Stuart Woods: Orchid Blues

Harry jotted down the number. "Thanks, Mark." A second after he hung up, he realized what Chip's phone call meant. "Holy shit!" he yelled.

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Check the White House website and get the president's published schedule for today and tomorrow."

"Just take a sec," Eddie said, tapping some computer keys. "Here we are. Nothing for today or tomorrow."

Then what was Chip going to be doing in Miami?

The young man brought Ham lunch and dinner, too. "Be ready to leave here at six-thirty," he said. "John says wear the blue suit, shirt and tie and carry your shaving stuff and a change of clothes. Oh, and wear the disguise," he said, then left Ham alone.

Ham checked his watch. He had just enough time to eat and dress, but no opportunity to get at his cell phone, which was still taped under the dash of the jeep, unless someone had found it.

He was worried. He had expected to leave the compound on Monday morning and to have plenty of time to call Harry or Holly. He didn't like this at all.

He finished his dinner, then dressed in the suit and stuck the mustache and eyebrows on, the way Dave had taught him. He put the glasses in his pocket and tried on the hat. He looked like any salesman in the state of Florida, he thought.

He heard a vehicle stop outside, and Peck came to the door. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yep." He grabbed his bag and walked out the door. John was waiting in the jeep.

"You look great, Ham," John said.

"Thanks. I'll drive, if you like." He had to get near that cell phone.

"Nah, I'll drive," Peck replied.

Ham wanted to hit him.

Holly, with Daisy, arrived breathlessly at the airport and found Harry waiting for her in the Sun Jet Aviation lounge. "I couldn't get anybody to stay with Daisy on such short notice. What's up?" she asked. "Where are we going?"

Harry took her suitcase and gave Daisy a pat. "They're on the move," he said, "and I think Ham is with them." He headed out of the building and across the ramp toward a King Air.

"But it wasn't supposed to go down until Monday."

"As far as we know, it still might. John has a hotel reservation until Tuesday morning, under the name Owen, but that's the only name we've got."

"What hotel?"

"We don't know. We just picked this up on the smoke detector bug." He stowed her luggage on the airplane, and they got in and buckled up. Doug was already aboard. Daisy settled into the seat next to Holly as if she flew every day.

"So do we have any idea of who the target is yet?"

"No, we don't. John has filed a flight plan for Opa-Locka airport.

We're going to beat him there and keep him under surveillance until we know what's happening. I thought you'd like to be there."

"You're right," she replied. "Thanks. Is somebody listening in on the bug?"

"Eddie's still at the house, and the NSA is recording everything."

The pilot started the engines and, after a couple of minutes, taxied to the runway. A moment later, they were in the air, flying down the coast.

"Has Ham used the scrambled cell phone again?" Holly asked.

"No, not a word from him."

"Harry, why did you tell me to bring my sexiest dress?"

"There's someone I want you to meet. It's a surprise."

"Harry, I'm not interested in matchmaking. It's too soon."

"It's not that, Holly, it's work. I'll explain later."

Peck drove the jeep out to the landing strip, where John's airplane had already been towed out of the hangar. They began loading luggage aboard, and Ham tried to work his way into a position where he could grab the cell phone from under the dash.

"The Barrett's rifle is in the large suitcase," John said. "We've broken it down."

"Good," Ham said.

"Climb aboard. I want you in the copilot's seat, next to me."

Ham moved toward the airplane. When everyone was well away from the jeep, he stopped and felt his pockets. "I think I dropped my pen in the jeep," he said. "I'll just be a minute."

"Take your time," John replied. "I've got to do a preflight, anyway." He removed a fuel cap from the airplane and began walking around the fuselage.

Ham walked quickly toward the jeep, pretending to look for the pen. He looked back at the airplane: Peck was already on board, and John was on the opposite side. Quickly, he leaned into the driver's-side footwell, yanked the duct tape off and, with his back to the airplane, got the phone and the three batteries into a pocket. He wadded and dropped the tape, retrieved a pen from his inside pocket and walked back to the airplane, the pen in his hand.

"Find it?" Peck asked as he got aboard.

Ham held up the pen for him to see. He made his way forward, slipped into the copilot's seat and buckled in.

John slid in beside him. "Everything's in good order," he said. " You and I will talk when we're in the air and I've gotten my clearance."

He started the engine, worked his way through a checklist, then taxied to the end of the grass strip. He did a quick runup, then put in some flaps, adjusted the trim and slowly pushed the throttle up to full power. After a brief check of the instruments, he released the brakes and the airplane began to roll.

More than halfway down the strip, John pulled back on the yoke and they were airborne, flying into the setting sun. He retracted the landing gear and the flaps, then turned to the east. The moon was rising, waning now, but still big.

Ham put on a headset that was hanging on the yoke in front of him. "Beautiful night," he said.

John held up a hand for silence. "Miami Center," he said, pressing a button on the yoke. "November one, two, three, tango foxtrot is off of Vero Beach, IFR to Miami Opa-Locka. Do you have a clearance for me?"

"This is Miami Center. You're in luck tonight. You're cleared direct Opa-Locka."

"Thank you, Center, direct Opa-Locka." He turned to Ham. "That's never happened before," he said. "Usually, my routing is more complicated."

"That will make the trip quicker, then?"

"By a few minutes." He leveled at six thousand feet and announced his altitude to Center. After a few minutes to lean the engine, he turned on the autopilot, sat back and turned to Ham, opening a zippered envelope and extracting an envelope. He handed it to Ham. "This is your identity," he said.

Ham opened the envelope and emptied the contents into his lap. He found a wallet, a passport and an airline ticket. Inside the wallet was a driver's license, some credit cards, a social security card and some photographs of a plump woman and some children.

"You're Owen Sanford," John said, "and the ticket and the stamps in the passport say you've just landed in Miami on a flight that lands about now, that originated in Cairo."

"So, if I'm arrested, it'll look like there's a Middle Eastern connection?"

"Right, but don't worry, you're not going to be arrested."

"Can I know now who my target is?"

"No, it's better that you don't for the time being."

"If you say so," Ham replied.

"Do you have anything in your pockets that might identify you?"

Ham handed over his wallet and made a show of patting his pockets.

"How about the pen you retrieved? Let's see that."

Ham showed him the pen. It was a stationery store ballpoint, undistinguished.

"You can keep that," John said. "Anything else? Even the smallest thing could identify you."

"John, if I get caught, my fingerprints will identify me," Ham said.

"You're right, of course, but we'll deal with the fingerprint problem. You having any second thoughts about your mission?"

"No," Ham replied.

"Would the identity of your target make a difference?"

"No. I trust you to make that judgment. I think of myself as a tool."

"Good," John said, with some satisfaction. "Excuse me, I have to make a phone call." He flipped a switch on the instrument panel, then dialed a number on what appeared to be a cell phone on his yoke.