“Then I need Blue’s full name and a date and place of birth.”
Stallings’s right hand dipped back into the jacket pocket and came out with a slip of paper. He rose, handed it to Minnie Espiritu, sat back down and asked, “When can I pick it up?”
“If you brought the money, you can wait for it.”
“I’ll wait,” Stallings said, unbuttoned the three middle buttons of his shirt and zipped open the nylon money belt.
At 11:25 A.M. The following day, Stallings and Georgia Blue sat in the departure lounge of China Airlines at Benigno Aquino International Airport, waiting for their flight to Taipei, when a medium-size Filipino in his late thirties or early forties came up to them, smiled and said,
“You two make a cute couple.”
Georgia Blue looked up from her copy of Time to examine the faultless ice-cream suit, shiny black pompadour, pale beige complexion, inquisitive nose, perfect, if meaningless, smile and the big dark brown eyes that advertised just how smart he really was.
She smiled back, nudged Stallings and said, “You remember Lieutenant Cruz, sweetie—the nice policeman?”
“Captain Cruz,” the man said.
“Of course,” she said. “It would be by now, wouldn’t it?
Congratulations.”
Cruz gave her a brief smile of thanks, turned to Stallings and said,
“You and I met five years ago.”
“So we did.”
“I’m here for two reasons. The first is to wave goodbye and the second is to ask you about a funny-strange phone call I got a week or
ten days ago. But before we go into that, I need to see your passports and tickets.”
“Why?” Stallings said.
“Why not?”
Stallings shrugged and handed over his passport and the tickets.
Georgia Blue’s passport followed a moment later.
Captain Cruz examined the tickets first. “China Airlines to Taipei, then a connection with Singapore Airlines for a first-class, one-stop flight to Los Angeles. Should be fairly pleasant.”
After handing back the tickets, he studied Stallings’s passport.
“How was Jordan?”
“Raining when I left,” Stallings said.
“Really,” Cruz said, returned the passport and began a careful examination of Georgia Blue’s. Finally, he looked at her and asked,
“Enjoy your extended stay in the Philippines, Miss Blue?”
“Not really.”
“Planning a return trip?”
“No.”
“Remarkable document,” he said, tapping her passport against his left thumbnail. He went on with the tapping as if it might help him decide whether to confiscate or return it. Beneath Cruz’s creamy jacket there was a slight movement of the shoulders, which Stallings interpreted as a shrug. He discovered he was right seconds later when Cruz handed Blue her passport and said, “Have a safe flight.”
Before she could say thank you or anything else, Stallings asked,
“What about that funny-strange phone call?”
“Right,” Cruz said. “The phone call. Well, it came from Germany—
Frankfurt—and the caller said his name was Glimm. Enno Glimm.
Know him?”
Stallings shook his head.
“He wanted to know if I’d recommend, or maybe just vouch for, Artie Wu and Quincy Durant, your ex-what? Partners?”
“Recommend them for what?”
“Some sort of vague and strictly temporary deal. Glimm wasn’t specific. In fact, the only thing he was specific about was that it’s not going to happen here, whatever it is. But I had to work to even get that much out of him. Then after I heard you were passing through town, it hit me that maybe you’d know what Wu and Durant are up to.”
“Haven’t seen either of them in at least five years.”
“Too bad.”
“Did you?” Stallings said. “Recommend them?”
