Pensacola Beach, Florida
1530 6 January 2006
“Welcome to the Portofino, Mr. Castillo,” the manager on duty said.
Castillo recognized his voice.
“Before we get going here,” Castillo said pointing to a signboard standing beside the reception desk, “can you please get rid of that? Our donors might not understand.”
The signboard had movable white letters on a black background that announced:
THE PORTOFINO ISLAND RESORT & SPA
WELCOMES
THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF THE LORIMER CHARITABLE &
BENEVOLENT FUND
C.G. CASTILLO, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
“I understand completely, Mr. Castillo,” the man announced with an unctuous tone. “Consider it gone!”
He snapped his fingers to attract the attention of a bellman, and when a languid youth appeared, the two of them carried the sign somewhere out of sight.
“Until just now,” Delchamps offered, “I had no idea you were our executive director. Just what does that entail?”
Castillo gave him the finger.
“I just had a very discomfiting thought,” Delchamps said seriously. “If there’s a ‘locate but do not detain’ out on you, our friends in the FBI are going to know where you are as soon as your sales manager buddy runs your credit card.”
“Jesus! I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, you’re in love. That tends to make people forgetful.”
The manager returned.
Delchamps handed him an LC&BF platinum American Express card. “Put everything on this, please.”
“Mr. Castillo won’t be using his card?”
“Oh, no. Our executive director never pays for anything. That’s my job. I’m director for corporate gifts. And while we’re here, perhaps you’ll be able to give me a few minutes of your valuable time?”
[SEVEN]
They were in a large suite on what looked like the top floor of the high-rise resort on the beach.
Lester Bradley checked the AFC, which he had installed on a wide balcony overlooking the beach and the Gulf of Mexico, then gave Castillo a thumbs-up signal.
Castillo picked up the handset and told the computer to connect him with General McNab with Level One encryption.
When he heard McNab’s voice, Castillo said, “Advance party reporting, sir. We hold the high ground. No unfriendlies have been sighted.”
“As strange as this may sound, I’m really glad to hear from you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the meaning of what you just said?”
“I’m in a very nice room on the top floor of the Portofino Island Resort & Spa, which is on Pensacola Beach about half an hour from the Pensacola Airport and about thirty miles from Hurlburt.”
“It must be nice not to have to worry about living on per diem.”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“You have wheels?”
“A small fleet, sir.”
“I’m in the Hurlburt O Club. On the beach?”
“Yes, sir. I know where it is.”
“The question would then be: Does Phineas know where it is?”
“I’m sure he can find it, sir.”
“What kind of wheels?”
“Two Suburbans and a Mustang convertible, sir. A red one.”
“The Mustang sounds nice, but I have with me my aide, an old friend of yours and Miller’s, and the co-pilot. And, of course, the AFC. I don’t think we’d all fit in a Mustang. Send Phineas in one of the Suburbans.”
“Is putting everybody up going to cause any problems?”
“No, sir. I’m sure they’ll be happy to accommodate everybody.”
“Well, make sure.”
“Yes, sir. I will. Sir, if DeWitt leaves now, he can be there in, say, thirty-five, forty minutes.”
“Does this Porto Whatever Resort & Spa have a restaurant? One I can afford?”
“Sir, you will be an honored guest of the Lorimer Fund.”
“We didn’t have any lunch, and until seventeen hundred, all the O Club has to offer is stale peanuts and even more stale popcorn.”
A wild hair popped into Castillo’s mind. He considered it briefly.
“General, there’s a great steak house in Pensacola called McGuire’s. We need to eat, too. May I suggest you have DeWitt take you there directly? And then we can come to the hotel.”
“I know McGuire’s,” General McNab said. “Every once in a great while, Colonel, you have a decent idea. This one, however, is an excellent one. We’ll see you at McGuire’s when we get there. McNab out.”
[EIGHT]
Ruprecht O’Tolf Wine Cellar
McGuire’s Irish Pub
Pensacola, Florida
