Stuart Woods - Orchid Blues

Ham realized that the switch had isolated the pilot's intercom from the rest of the airplane. He couldn't hear what John was saying, and he wasn't all that good a lip-reader.

The King Air was taxiing to the terminal at Opa-Locka when the onboard telephone rang, and Harry picked it up. "Yeah? Thanks."

He hung up the phone and leaned back. "John's airplane is in the air, and they've cleared him direct. He'll be here soon."

The airplane came to a stop before the terminal and the pilot shut down the engines.

"Get this thing in a hangar and close the doors," Harry said to the pilot, then he led the way off the airplane. "They'll put the luggage in my car," he said to Holly. "Follow me."

He walked over to the base of the tower and picked up a phone. "This is Harry Crisp, FBI," he said into it, and the door buzzed open. They got into an elevator and rode to the top.

Harry shook hands with the controller supervisor.

"Anything you need?" the man asked.

"Three pairs of the best binoculars you've got," Harry said.

The man produced three large pairs of binoculars, and they sat down to wait.

It had started to rain. Harry, Doug, Holly and Daisy sat in the semidarkness of the tower and waited, watching airplanes land on the shiny runways, their landing lights flaring on the streaked windows of the tower.

Then suddenly: "Opa-Locka Tower, November one, two, three, tango foxtrot, with you, descending out of six thousand feet."

"One, two, three, tango foxtrot, this is Opa-Locka Tower, radar contact, enter a right base for twenty-seven right, cleared to land."

"Okay," Harry said to the supervisor, "when he contacts ground, I want you to have the lineman direct him to taxi right there," he said, pointing to a well-lit area in front of the terminal.

"Got that?" the supervisor asked the ground controller.

"Got it. I'll call him."

"Doug, is our photographer in place?"

"On the second floor, in the terminal building."

The airplane taxied onto the ramp and, directed into the light by the lineman, came to a stop. Harry, Doug and Holly had a clear view of the door.

The airplane sat, its engine idling. Holly stood, staring through the binoculars. "Why isn't he cutting the engine?" she asked.

"He's waiting for the oil in the turbochargers to cool down," Harry replied. "It'll take four or five minutes."

As they watched, a gray minivan drove onto the ramp and stopped near the airplane.

"Doug," Harry said, "let the terminal know that I want that van delayed at the gate until our people are in place."

Doug picked up a phone.

The airplane's engine finally stopped. The airstair door opened, and a man got out.

"Who's that?" Doug asked.

"It's Peck Rawlings," Holly said. "I met him at the gun show."

A second man, wearing a suit and a straw hat got out.

"How about him?"

Holly said nothing. She was staring through the binoculars. She didn't recognize the second man, but something about him was familiar.

A third man alit from the airplane.

"That's John," Harry said. "But where the hell is Ham?"

All three men had scurried into the van to get out of the rain, while the van driver loaded their luggage, which was only a few cases. He got in and drove toward the gate.

"Well, shit," Harry said.

"Are we going to run this surveillance if Ham isn't here?" Doug asked.

"I'm thinking about that," Harry said, staring out the window.

"It's Ham," Holly said suddenly.

"What?"

"The second man, the one in the suit and hat. It's Ham."

"Are you sure? It didn't look like Ham."

"It's Ham. I can tell by the way he moved."

"We're on," Harry said. "Let's get out of here." He thanked the tower supervisor and led the way down the stairs to a waiting FBI car.

The van drove up to the gate and stopped, but it didn't open.

"What's happening with the gate?" John asked the driver.

"I don't know." He rolled down the window and pushed the button on the intercom. "I'm at the gate, and it's not opening," he said into the instrument.

"We've been having problems with it," a woman's voice said. "Hang on just a minute."

"Your luggage is in the trunk," the FBI driver said, as they got in.

"Everybody in place?" Harry asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell 'em it's okay to open the gate."

They watched as the van moved through the opening.

Harry accepted a handheld radio from the driver. "This is number one; we're moving."

They waited until the gate closed behind the van, then drove up to it and out of the ramp area.

"Can you see them?" Harry asked the driver.

"No, sir, but I've got confirmation on my earpiece that they're in sight up ahead. We'll be working a four-vehicle pattern. They'll never know."

"I hope you're right," Harry said.

Following directions from the radio, they headed toward Miami Beach.

Ham, John and Peck all sat in the rear seat at John's direction, even though it was cramped.

"Ham," John said, "start handing our luggage from the rear up here."

Ham didn't understand, but he did as he was told.

"You hold on to the rifle. I'll take your bag."

"What's going on?" Peck asked.

"You'll see in a minute," John replied.

"Who's behind the van now? " Harry said into the radio. "Car four."

"Can you see inside?"

"Not really. The windows have that dark vinyl stuff on them."

"How close are you?"

"Two cars between me and them."

"Drop back another car. I don't want to crowd them."

"Yes, sir."

Traffic was fairly heavy. Ham, who was sitting on the right side of the van, looked out and saw another van, a maroon one, keeping pace with them in the right lane.

"We'll do it at the traffic light," John said. "Ham, get ready to open the door."

Ham put his hand on the door handle.

The van came to a stop, and the maroon van stopped beside it, only inches away.

"Let's go," John said. "Open the door and get into the other van, Ham."

Ham slid the door open, just as the left-hand door of the maroon van opened. He tossed the rifle across, then stepped into the other van and sat down. Peck and John followed him, and the doors to both vans slid closed, clearly by remote control. "Go," John said, as the light changed. "You know the drill."

The driver made a right turn and sped away.

"Have you made the change?" Harry said into the radio. "Who's behind the van now?"

"Car two," a voice responded.

They drove along in silence for a few minutes.

"Not moving very fast, are they?" Doug said.

"I guess they don't want to risk a traffic stop," Harry replied.

"Car one, this is car two."

"I'm here," Harry said into the radio.

"Something strange. The van just pulled into a McDonald's."

"Pass it by," Harry said. "Next car, pull into the McDonald's. Everybody else pull over and wait for instructions. Who knew they would get hungry?"

The driver stopped the car. Everyone waited. Five minutes passed. Harry picked up the radio. "What's happening?"

"Car four is in the McDonald's parking lot. The driver got out and went in alone."

"Is there a big line for food?"

"No, sir. He ordered a Big Mac, and he's sitting there alone, eating it."

"Oh, shit," Harry said. "We've been had."

The driver of the van seemed to be working his way west, making frequent turns.

"Anybody behind us?" John asked, after twenty minutes.

"We're clean," the driver replied.

"Then go on as planned."

Peck spoke up. "Aren't we going to the hotel?" he asked.

John didn't speak, just held a finger to his lips for silence. They drove on.

Ham didn't understand any of it.