“Thanks, Gloria. And in other local news, police are seeking the public’s help in locating a Pennsylvania tourist who disappeared after arriving at his downtown hotel last night…”
A family photo of Frank Littleton filled the screen.
“… Anyone with information is asked to call their anonymous hotline, five-five-five-TIPS. You may be eligible for a reward…”
A n abandoned corrugated-aluminum Quonset hut stood near one of the water-filled quarries on the edge of the Everglades. It had stored fertilizer at some point.
Property records listed the deed to Berkshire Holdings, Ltd., which was a front for an umbrella of contract operations financed with Cayman bank accounts replenished from untraceable cash deposited by CIA go-betweens with a paper trail that led to a table for six in the rear of Joe’s Stone Crabs.
A man stripped to his undershorts sat tied to a chair in the middle of a back room. A naked lightbulb hung over his head. Blood from a forehead gash.
“You have to believe me,” said the captive. “I don’t know anyone named Ted Savage.”
Slap.
“You were staying in his room!”
“Check my wallet. I’m from Beaver Falls.”
Slap.
“How are the Haitians involved?”
“I just sell auto parts.”
Slap.
“What do you know about the assassination plot?”
“The office will vouch for me.”
Slap.
“How did you first meet Serge?”
“I don’t know any Serge. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
Slap.
Agent Manchester called Agent Reed aside. “You think maybe we do have the wrong guy?”
“Not a chance. That’s Savage all right. You saw him come out of the room at the Royal Poinciana. And we doubled-checked the number, three-eighteen.”
“But his driver’s license says Frank Littleton.”
“How many fake licenses do you have?”
“Five. But he doesn’t look at all like Savage.”
“So he had plastic surgery. The Company does it all the time.”
“Okay, it’s him,” said Manchester. “But he’s a lot tougher than they told us. I don’t think he’s going to crack.”
“Any ideas?”
“Guess we’ll just have to waterboard him.”
“All right, we’ll waterboard him.”
They stood and stared at each other.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“I thought we were going to waterboard him.”
“I don’t know how to waterboard someone.”
“Neither do I.”
“We’ll probably need a board.”
“Okay, let’s go look for a board.”
They left the room and went outside. “I thought I saw a pile of lumber over there.” Manchester walked toward the quarry.
A cell phone rang.
“Reed here… Oh, hi, chief. Everything’s going great. We’re just about to waterboard him-”
Screaming on the other end. Reed held the phone away from his ear.
Manchester leaned to listen. “Lugar sounds angry.”
Reed brought the phone back to his head. “What do you mean we grabbed the wrong-?… No, I haven’t seen any TV today… I can explain… Yes, sir… Yes, sir… No, sir… I understand, sir…” He hung up.
“What was that about?” asked Manchester.
“We got the wrong guy.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s all over TV. Missing tourist. And they spotted Savage on the street an hour ago.”
“So what do we do with whoever’s in there? We can’t let him go and we can’t kill him.”
“That’s what Lugar said. Told us to sit tight until he comes up with something.”
“Do we still have to waterboard him?”
“I don’t think so.”
The agents went around the front of the warehouse. Reed slid open the squeaking freight doors and went inside. They headed toward the back room with the hostage.
“What will we say to him?” asked Reed.
“This is going to be awkward.”
The room grew closer.
“Oh, Mr. Littleton,” Reed called out. “There’s been a teeny misunderstanding.”
“We’re very sorry,” said Manchester. “I’m having lunch brought in. You like Chinese?”
Reed turned the knob and opened the door. “I hope you’ll-”
An empty chair.
The Royal Poinciana
Two police officers stood at bulletproof glass.
“Could you ring her room again?”
“If you insist.” The desk manager dialed. And waited. “Still not answering.”
“It’s important.”
“Something about her missing husband?” asked the manager. “Is he okay?”
“We think so.”
“What happened to him?”
“It’s better we spoke privately with his wife.” Because they’d just received eyewitness reports of someone matching Frank’s description running through the west part of town in his underwear, and the department was chalking it up to his having had a rough night. “Could you take us to her room?”
“Give me a sec.” He hung a “Back-in-Five” sign on the glass and led the cops to the elevator. They got off on three. The manager knocked on the door of 318. “Mrs. Littleton? Are you in there?” Harder knocking. “Mrs. Littleton, the police are here. I think they have good news.”
No answer.
“Open it,” said one of the officers.
The manager sorted through a large metal ring of keys and stuck one in the knob. “Mrs. Littleton?” Opening the door…
“Sure this is the right room?” asked an officer.
“Positive. But it’s empty, like nobody even stayed here.”
“Did she check out?” asked the cop.
“No,” said the manager, rubbing his nose. “That’s odd.”
They stepped back into the hall and headed for the elevator.
The door to 321 opened. A trio came out.
“Hold that lift!” said Serge.
They rode down with the cops.
“Where to today?” asked Savage.
“Thought we’d take a little drive,” said Serge. “A most excellent Miami historic site. And a can’t-miss for any
