Legally Dead (30 page)

“I'll be there,” Michael said. “But only if you call off your operations until after we meet.”

“Agreed,” the gruff voice said.

“Where? Paris? London?”

“No,” Vasily said. “Panama.”

“Why Panama?”

“Why not? It is closer to the U.S. and my pressing business commitments. In thirty-six hours?”

“You've got it, if I can make connections.”

“And Viktor?”

“We'll discuss him then. I'm in constant contact with my colleagues abroad. If any further hostile action is taken against any one of them, our meet is canceled, and Viktor will be turned over to the authorities to tell his story about the murder in Great Britain and the attempts in Ireland and Tours.”

“Understood.”

“Where in Panama?”

“The Canopy Tower. It's in the Gamboa area of the former Canal Zone. Somewhat remote, which will give us privacy, but only forty minutes from downtown Panama City. I look forward to our meeting, Mr. Venturi.”

“So do I. Leave your soldiers behind,” Venturi said. “This is a peaceful negotiation, not a war.”

“Of course, and I expect as much from you. You are alone?”

“I may have a driver, but that's all.”

“I know the place,” Danny said. “It's an old U.S. radar installation transferred to Panama as part of the handover of the Canal in 2000. You can see it from the canal, like a big golf ball up above the tree canopy. I heard it's been converted to a tourist stop for bird-watchers from all over the world.”

Micheline argued to accompany them.

“You can't,” Danny said. “You don't belong on that side of the pond. It's too damn risky. You ever been to the Panama Canal Zone? It's a jungle over there.”

She shrugged. “I can shoot a weapon. And I'm not afraid of heat, hardship, snakes, or mosquitoes.”

“In case it doesn't work out,” Venturi said, “we want you safe, on this side of the world. And we need you here. There's no one else we can rely on. Only you. Drop us at the airport, then go back to France, and wait at the convent until you hear from us.”

“No,” she said vehemently. “If I can't go with you, I can stay here with your friend, the fisherman.”

“Not possible,” Venturi said quickly.

“No way.” Danny looked alarmed at the possibility. “
Cherie,
you didn't win the argument last time. We could have drugged you, left you at the convent. Don't think it didn't cross my mind. We didn't give in out of weakness; we brought you with us because we care for you. But there's no way you can win this one. Marines don't lose the big ones. We go. You stay. Next stop, the airport.”

She nodded solemnly.

“We'll pick up more disposable cell phones,” Venturi said, “and then, depending on how it goes, we'll either call you with an all-clear or a duck-and-run. Forget the fisherman. He's in more danger then you are, so don't go there. He's not trained to protect you.”

“And he's already sailed,” Danny said, checking his watch.

“I'll go back to Paris,” she said grudgingly, “but not the convent. I saw bed and breakfasts in that area. Is it all right if I stay at one of those?”

“I like the big iron gate around the convent but if you feel so strongly, do as you damn well please,” Venturi said impatiently. “It's your life.”

She was quiet—pouting, he thought—as they neared the airport.

Danny kissed her good-bye in the car, then did it again. Then she kissed him. He kissed her back, and they began all over again. Venturi feared he'd need a fire hose to end the farewells. When Micheline tearfully murmured, “I may never see you again,” he rolled his eyes.

“You're torturing me,” Danny moaned breathlessly, finding her lips again.

“That's right,” she retorted, also breathless. “You deserve it. I want you to remember everything you'll never have again.”

“I know, I know.”

“We have to go, now,” Venturi interrupted from the front seat. They did.

Danny painfully extricated himself from the backseat. She followed and leaned provocatively against the car, watching them.

When Danny looked back, she was still watching. He walked backward, eyes on her face for as long as he could.

They were getting out just in the nick of time, Venturi thought.

Danny breezed through security unmolested, as usual.

Venturi drew special scrutiny. Again. He knew it was because he fit the profile, traveling alone, paying cash at the last minute for a one-way ticket. But so did Danny, he groused to himself.

Strangers again, they sat in different sections. Venturi was glad they didn't sit together. Danny's mood was dark after the painful parting. Venturi didn't hear his laugh ring out at all during the flight.

With little rest for forty-eight hours, Venturi tried to sleep.

Tocumen International Airport in Panama City was not as busy or bustling as the others. They stayed alert but didn't spot a tail.

“No Russians on the radar,” Danny muttered as they connected at a car-rental counter. They stopped for party supplies again, this time from the back room of a downtown flower shop. They included military-grade night binoculars, night-vision goggles, military-issue knives, guns, and flash suppressors.

Then they took the main road south.

The Canopy Tower rises well above the thick jungle surrounding it. Hundreds of species of bright-winged birds, toucans, red summer tanagers, and eight different varieties of woodpeckers, flock to the forest, which is also the habitat of monkeys and sloths, according to the tourist brochures at the airport.

The lodge nestled close to the top of a steep hillside; half a mile higher was the observation platform, with a rest area below.

They encountered a gaggle of bird-watchers upon arrival. Three middle-aged couples in comfortable shoes hiking down the hill from the observation tower, binoculars around their necks, bird books in hand.

“Look!” cried one of the women, giddy with excitement at a rare sighting. “There it is again!”

A huge white-bodied bird circled, riding wind drafts high above the forest.

Cameras clicked, binoculars were raised. They were jubilant.

“It's a rare scavenger,” one of the men explained. “Never seen in North America and rarely here.”

“What is it?” Danny asked.

“A King vulture!” they chorused.

They watched the bird vanish into the clouds, then went on their way.

“I don't like it,” Danny said. “A bad omen.”

The accommodations were far from four-star. Small rooms, no air-conditioning, simple meals, few luxuries. They checked into rooms across the hall from each other on the same floor. No messages. No one called. “I guess we wait,” Danny said.

They did a recon of the lodge and its outbuildings, then climbed the half mile uphill to the deserted observation tower, took in the view, and memorized the narrow paths through the dense forest. Few vehicles. Other than their own, most seemed to belong to the hotel.

Back at the lodge, they ate dinner in the dining room and found themselves the only guests. The bird-watchers they had seen must have departed. The meal was simple, served with red wine.

As night fell, the jungle outside their open windows came alive with exotic sounds and smells.

Keri would love the place,
Venturi thought, wondering if she'd found the rare white ghost orchid she had hunted in the Everglades.

Danny ranted against Jimmy Carter, lamenting the loss of the Canal Zone's strategic advantage. “Worst president we ever had. Should've stuck to growing peanuts.”

“He's a better ex-president than he was in office,” Venturi said.

“Nah, he runs around shooting off his mouth like a nasty little old lady with no clue what he's talking about. Guess he's senile and forgot the mess he made with Cuba and Iran. Remember the hostages?”

“Looks like no action tonight,” Venturi said.

Even the hotel staff seemed to have vanished, leaving them alone in the deserted dining room.

“Think they wanted us out of the way,” Danny said, “so they could go after Micheline and the others without us interfering?”

“Nothing would surprise me,” Venturi said. “We should stay in the same room tonight.”

“Bro, I'm a married man. You need to find yourself a woman.”

“I'm serious. We'll take turns standing watch.”

“Actually, I was about to suggest that myself. Toss you for first watch.”

Danny crossed the hall and rolled up some towels and a bath mat to make his bed look occupied as Venturi checked on the others by phone. Andrew's fishing boat had sailed on schedule. Richard was at an Irish dance festival with his tourist group.

Micheline surprised him. She was at the convent. “They were expecting me,” she whispered. “The nuns are wonderful. I feel so safe here in my little room, a crucifix over my bed and a Bible beside me. I'm glad I followed Danny's advice. He has my best interests at heart. Is he all right? Can I talk to him?”

“Briefly,” he said, as Danny walked in and locked the door behind him.

“It's spooky out there,” he reported. “Dark as a coal mine. The power's out. Not a light in the place, bro. Not a sound. I don't like it.”

Venturi offered him the phone. “Micheline wants to say hello. Guess where she is?”

“Better not be on a fishing boat,” he muttered. “I'll take first watch.”

He sat on the floor, his back to the wall between the door and a large window, his gun in one hand, the phone in the other.

“
Bonjour
, baby.” His soft murmurs into the phone lulled Venturi into an uneasy sleep. He had taken his mattress off the bed and shoved it into a corner away from the windows. Lying there, a .45-caliber handgun and an assault rifle beside him, he dreamed of Miami. He awoke still feeling the city's hypnotic pull on his psyche.

He blinked. Danny was still on the phone. How long had they been talking? He listened, drowsy, wondering what time it was.

“Love you, love your body, darlin'. If I could be there I'd rub your back and kiss you all over. What are you wearing?…I can't wait to lie down beside my warrior woman again. I can never find the words to say how much I love you. Kiss the kids, and tell them Daddy loves them.” His words faded as Venturi relaxed and dozed again.

Sergey's cell rang, like an electric shock in the dark, just after 2 a.m. It seemed even later. Danny silently handed him the phone. Venturi cleared his throat and shook his head before he answered, hoping to sound wide awake and alert.

“Mister Venturi? Vasily here.” The slick, oily voice sounded energized and in control. “I hope you and your friend find your rooms comfortable.”

“They'll do. I've been wondering where you were. Let's meet at last. Are you here? On the premises?” Silently, he rolled off the mattress and crouched in the dark near the window, the gun in his hand.

“In a manner of speaking. On the observation deck, half a mile up the hill.”

“Come down, we can meet in the dining room.”

“Come up. Someone else is here, an interested party eager to meet with you in private.”

“When?” he asked, aware he'd be crazy to go.

“Now. What better time?”

“It's private down here, and easier. I'm unfamiliar with the grounds. There are no lights. It's the dead of night in a jungle.”

“I'm from New York myself and in the same position.”

“You picked the place,” Venturi said shortly.

Vasily sighed deeply. “I thought it was of utmost importance to you to meet as soon as possible.”

“How about dawn?”

“Our interested party has pressing commitments. Time is fleeting. Does the dark disturb you?”

“No. Do you fear the light of day?”

The Russian laughed unpleasantly. “This meeting was arranged to accommodate you. If you're no longer interested, we can revert to our prior status and see what transpires.”

“I wouldn't have come if I wasn't interested. But it's foolhardy to climb up there on strange turf in the dark.”

“What strange turf? Birds are most active at dawn. Every day tourists hike to the observation deck through the dark before dawn. The trail is well marked, used by bird aficionados, tourists, even senior citizens. It's easy to find, even in the dark. Pretend to be a tourist,” Vasily wheedled.

Venturi sighed, weary of cat-and-mouse. Danny, his face in shadow across the room, gave a thumbs-up and whispered, “Go. Go.”

“All right. Where are you exactly?”

“Up on the deck, of course, where the view is most excellent. I will watch for your approach.”