, and traded the knit shirt, golfer’s jacket, and chauffeur’s cap for a blue button-down, a navy blazer, khaki slacks, and loafers. Then he put on a pair of horn rims and slicked his hair down, using some cream from a tube and a thin comb. He lifted a briefcase, closed the trunk, and entered the airport. A police officer stepped from the curb and got in and took the cab, which had been borrowed from local vice’s motor pool. Stephanie was waiting for Larry and hooked her arm in his. Minutes later they were at the gate a few feet away from where Eve sat clutching her purse and staring at the waiting airplane’s tail section through the windows.
Eve boarded nearly last. Larry and Stephanie got on ahead of her and began to get nervous as the plane started filling up and she still hadn’t come on board. Just as they were about to decide that she had other plans, she walked in and took her seat beside a man in a red sweater. The last people on board were, according to their uniforms, a pair of airline personnel.
The airplane taxied out and took off. As soon as the plane was off the ground, Eve pushed her scarf back until it was off her head and gathered on her neck. She busied herself with a flight magazine.
Two rows behind her, Stephanie smiled because she knew Eve couldn’t be reading without her prescription glasses. Larry had a Scotch and water and fell asleep for the duration of the flight.
Stephanie was glad Eve was almost blind-or she might have recognized the two cable-repair agents who were sitting a few rows in front of her, trying to look inconspicuous. Joe McLean, boarding last in a pilot’s uniform, walked back to the bathroom, passing her without so much as a sidelong glance.
42
Paul picked up the phone on the seat and dialed the local DEA chief’s number. The call was forwarded to the man’s home. Paul ignored the background noise-television newscast, kids yelling.
“Thad, Paul Masterson. I’m in New Orleans for a quick visit.”
“Yeah, Paul. What can I do for you?”
“I just cracked the house, where I walked straight through two police patrols and one of the two best men you said you had. He’s licking his wounds about now.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“What? Well, Thad, if a crippled, one-eyed man and a red-headed Watusi can get in, what do you think you should do about it now?”
“Paul, I’m sorry about that, but Greer’s in charge. I gave him my two best agents, but he’s deploying them.”
“Listen, Thad. If you want to cover your ass on this, I mean if you want a career after this weekend, I’ll tell you what you should do.”
“Listen, Paul-”
“You listen, Thad. Turn off the fucking television or go into a quiet room and get on the horn to the chief of police and the Coast Guard. Here’s what I want.”
“But-”
“Butt’s an ass, Thad. I’ve told you what’s wrong. You don’t want to see what’ll happen to your career if anything happens on your watch. Anything happens to Laura and the kids, I’ll bury you so deep you’ll have to dig a hole to China to see stars.”
“Okay, Paul, tell me what you want.”
By the time Paul and Rainey Lee stepped from the car and started walking on the dock near the Shadowfax, cars filled with policemen and serious men in suits were converging on the yacht basin.
Within thirty minutes half of the New Orleans SWAT team was at three locations in the city. Sharpshooters were being briefed on the grass beside the yacht club. Others were near Laura’s house and setting up in a grassy field across from Tulane University.
The Coast Guard had furnished their best diver, who was searching the piers around the Shadowfax for bombs. The bomb squad had dogs checking the dock lockers, the vessel’s deck and interior. A Hatteras was pressed into service and moored within sight of the boat where snipers would be positioned. The dockmaster’s people were towing away the other vessels on the nearby piers to rob any opposing force of cover. Paul spent an hour giving orders and making certain the security was as close to impenetrable as possible. He was beginning to feel a lot better about the situation.
Thorne was completely amazed. All he had to do, it turned out, was join a work in progress. Anyone coming in from outside had to pass through several police roadblocks. There were uniformed patrolmen, deputies, and highway patrolmen in evidence.
By eight-thirty it had started- to drizzle a little, as if the way was being prepared for the impending storm that was moving over the Louisiana coastline. The tropical storm had already weakened as it neared landfall south of New Orleans. Although there was little chance of serious wind damage to secured vessels, the Coast Guard had posted high-wind warning flags at the mouth of the harbor. There was a steady stream of boat owners who were checking lines and securing their vessels in preparation for the weather.
A forty-foot Coast Guard cabin cruiser sat like a mother hen, one hundred feet away from the Shadowfax, in effect guarding the channel. A group of seamen stood on her stern. One sailor had an M-16 on his shoulder and a pair of binoculars in his hands. The others were watching the diver preparing to drop into the water from the pier.
Paul and Rainey watched as the diver slipped the mask into place and slid into the dark-brown water. The flashlight came to life, and its white glow began moving down the length of the boat’s hull.
Once Paul was certain the boat would be as safe as an open location could be, that it would take a platoon of fully armed Martin Fletchers to pose a serious threat to those aboard, he prepared to leave for the airport. He was certain the security could be no better were the President on board.
43
The streets around Laura’s house were alive with bluelighted cruisers and armed patrolmen on foot. There were roadblocks on the corners. Two K-9 units were beside each other, the dogs standing in the rear seats, anxious
