“Yeah. This is terrible.”
“The bomb?”
“Bomb? What… no bomb. Paul, we can’t find her!”
“What? Find who?”
Joe said, “Eve. She isn’t on the plane.”
“How the hell could she not be on the plane? Look in the can,” Paul said, his heart sinking.
“We did. Larry’s asking the stewardesses… Wait a sec…”
Paul could hear Joe talking with someone he assumed was Larry Burrows.
“She got off.”
“What?” Paul shouted. “How can anyone get off a fuckin’ plane?”
Paul listened while Larry mumbled something. The static grew louder, and Paul couldn’t make out but a few words.
“At the terminal? In DFW?” He listened for a few more seconds, then clicked back to Tod. “Anything?”
“Regularly scheduled flight,” Tod said. “That’s strange.”
“It gets stranger. Tod, that was Joe. Eve slipped them at DFW.”
“Then she got another flight.”
“Tod, see what took off in that window. After the Miami flight and right after the blast. Call me back.”
The telephone went dead and Paul turned it off. He sat for a minute in silence tapping the phone against his teeth as he thought. Something had been nibbling at his subconscious all day. Something Rainey had said. “Six years ago, the day you were hit. Thorne, Joe, and I were standing around in a hospital waiting room in Miami covered in your blood.” Then another piece, something Tod had said. The reason it had stuck in his mind. “His only weakness is his mother. He has seen her every year on or near his birthday with one unavoidable exception six years ago.”
“Rainey, when did Martin break out of prison?”
“Day you were shot. Or maybe the day after that. I can’t remember exactly. We didn’t know it right off.”
“Son of a bitch, that’s it!” Paul yelled. Six years ago Martin had missed his rendezvous with Eve. It was when he was… This is the anniversary of Martin’s family’s deaths!
“What’s what?” Rainey asked.
Paul picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“What’s up?” Rainey asked.
“Thorne, it’s Paul. She slipped them. Eve slipped Joe’s team, but that doesn’t matter. She’s a red herring. Go red alert. Meet us at Lakefront Airport in forty-five minutes. Martin’s still in New Orleans.”
Dear God, why didn’t I see it?
Paul dialed the direct number for Tod Peoples and screamed at the cockpit door as he pressed the final numbers. “Turn around!”
“You sure?” Rainey asked as he stood, then stooped to avoid hitting his head.
“I’d stake my life on it.” Paul watched Rainey enter the cockpit.
The copilot came out into the cabin behind Rainey. “That weather’s already covering the area. Airport’s closed. We’d have to go to an alternate strip or wait a couple of hours to get in.”
“New Orleans!” Paul said. “Now! To Lakefront.”
“They’re closed, I said. Am I not making something clear? There’s no way to see the ground. There’s a thunderstorm passing through with moderate turbulence. That means it isn’t quite bad enough to twist us like a beer can, but enough to slap us out of the sky!”
“Then we’ll open it!” Paul yelled.
“It’s out of the question, sir.” The copilot spoke as if he were certain Paul simply didn’t grasp the situation. “Minimums won’t allow-”
“Turn back and land at Lakefront, or I’ll blow your fuckin’ heads off and fly it back myself!”
“But it isn’t possible. It’s suicide! The turbulence will take us out of the sky.”
“Don’t call Lakefront till we get close and then declare an emergency and put her down. Don’t tell me you can’t-just do it. Not doing it is suicide.”
The copilot went back into the cockpit, leaned over to speak to the pilot. The pilot turned and looked back over his right shoulder at Paul, who took out the Colt, held up it in plain view, and jacked a shell into the chamber. He let his arm down on the armrest, his wrist down, the pistol aimed at the floor. The plane banked sharply right and headed north by northwest for the Louisiana coast.
“We’re flying back into the storm?” Rainey asked.
“Yeah, you want out? They do.” He pointed absently at the cockpit.
“Where can I go?”
Paul smiled. “Say a prayer for us, Rainey. And for every one of our people in New Orleans.”
“I never stop praying, Paul. I’ve never stopped, and I think the first set’s being answered right now.”
“I should have stayed with them.”
Rainey nodded and muttered something about hindsight as Paul dialed Tod Peoples again. Rainey had never seen Paul so upset.
Rainey decided that if they landed, it was a sign from God. Then he would do what he had to do. He hoped Paul would not get in the way. But if he did, Rainey would walk over him and anybody else who got between him and Martin Fletcher. God was delivering Martin to him.
47
Laura loved the sound of the rain against the deck overhead, and she loved the hollow clanking of the scores of wind-driven halyards, their steel spring buckles against the aluminum masts, like some magnificent world filled with wind chimes. But the wind had become a wall of noise, and something sharp on the outside was catching the wind and had become a high-pitched whistle. Laura had drained two glasses of red wine to relax her nerves. Woody sat on the couch in his California-casual billowing silk shirt and white Italian pants. The shoulder holster looked completely out of place. Woody’s eyes were cold, the lines around them tight. He seemed even more distant than usual.
“You play golf, tennis?” Reid asked him.
“Golf some. Ride horses. Work out.”
“You must find this bodyguard thing boring,” Laura said.
“No,” Woody said. “Quiet is normal, but it’s always quiet before-”
“The storm?” Reid laughed. “Absolutely.”
Laura smiled. “I just hope it’s as quiet after the storm as it was before. I wonder what’s happening in Miami.”
“What did you do before?” Reid asked.
“This and that,” he replied.
“Where did you learn your violence? School or before? How does it feel to hurt people?”
“I don’t go around hurting people unless they want to hurt someone I’m shielding,” Woody said. “Someday you might have reason to be glad that I’m like I am. Thankful there are people like me so people like you can sleep safely.”
“I’ll just check on the kids. Reid, Woodrow, would you like a glass of wine?” Laura said.
“Glass of wine would be great,” Reid said. “I need to walk Wolf, and I’ll give the guards coffee while I’m out.”
“Give you a hand,” Woody said, standing.
“Don’t be silly. No sense getting that silk shirt wet. I need to take him out.”
Woody sat back down. “They won’t allow you off the boat,” he told Reid. “Orders from Masterson.”
Reid raised his eyebrows. “What kind of gun is that?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Glock,” Woody said.
“Could I see it? I’ve never seen a Glock up close. Never felt comfortable with pistols. Pistols are single-
