Part 43 (2/2)

”Or hiding in a bomb shelter.”

”Joe thinks we should go ahead and make a move. He's got a plan all worked out.”

Jim Tile raised a hand. ”Don't tell me, please. I don't want to hear it.”

”Fair enough,” Winder said, ”but I've got to ask a small favor.”

”The answer is no.”

”But it's nothing illegal.”

The trooper used the corner of a paper napkin to polish the lenses of his sungla.s.ses. ”This falls into the general category of pressing your luck. Just because the governor gets away, don't think it's easy. Or even right.”

”Please,” said Carrie, ”just listen.”

”What is it you want me to do?”

”Your job,” Joe Winder replied. That's all.”

Later, in the rental boat, Joe Winder said he almost felt sorry for Charles Chelsea. ”Getting your sports celebrity shot with the press watching, that's tough.”

Carrie Lanier agreed that Chelsea was earning his salary. She was at the helm of the outboard, expertly steering a course toward the ocean sh.o.r.e of North Key Largo. A young man named Oscar sat s.h.i.+rtless on the bow, dangling his brown legs and drinking a root beer.

Carrie told Joe he had some strange friends.

”Oscar thinks he owes me a favor, that's all. Years ago I left his name out of a newspaper article and it wound up saving his life.”

Carrie looked, doubtful, but said nothing. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She wore amber sungla.s.ses with green Day-Glo frames and a silver one-piece bathing suit. Oscar didn't stare, not even once. His mind was on business, and the soccer game he was missing on television. Most Thursdays he was on his way to Belize, only this morning there'd been a minor problem with Customs, and the flight was canceled. When Joe Winder called him at the warehouse, Oscar felt honor-bound to lend a hand.

”He thinks I cut him a break,” Winder whispered to Carrie, ”but the fact is, I did use his name in the story. It just got edited out for lack of s.p.a.ce.”

”What was the article about?”

”Gunrunning.”

From the bow, Oscar turned and signaled that they were close enough now. Kneeling on the deck, he opened a canvas duffel and began to arrange odd steel parts on a chamois cloth. The first piece that Carrie saw was a long gray tube.

”Oscar's from Colombia,” Joe Winder explained. ”His brother's in the M-19. They're leftist rebels.”

”Thank you, Professor Kissinger.” Carrie smeared the bridge of her nose with mauve-colored zinc oxide. It was clear from her att.i.tude that she had reservations about this phase of the plan.

She said, ”What makes you think Kingsbury needs another warning? I mean, he's got the mob after him, Joe. Why should he care about a couple of John Deeres?”

”He's a developer. He”ll care.” Winder leaned back and squinted at the sun. ”Keep the pressure on, that's the key.”

Carrie admired the swiftness with which Oscar went about his task. She said to Winder: ”Tell me again what they call that.”

”An RPG. Rocket-propelled grenade.”

”And you're positive no one's going to get hurt?”

”It's lunch hour, Carrie. You heard the whistle.” He took out a pair of waterproof Zeiss binoculars and scanned the sh.o.r.eline until he found the stand of pigeon plums that Molly McNamara had told him about. The dreaded bulldozers had multiplied from two to five; they were parked in a semicircle, poised for the mission against the plum trees.

”Everybody's on their break,” Winder reported. ”Even the deputies.” At the other end of the boat, Oscar a.s.sembled the grenade launcher in well-practiced silence.

Carrie cut the twin Evinrudes and let the currents nudge the boat over the gra.s.sy shallows. She took the field gla.s.ses and tried to spot the bird nest that Molly had mentioned. She couldn't see anything, the hardwoods were so dense.

”I'm not sure I understand the significance of this gesture,” she said. ”Mockingbirds aren't exactly endangered.”

”These ones are.” Winder peeled off his T-s.h.i.+rt and tied it around his forehead like a bandanna. The air stuck to his chest like a hot rag; the temperature on the water was ninety-four degrees, and no breeze. ”You don't approve,” he said to Carrie. ”I can tell.”

”What bothers me is the lack of imagination, Joe. You could be blowing up bulldozers the rest of your life.”

The words stung, but she was right. Clever this was not, merely loud. ”I'm sorry,” he said, ”but there wasn't time to come up with something more creative. The old lady said they were taking out the plum trees this afternoon, and it looks like she was right.”

Oscar gave the okay sign from the bow. The boat had drifted close enough so they could hear the voices and lunchtime banter of the Falcon Trace construction crew.

”Which dozer you want?” Oscar inquired, raising the weapon to his shoulder.

”Take your pick.”

”Joe, wait!” Carrie handed him the binoculars. ”Over there, check it out.”

Winder beamed when he spotted it. ”Looks like they're pouring the slab for the clubhouse.”

”That's a large cement mixer,” Carrie noted.

”Sure is. A very large cement mixer.” Joe Winder snapped his fingers and motioned to Oscar. Spying the new target, the young Colombian smiled broadly and readjusted his aim.

In a low voice Carrie said, ”I take it he's done this sort of thing before.”

”I believe so, yes.”

Oscar grunted something in Spanish, then pulled the trigger. The RPG took out the cement truck quite nicely. An orange gout of flame shot forty feet into the sky, and warm gray gobs of cement rained down on the construction workers as they sprinted for their cars.

”See,” Carrie said. ”A little variety's always nice.”

Joe Winder savored the smoky scent of chaos and wondered what his father would have thought. We all s.h.i.+ne on.

That night Carrie banished him from the bedroom while she practiced her songs for the Jubilee. At first he listened in dreamy amazement at the door; her voice was crystalline, delicate, soothing. After a while Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue joined him in the hallway, and Carrie's singing seemed to soften their rough convict features. Danny Pogue lowered his eyes and began to hum along; Bud Schwartz lay on the wooden floor with hands behind his head and gazed at the high pine beams. Molly McNamara even unlocked the door to the adjoining bedroom so that Agent Billy Hawkins, gagged but alert, could enjoy the beautiful musical interlude.

Eventually Joe Winder excused himself and slipped downstairs to make a call. He went through three telephone temptresses before they switched him to Nina's line.

”I'm glad it's you,” she said. ”There's something you've got to hear.”

”I'm honestly not in the mooda””

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