Serge stood and shrugged at the growing red puddle. “It’s our culture. This whole go-go lifestyle.”
15:17
A SWAT team swarmed a rooftop at Bayside Market. A walkie-talkie: “Team three is down! Repeat, team three is down!”
The bulletin came over the radio in a black SUV as it screeched up to a barricade on Flagler. “We’ve already lost men,” said Agent Lugar. “He could be anywhere, so fan out. And don’t trust Oxnart. We don’t know what side of the play he’s on.”
Four doors opened. Agents took off running in six directions.
Three blocks the other way, another black SUV. Doors opened. “Move out!” yelled Oxnart. “And keep an eye for Lugar’s team…”
A Volkswagen Beetle pulled up behind the SUV. Twelve men got out wearing red berets.
15:22
Serge and Felicia walked back across Biscayne Boulevard at a more leisurely pace, waving credentials at checkpoints. This time they avoided the impassable crowd by walking up the VIP drive next to slow-rolling limos and entering the rear of the tent.
A smiling caterer. “Champagne?”
Felicia shook her head and looked around. “I don’t see the president.”
“Relax.” Serge aimed an index finger. “He’s up there. Back of the stage. Must be on next.”
The current speaker gave a commendation medal to his minister of coffee.
“I see our head of security,” said Felicia. “Wait here…”
Another caterer with a bow tie. “Hors d’oeuvre?”
“Oooooo!” said Serge. “Do I see water chestnuts in there? That’s always a fearless statement!”
The caterer glanced back dubiously and walked away empty-handed.
Serge munched snacks from a full silver tray resting on his left arm. He strained for a peek at some kind of loud commotion back at the security checkpoint.
“Whoops. Losing a little balance again…” Someone fell over, taking down one of the potted palms flanking the entrance. Then a tent pole. The corner of the vinyl roof collapsed on minor cabinet members from Paraguay.
Serge finished chewing. “Coleman?”
Someone else at the checkpoint. “It’s okay, fellas. He’s with me.”
“He’s stinking drunk,” said one of the guards, replanting the tent pole. He sniffed the air. “And your breath doesn’t smell so good either.”
Ted Savage flashed a smile and his freshly laminated badge.
A second guard checked it. “Go on in.”
“Ted!”
“Serge!” He ran over. “What are you doing here?”
“Was about to ask you the same question.”
Ted held up the badge again. “Just got reinstated. Someone canceled my burn notice.”
Coleman grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing tray.
Another water-chestnut delight went in Serge’s mouth. “But why are you at the summit?” Munch, munch, munch.
Ted leaned to whisper. “My first comeback mission.” Wink. “It’s a secret. I’m on backup security.”
“It’s safe with me… I need to find Felicia. Will she be surprised to see you.”
He walked off.
“Don’t be long,” Ted called after him. “Coleman’s about to become a two-man job.”
“I usually just roll him under a table,” said Serge. “These have the long tablecloths that reach the ground, so he won’t be bothered.”
A tap on Ted’s shoulder. He turned. “Can I help you?”
One of the guards from the checkpoint. “Did your badge say ‘OCI’?”
Ted smiled again and held it up.
The guard handed him a half-dozen pages. “These just printed out in the mobile command post. Flash bulletin. Color cartridge was low, but I think the threat level’s a new red.”
Two blocks away, a powder-blue ’54 Skylark pulled up in the alley. Mahoney looked over his shoulder at his office mates. “Do your thing.”
15:38
Serge returned with Felicia. He looked at Ted’s hands. “What’s that?”
A rare sober expression from Savage. “You need to see these.”
Serge gave him a look, then grabbed the pages and began reading. 17 DEC-1518-MIAMI SECTOR URGENT Echo: Team Bravo neutralized Assets: Two, location Zulu Echo: Unknown Mark. Unknown Flag. Delivery: Israeli Galil 7.62. Neutralized. Assets: Same Protocol: Whiskey Tango Germination: Immediate ALL SECTIONS: TOP PRIORITY
Serge rapidly flipped through the rest of the bulletin. He raised his head with a blank stare. “This is the two- man team we lost on the roof of Hooters.”
“Yeah,” said Felicia, pointing behind her. “I reported it in.”
“Look at the time stamp on the bulletin,” said Serge. “It’s before we even got back across the street.”
“So someone else found them before I could report. So what?”
Serge turned to the third page. “Here’s a suspect photo-grab from the surveillance cameras in the restaurant. My head’s turned, but it’s a pretty good likeness of you.”
“It would make sense that they got that out,” said Felicia. “Of course we’d be suspects before they knew who we really were. But I’m sure it’ll all get cleared now that I filled in my people.”
“How do we clear this up?” Serge turned to another page. Details on the body of a would-be assassin found in a fifteenth-floor hotel room with his rifle still in its stand.
“That must be a mistake.” Felicia looked at Serge in confusion. “His body was in the Dumpster. And the rifle was gone. You were there. Am I losing my mind?”
Serge didn’t answer-simply turned to the final page and another photo.
“Hey, it’s me. And you’re in the background,” said Felicia. “Remember? When I was standing in the assassin’s hotel room window and looked down to see if Guzman was still safe in the tent? But that’s a really long-range shot. Who could have taken it?…” She took a step back. “What the fuck’s happening?”
“Someone has gone to a lot of trouble.”
“We’re being set up?” said Felicia.
“And not by amateurs.”
“Son of a bitch! I knew you should never have trusted that Malcolm Glide!”
“It’s not him.”
“Of course it’s him!”
Serge shook his head. “Look at the back of the stage. Guzman’s still breathing. It would only be a double cross from Glide if your president had already been hit and they needed patsies.”
“So who then?”
Serge looked out the tent at the hotel across Biscayne Boulevard. “Whoever booked that room on the fifteenth floor.”
“Why would they come after us?”
“Maybe your arms investigation… Maybe anything… But whoever it is knows we’re protecting Guzman. That’s why they had to scapegoat us ahead of time. We were spotted at Dinner Key and tailed to Liberty City-”
“Back up. You said ‘ahead of time’?”
“Before the hit on Guzman. It’s still on.”
“I thought you said they cancel after a miss.”
“I’ve been wrong before.”
“I have to warn them!”
