Heaven Is High (26 page)

She sat up straighter and poured herself more wine, sick and tired of treading the same water over and over and over. Getting nowhere. And she was getting chilled.

She took a sip of wine, then put the glass on the table. She no longer wanted wine. She wanted a cup of hot coffee and she wanted to walk and think. Wearily she shook her head. No more walking in circles on a goddamn boat.

She had risen and was starting back to the stairs to the lower deck when Gabe returned. “I was getting cold,” she said. “Time to go inside, or get a sweater.”

“Good. I was going to suggest the lounge. The air does cool off fast after dark.”

“Is a cup of coffee possible?”

“Of course it is. In the lounge.”

There was more light on the lower deck as they made their way to the lounge where she had pored over papers all afternoon. It was comfortably warm inside.

“Barbara, before you settle down, I have a request. May we have your notebook with the account of your miserable day?”

“Why?”

“While you're getting it, I'll tell Franklin we want coffee, and then I'll explain. Okay?”

She shrugged. “Sure. But not the Eliot.”

“No. Just the notebook.” He walked to her stateroom door with her, then left to speak to Franklin.

She had everything packed and ready to go, her sweater and jacket on top of her suitcase, her purse on the bed. She retrieved the notebook and flipped through it to see if she had jotted down something or other toward the back. It was clean except for her crude map of the finca house and driveway, the start of the gravel road into the jungle, and her account of her kidnapping. She left both pages intact.

Then, in the lounge, seated in the rattan chairs, as they waited for coffee Gabe said, “Later, perhaps after dinner, you'd like to watch a movie. Something frothy and comic. Marx Brothers?”

“You really don't have to entertain me,” she said.

“I know, but there it is. I can't seem to help myself. Good, here's the coffee.”

Franklin entered with a tray and put it on the table by Gabe, looking and smiling broadly at Barbara as he did so. “Do you like lamb? A rack of lamb?”

“Very much,” she said. “I've had so much seafood gills are starting to develop.”

“Lamb it is,” he said. “Or will be at about nine. You want it earlier, or later?”

Gabe said, “That's enough, Franklin. Beat it.”

Franklin backed up to the door, grinning at Barbara all the way before he turned and left.

“He's mad about you,” Gabe said drily.

“I rather suspect he's mad about all your female passengers.”

“Only those he thinks worthy of his attention. Well, maybe most of my female guests under a certain age. Above that age he treats them all like his mother. But he makes a decent cup of coffee.” He poured it and handed her a cup.

“Barbara,” he said then, “I've said you're a scary woman, and you are. A wild card in our midst, and you are that, also. But more, you're a catalyst. Because of you some plans have been rearranged, changed a bit drastically, in fact. Tomorrow morning, Santos will be served notice to vacate the finca. That remains in place. But he will also be arrested and charged with kidnapping, assault, conspiracy to commit murder, and as an accessory to murder. The grounds will be searched for the body of Philip Carnero, and he will be found, I'm sure. Probably buried hastily not far from the hacienda. Santos will be held in custody while the kidnap charge is under investigation, and he will be told that you will be brought back to testify against him and against the man who killed Philip. You witnessed that murder, Barbara. That blow to the head was his only injury, according to David.”

She shook her head violently. “You can't make me do that,” she said.

“No, we know that. And we won't ask you to, but he won't know that. He will be shown a copy of your account, with your signature and date, and he won't be allowed to make any phone calls for at least twenty-four hours. He will be told that no bail for such serious charges will be permitted, and he will await trial in prison. He knows that prison for him would be a death sentence. He would be a sitting duck there. I think within twenty-four hours, he'll know it's over, and that's when we'll approach him.”

She thought about it, then slowly nodded. Twenty-four hours, long enough for the others to learn enough to know he was no longer a player in their scheme? Long enough for them to order his death?

“We, of course, will offer a safe house, offer to fly him out under our protection, and continue to protect him.” Gabe had not taken coffee for himself. Now he did. “I think I'll recommend a safe house in North Dakota, one without air-conditioning. Have you ever been to North Dakota, summer or winter?”

She shook her head. “Might I suggest that in his new identity he is a South American writer, who needs his own hundred years of solitude to write his opus. He would need a secretary, of course, one who is very big, blond, and blue-eyed, maybe a little overweight, from the Deep South. Alabama, Mississippi, someplace like that. One who has not lost his accent. He should enjoy things like country music, chicken-fried steak, french fries, quiz shows and cartoons—” She stopped. Gabe was laughing, not his usual soft laughter, but explosive deep laughter.

“You are also more diabolical than even I am,” he said when he subsided.

Barbara handed him her notebook.

“Now for the rest of it,” Gabe said. “Our resources are not as vast as you assumed earlier. This entire operation has been organized with the accent on secrecy. Not a hint can emerge until the time is right, and that means it was limited in personnel as much as possible. All available people are already deployed, here, there, in various places. But what that means is that we don't have anyone in Eugene, and we don't have anyone to send there at present. Until you arrived, no one even considered Eugene, your client, Mr. Marcos, Nicholson, any of that whole new chapter of the ongoing drama. I'm very much afraid, Barbara, that we will be counting on your ingenuity and skill to keep you and your client safe for the next week or so.”

23

Throughout the excellent dinner Franklin flirted outrageously with Barbara whenever he was in the lounge, where he had set up a dining table for two. She assumed there was a real dining room, but no doubt the invisible crew was having dinner there. She asked no questions. Gabe talked charmingly about mishaps on various sets during filming, about Hollywood foibles, many things, but not about the situation at hand. After coffee had been poured, dinner remnants cleared, he asked if she would like a brandy.

“No, thanks,” she said. “It's wasted on me, I'm afraid. Not a fan.”

“The first flaw in you that I've discovered,” he said. “I hereby remove your halo.”

She laughed. “Gabe, you've said several times that it will be a long night. How about a few more details than that.”

“Right. At eleven thirty or so, a motor launch will rendezvous with us. I'll hold a brief conversation with someone, and then you will be escorted ashore to a waiting car that will take you to an airplane. It's an army plane with few amenities, I'm afraid. I can't tell how long the plane will be on the ground waiting for other passengers, but it will take off and fly to New Orleans. There, another driver will escort you to your hotel, where your tickets will be waiting for the rest of your flight, or flights. You may or may not have time to rest in your room, also already reserved in your name. And from then on, you're just another passenger trying to get to your home base. Enough?”

She nodded. “So, if ever I'm asked which countries I've visited, I can say Belize, but don't ask me about the ruins or the waterfall or anything else. And my experience in Cancún will be a passing acquaintance. Okay.”

“I've held a number of conversations with others today,” Gabe said, swirling brandy in the snifter he held. “I was told to reveal nothing to you, and I explained that there was little danger of that, since you already had pieced it pretty much together yourself. I was also instructed to explain to you the necessity of maintaining silence about this operation. I doubt I have to do that, either. I mentioned that you have been very cooperative and helpful, even if they declared you a pain in the ass.” He looked from his glass to her and said, “Thanks.”

“Gabe, what choice have I had? You could have taken my notebook at any time, and unless I jumped overboard and swam to the nearest shore, I was a captive on your lovely yacht.”

“There is that,” he said ruefully. “Another time I would like nothing better than to invite you as my guest for a cruise to a destination of your choosing. I'm afraid, however, that our paths are not likely to cross again, and I want you to know, Barbara, that I think you are a remarkable woman. Your client is very fortunate that you came to her rescue.” He stood. “And now, I insist on a movie or two. Buster Keaton, my favorite after a trying day.”

She did not protest, although a movie was at the bottom of the list of items on her mind. Rising, she said, “Gabe, may I ask a favor?”

“Absolutely. What?”

“I imagine that there are times when you provision your boat in the States. Someday when you do that, would you mind buying some hot dogs for Papa Pat?”

He looked blank for a moment. “Hot dogs? Wieners?”

“Yes. Good-quality hot dogs, if there is such a thing. He misses them.”

Gabe pulled a notebook from his pocket and jotted it down. “I wonder if he has relish, mustard, catsup, or even buns.” He made another note. Closing the notebook, he said, “I lived in New York City for a number of years when I was young.”

“Sauerkraut?” she asked.

“Good God, I forgot sauerkraut.” He opened the notebook and added it. “Consider it done, Barbara. He will include you in his prayers, I have no doubt.”

And she, she had already decided, would ship a box of northwest McIntosh apples to Papa Pat.

*   *   *

It was a little after eleven thirty when a motor launch pulled up to the yacht. Gabe and another man talked for a few minutes, and he gave the man a metal box and what looked like a diplomatic pouch. Franklin handed her suitcase and jacket to someone else still in the launch. Then Barbara was motioned forward.

“Take care, Barbara,” Gabe said at the ladder. “Be very careful.” He kissed her forehead and she descended the ladder.

From where they were the lights from Cancún looked distant and nebulous. No one spoke in the launch or in the car that awaited them. Not until she boarded an airplane did anyone speak to her, and then a sergeant asked if she would like to stretch out on the bench that was on one side of the plane. She didn't. Eight double seats were on the other side. It was a long wait on the plane before two more men boarded, one in camouflage, the other an army lieutenant who looked exhausted. The door was closed, the captain said to fasten seat belts, and they took off.

*   *   *

At seven in the morning, Barbara checked in at the hotel in New Orleans, picked up the envelope at the desk, and went to her room, where she sank down on the bed, more tired than she could remember ever being. She had not slept on the plane except in brief snatches, and she had been cold throughout the flight.

She took her tickets from the envelope and groaned. Her departure was for nine thirty, just enough time to call Bailey, have breakfast, then out again. She ordered breakfast, and immediately afterward made her call.

She left a message on his machine, her flight numbers, and time of arrival in Portland. She would drive to Eugene and be home by seven thirty. He was to call Frank's office, ask Patsy if her letter had arrived, go get it, and be at her house by eight. It was five in the morning in Eugene, she thought sourly. He would be snug in bed, sound asleep.

*   *   *

When she walked from the ramp into the Portland terminal, she was surprised and alarmed to see Bailey waiting for her. She hurried. “Bailey, what's wrong? Is Dad okay?”

“Your old man? Sure, far's I know. Who slugged you?”

She touched her cheek. “Later. Why are you here?”

“Let's get out of this mob first,” he said, taking her carry-on. “You look like hell warmed over, by the way.”

“Thanks. Let's get all the way out of here.”

“Not a good idea. Rush-hour traffic, stop and stop and stop and maybe get to go. Let's have something to eat and wait it out. Better in here than in the car.”

The restaurant he steered her to was almost as crowded as the rest of the terminal, and it was noisy. After they ordered, Bailey said, “You know what they say, you can't go home again. There's something to that. You've got a stakeout at your place. Martin's restaurant, and their house have them, too. Now, about that cheek.”

It was too noisy to talk. Instead, she took the Eliot volume from her purse, opened it to the right place, and handed it to him. “Did you get a letter for me?”

“Jeez, Barbara, you want me to read poetry?” He reached into his pocket and brought out a crumpled envelope, gave it to her.

“Read the footnotes,” she said crossly, opening the letter.

Their appointment was for Friday morning at nine. This was Wednesday night. Not enough time, she thought despairingly. One day! God, not enough time.

She watched Bailey read her account. When done, he snapped the book shut and said, “Jeez, you put your foot down on a hornet's nest and all you got was a slap across the jowls. Miracles do happen, after all. How'd you get out of the dungeon?”

“Walked,” she said.

“You just got up and walked away. Right.”

A couple at the table next to theirs left, the busboy cleared it rapidly, and another couple, this time with a toddler, was seated. The child began to yell as soon as he was placed in a high chair.

“Tell you all about it later,” Barbara said. No real talk was possible. Their steaks were served, making Barbara wish she had ordered something she did not have to cut or deal with in any way except to lift food to her mouth.