“Yeah,” Ledet said tentatively, as though he expected to be reprimanded for it.
“Christ,” Redden said. “Well, get the hell rid of her, Rick. Jesus, man, that was stupid.”
“How was I to know this was going to be something special,” Ledet said, looking at Graver. “Okay, I’ll get her out of here. What about Las Copas? Why don’t you just swing by and pick me up on the way?”
“I don’t know,” Redden said, sounding worried.
“What?” He raised his eyebrows to Graver, surprised. “What do you mean you don’t know? What’s the deal?”
“I told you this is serious, Rick. I’ve got a schedule, and it doesn’t include stopping by to pick you up, know what I mean?”
Graver grabbed his notepad, jotted something, and shoved it in front of Ledet.
“Where are you now? Can’t you just come get me now?”
“Forget it,” Redden said. “Look, Rick, can’t you patch up the oil problem? How bad could it be, for Christ’s sake? Rick, listen to me, trust me, just by-God get there. We’re going to pull in some big money on this one. Something’s going on here. I’ll tell you about it when you get there. Just believe me when I tell you you can’t miss this, okay? Besides that, I can’t go flying in there without a copilot. I don’t know what he’d do.”
Graver got on the floor and jotted another note on the pad holding it so Ledet could read it as he wrote.
“Okay, okay. Uh, I’ll, shit, I’ll try and patch it up somehow. But what about Las Copas, I mean is that where they’re staging this, whatever it is? I mean, what if I come in there slinging oil? I’m not going to want to do that if all those-”
“Wait a minute, Rick… uh, Rick, stand by.” Silence. “I’ll call you right back.”
The line went dead and Ledet sat on the floor looking astonished.
“Jesus. He just hung up, just like that,” Ledet said, looking up at Graver, still holding the receiver. “You think he smelled something? You think he knew something was wrong here?”
“Put down the damn receiver,” Graver snapped.
Ledet hung up. Neuman came into the room.
“I don’t think he suspected anything,” he said. “It sounded to me like he was interrupted from that end. I think we’re okay.”
“What’s Las Copas?” Graver asked.
“It’s a little strip Kalatis had cut in the boonies,” Ledet said. “Inland from Kalatis’s beach house, across Chocolate Bay in Brazoria County. It’s a secret strip, no roads in, just air traffic. A dirt top, bayous and low-water ponds all around. The pilots use it as a rendezvous point, and sometimes to transfer goods from planes to boats. There’s a navigable bayou within seventy-five yards of it, but it’s a swampy place.”
“It’s near Kalatis’s house?”
“Yeah. Ten, twelve air miles. He owns a shit-load of beachfront property across the West Bay from there, on the Gulf side of the island.”
The telephone rang again.
“See what he says before you repeat the part about patching the oil line,” Graver said as Neuman went back into the bedroom. “We want him here.”
Ledet nodded. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Redden said. “Okay, look, I’m coming to pick you up. That was Wade. The whole thing’s been changed-again. New schedule. No problem about picking you up now. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Ledet. This is better anyway. I can refuel at Bayfield and we’ll have time to get something to eat before we have to be in the air again.”
“Bayfield? I thought you were at Gulf.”
“No, man, change of plans. I didn’t take the Beechcraft. We got cargo. I’m in the PC, needed the extra muscle.”
“Oh,” Ledet said, looking at Graver for vindication. “Okay. Glad we got that straight Then when you going to be there?” Ledet asked.
“Uh, well, there’s plenty of time now so, let’s see, it’s almost three now. Why don’t you pick me up out there at… five. We’ll run over to Kemah for some crab before we start this little circus the Greek’s got planned. Gonna be a long night, Ricky. Hope you’re rested up.”
“Okay, five o’clock,” Ledet said, and hung up. He looked at Graver for approval.
“What’s a PC?” Graver asked.
“It’s a Pilatus PC-12 turboprop, a Swiss aircraft. A very fine piece of equipment.”
“What did he mean ‘extra muscle’?”
“The PC’s a power plane. It’s new, a corporate class aircraft, but a workhorse. It’s got a range of 1700 nautical miles, airspeed of 270 knots, and can carry up to a ton in payload-people, cargo, whatever, depending on whether you put in seats or decking.”
“Put your hands out,” Graver said, and when Ledet did Graver snapped the cuffs again and sat down in one of the rattan chairs, looking at Ledet on the floor.
“That’s good,” Neuman said, coming back into the room.
Graver nodded, but his eyes had shifted to the white heat outside, beyond the sunless rooms and the shady porch. No one said anything as Graver stared outside. The afternoon was hot enough now that you could smell it, the vegetation and soil and bay water heated to the point that they exuded odors all their own, odors that never occurred at any other time than on the most sweltering days of summer. It was hot even in the house now, the temperature outside outstripping the natural coolness inherent to the marriage of shadow and breeze. Now the hot breath off the bay intruded to the point of rudeness, leaving them no recourse but to sweat and wish it was later in the afternoon.
“Look, how much longer am I supposed to stay back there?” Alice asked, standing in the doorway to the main room. She was holding onto the door frame with one hand, standing on one foot, the other foot pulled up and pressed against the inside of her knee.
“Not much longer,” Neuman said.
“It’s three o’clock,” she said. “Right at it, anyway.”
“Maybe an hour,” Neuman said, not having any idea.
“An hour? God dog!” She wheeled around in exasperation and returned to the bedroom.
Graver looked at Neuman, nodded his head sideways toward the porch and then got up and walked back through the kitchen again carrying his handset, with Neuman following. When he got outside he dialed Arnette.
“I’ve got some news for you,” Arnette said, and she told him what had happened at Connie’s condominium. “They just walked out, Marcus,” she said. “There really wasn’t anything else they could do.”
“Goddamn.” The deaths made Graver furious. He didn’t feel exactly responsible for them, but he did feel connected to them somehow. They were deaths for which he felt a sense of guilt. Kalatis was at the root of two more acts of despair. The man was the angel of despair.
“What’s happened to Kalatis’s ‘veiled’ hits?” he asked. “A bomb, now this. What’s going on here?”
“I’m wondering if it’s him,” Arnette said.
“Who, then? Geis?”
“Maybe. What puzzles me is the erratic pattern of the hits. They don’t ring true. Bombing at the marina. Veiled hit on Hormann. Obvious assassination of Faeber. Either Kalatis is losing his grip… or someone with a heavier hand has stepped in.”
“You’re sticking with your ‘government man’ theory, then?”
“I don’t know,” Arnette admitted. “If there’s a second hitter involved… if it’s Geis… the government’s coming unhinged.”
“Before now I thought you were wrong,” Graver said. “Now I think you’re right, but I’m hoping you’re wrong.”
“I just don’t know why-if I’m right about a second hitter-why is he playing into Kalatis’s game? I mean, ideally Kalatis would have wanted Burtell and Sheck and Faeber dead anyway, as a part of his plan to burn his bridges. Why is someone stepping in and helping him out… so crudely?”
“I don’t know,” Graver said. “I don’t know about any of that, but I do know I made a mistake by not pulling in Faeber. Honestly, I didn’t anticipate that I should have, I just didn’t.”
