Orchid Blues

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 a

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 co

"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.

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.

56

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.