little sleep.
I pulled over to the side of the road in front of a marina and restaurant and stopped the car. I took my binoculars from the glove compartment and focused on a big, black and white sign near the flagpole, about thirty yards down the road. The sign said, ' Plum Island Animal Disease Center.' It didn't say 'Welcome' and it also didn't say 'Ferry,' but the water was right there, and so I deduced this was indeed the ferry station. Civilians assume, detectives deduce. Also, to be truthful, I'd passed this place about a dozen times over the years on my way to the New London ferry, which was just beyond the Plum Island ferry. Although I'd never given it much thought, I suppose I was always curious about the mysterious Plum Island. I don't like mysteries, which is why I want to solve them. It bothers me that there are things I don't know.
Anyway, to the right of the sign and flagpole was a one-story brick building, apparently an administration and reception center. Behind and beyond the building was a large, blacktop parking lot that ran down to the water. The parking lot was surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Where the parking lot ended at the bay were several large warehouses and storage sheds attached to big wharfs. A few trucks were parked near the loading docks. I assumed-oops, deduced-that this was where they loaded the animals that were making the one-way trip to Plum.
The parking lot stretched along the bay for about a hundred yards and at the furthest end, through a light mist, I could see about thirty passenger vehicles parked near the ferry slips. There were no people visible.
I put down the binoculars and checked my dashboard digital clock, which read 07:29 and the temperature was now 17 degrees. I really had to get this car off the metric system. I mean, the friggin' computer was displaying weird French words, like 'kilome tres' and 'litres' and all kinds of French things. I was afraid to turn the seat warmer on.
I was a half hour early for the outbound ferry to Plum Island, but I was on time for the inbound from Plum, which is what I intended. As Uncle Harry used to say when he rousted me out of bed at dawn, 'The early bird gets the worm, Johnny.' And as I used to wisecrack to him, 'The early worm gets
Out of the mist appeared a white and blue ferry boat that glided toward the ferry slip. I raised my binoculars again. On the bow of the boat was a government seal of some sort, probably Department of Agriculture, and the name of the boat-
I had to get closer, so I put the 4X4 into gear and drove toward the sign, flagpole, and brick building. To the right of the building, the chain-link gates were open, and I saw no guard around, so I drove into the parking lot and headed toward the warehouses. I parked near some delivery trucks and shipping containers, hoping my vehicle would be lost in the clutter. I was only about fifty yards from the two ferry slips now, and I watched through my binoculars as the ferry turned and backed into the closest of the slips.
As I watched through my binoculars, a group of men came out of the passenger cabin and onto the stern deck where they disembarked rrorn the open stern directly onto the parking lot. I counted ten men, all dressed in some sort of blue uniform, and either they were the Department of Agriculture band, sent out to greet me, or they were the night security guards who'd been relieved by the guards who'd taken the seven a.m. ferry to Plum. The ten guards all wore pistol belts, though I didn't see any holsters attached.
Next off the ferry was a big guy in a blue blazer and tie, chatting with the ten guards as if he knew them, and I guessed he could be Paul Stevens, the security chief.
Then came four guys in spiffy suits, and I had to think this was a little unusual. I mean, I doubt if these four dudes had spent the night on the island, so I had to figure they'd gone over on the seven a.m. ferry. But that would give them only a few minutes' turnaround time on the island. Therefore, they'd gone over earlier, either on a special ferry run or on another boat, or a helicopter.
And last but not least, waltzing off the boat, wearing casual attire, were Mr. George Foster and Mr. Ted Nash, which did not completely surprise me. Well, there you are-early to bed, early to rise, makes a man sneaky and full of lies. Those SOBs… I had expected they'd pull a fast one on me.
As I watched, Nash, Foster, and the four suits were in deep conversation, and the guy with the blue blazer stood respectfully to the side. I could tell by the body language that Ted Nash was The Man. The other four guys were probably up from D.C., and who knew who the hell sent them? This was all hard to figure, what with the FBI, CIA, Department of Agriculture, and no doubt the Army and Defense Department, and whoever else had their asses hanging out. As far as I was concerned, they were all the Feds and they, in turn, thought of me-if at all-as an annoying hemorrhoid.
Anyway, I put the binocs down and picked up the weekly newspaper and the empty coffee cup in case I had to play hide-the-face. So, here were all these bright boys pulling this early-bird crap on me, and they didn't even bother to look around to see if they were under surveillance. They had total disdain for lowly coppers and that pissed me off.
The blue blazer guy spoke to the ten guards, dismissed them, and they went to their respective cars, got in, and drove off past me. Mr. Blue Blazer then went back onto the stern deck and disappeared into the ferry.
Then the four suits took their leave of Nash and Foster, got into a black Chevy Caprice and came toward me. The Caprice slowed down opposite me, almost stopped, then went on, out the chain-link gates I'd entered.
At this point, I saw that Nash and Foster had noticed my vehicle, so I put it into gear and drove toward the ferry as if I'd just arrived. I parked away from the pier and sipped at the empty coffee cup and read about the return of the bluefish, ignoring Messrs. Nash and Foster, who stood near the ferry.
At about ten to eight, an old station wagon pulled up beside me, and Max got out wearing jeans, a windbreaker, and a fishing cap pulled down low on his forehead. I lowered my window and asked him, 'Is that a disguise, or did you get dressed in the dark?'
He frowned. 'Nash and Foster suggested I shouldn't be seen going to Plum.'
'I heard you on the radio this morning.'
'How'd I sound?'
'Totally unconvincing. Boats, planes, and cars have been leaving Long Island all morning. Total panic along the entire East Coast.'
'Shove it.'
'Right.' I shut off the ignition and waited for my Jeep to tell me something, but I guess I hadn't screwed up this time. I took my keys out of the ignition, and a female voice said, 'Votre fenetre est ouverte.' Now why would a nice American car say that? Well, because when I tried to shut off the stupid voice thing, I somehow got it to speak French-these cars are exported to Quebec, which explained the metric thing, too. 'Votre fenetre est ouverte.'
'Mangez merde,' I replied in my best graduate school French and got out of the car.
Max asked me, 'You got somebody in there?'
'No.'
'Somebody's talking-'
'Ignore it.'
I -was going to tell Max that I saw Nash and Foster get off the ferry from Plum, but since Max hadn't thought to get his butt here early, or ask me to do it, then he didn't deserve to know what I knew.
Cars started arriving and the experienced Plum Island commuters hit the pier with split-second timing as the ferry horn blasted.
Ted Nash called out to Max and me, 'Hey, all aboard!'
I looked around for Beth Penrose while making little misogynist remarks about women being late.
Max said, 'There she is.'
And there she was, walking away from a black Ford, probably her unmarked PD, that had been parked before even I arrived. Could it be that there were people in the world as bright as I? Not likely. I think I planted the idea in her head of arriving early.
Max and I walked across the misty parking lot toward the pier as the ferry horn sounded again. Detective Penrose joined Mr. Nash and Mr. Foster, and they were chatting near the ferry as we approached. Nash looked up and made an impatient gesture for us to hurry. I've killed people for less.
