The Associate

Kyle, in boxers only, left the softness of the clouds and went next door to the large kitchen-den combo. Todd had been to the grocery store. The counter was covered with boxes of cereal, breakfast snacks, cookies, chips, all ma

“Sure.”

There were a few items of folded clothing on the kitchen table. Kyle’s other new best friend was Barry, an older, quieter type with premature gray hair and more wrinkles than any forty-year-old should have. Barry said, “Good morning. We’ve been shopping. Bought you a couple of T-shirts, shorts, a pair of khakis, deck shoes. Really nice stuff from the local Kmart. Don’t worry, Uncle Sam paid the bill.”

“I’m sure I’ll look fabulous,” Kyle said, taking a cup of coffee from Todd. Todd and Barry, both in khakis and polos, were unarmed but not far from their weapons. There was also a Nick and a Matthew somewhere close by.

“I gotta call the office,” Kyle said. “Check in, you know, tell them I’m sick and can’t work today. By now they’re already looking for me.”

Todd produced the FirmFone and said, “Be our guest. We’re told it’s secure. Just don’t give a hint as to where you are. Agreed?”

“Where am I?”

“Western Hemisphere.”

“Close enough.”

With his coffee and his phone, Kyle stepped outside onto a wide deck that looked over some dunes. The beach was long and beautiful, and deserted. The air was light, brisk, but far warmer than frigid New York. With great reluctance he looked at the phone. E-mails, texts, and voice mails from Doug Peckham, Dale, Sherry Abney, Tim Reynolds, Tabor, and a few others, but nothing to alarm him. He sca

He called Doug Peckham, got his voice mail, and reported that he was down with the flu, flat on his back, sick as a dog, and so on. Then he called Dale, who was in a meeting. He left the same message. One useless advantage of working with workaholics was that they had no time to worry about each other’s minor ailments. Got the flu— take some pills and sleep it off, but do not spread your germs at the office.

Roy Benedict seemed to be waiting by the phone. “Where are you, Kyle?” he asked, almost in a pant.

“Western Hemisphere. I’m doing well. How about you?”

“Fine. You’re safe?”

“Safe. I’m hidden, stashed away, and I’m guarded by a posse of at least four, all anxious to shoot someone. Any news on our man Be

“No. They’ll have indictments by noon, and they’re adding one for murder. They’ll splash these around the world and hope for a break. You were right. Your apartment had more bugs than a landfill. Good stuff, too, the latest in wiretapping technology.”

“I’m honored.”

“And they found a transmitter in the rear bumper of your Jeep.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Anyway, all this is being presented to the grand jury as we speak, so at least Be

“Don’t bet on that.”

“Have you talked to the law firm?”

“I left a message with Peckham, the flu routine. He’ll buy it for a couple of days.”

“No alarms, nothing strange.”

“No. It’s weird, Roy. I’m a thousand miles away now, and looking back, I can’t believe how easy it was to walk in with the right gear and walk out with the files. I could’ve taken every single document in the database, four million plus, and handed them over to Be

“So who tells them?”

“I do. I have a few things to get off my chest.”

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow. I’ve been on the phone with Bullington all morning. Twice he’s mentioned the witness protection program. The FBI is pushing it hard. They are pretty nervous about you, Kyle.”

“I’m nervous about me, too, but witness protection?”

“Sure. You’re convinced they can’t find Be

A pleasant morning at the beach was becoming complicated. And why not? Nothing had been simple for a long time now.

“That’ll take some serious thought and consideration,” Kyle said.

“Then start thinking.”

“I’ll call you later.”

Kyle dressed in the khakis and a T-shirt, not a bad fit, then ate two bowls of cereal. He read the Pensacola News Journal and the New York Times. The Times had nothing about last night’s excitement at the Oxford Hotel. Of course not, Kyle said to himself. It happened far too late, and it was far too clandestine. Then why was he looking for it?

After breakfast and the papers, Todd joined him at the kitchen table. “We have a few rules,” he said with a jovial face but a hard smile.

“What a surprise.”

“You can make calls, obviously, but only on that phone. Can’t reveal your whereabouts. You can walk on the beach, but we have to follow, at a distance.”

“You’re kidding? I’m walking down the beach, and there’s a guy with a machine gun tagging along. How relaxing.”

Todd caught the humor and enjoyed a laugh. “No machine gun, and we won’t be conspicuous.”

“You’re all conspicuous. I can spot an agent a mile away.”

“Anyway, stay close to the house.”

“How long will I be here?”

Todd shrugged and said, “I have no idea.”

“Am I in protective custody or witness protection?”

“Custody, I think.”

“You don’t know, Todd? Come on. Custody implies that I’m a suspect of some variety, doesn’t it, Todd?”

Another shrug.

“But I’m not a suspect. I’m a witness, but I have not agreed to enter the witness protection program. So, according to my lawyer, the one I just talked to, I’m free to walk out that door anytime I want. Whatta you think about that, Todd?”

“That machine gun you just mentioned? We have at least six on the premises.”

“So I should stay here, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, it’s noon. What are we going to do?”

Barry had been hovering nearby, not missing a word. He walked to the table with a large basket of the usual board games the owners of all beach rentals leave behind. Barry said, “We have Monopoly, Risk, Rook, Scrabble, Chinese checkers, your call, Kyle.”

Kyle studied the basket. “Scrabble.”

Chapter 41

The flu raged unabated into Friday. Doug Peckham, while claiming to be sympathetic, was curious about any “improvement.” They were getting hammered with motions in the Trylon case, and everyone was needed. His sympathy did not extend to a curiosity about where Kyle was staying, who, if anyone, was tending to him, what medications he was taking, and so on. Part of Kyle’s ruse was the forbidding diagnosis that his particular strain of the flu was “hotly contagious.” Since New York was going through its a

The temperature hit eighty degrees in the early afternoon, and Kyle was bored with the beach house. He said to Todd, “I’d like to take a walk. Would you please prepare the beach?”

“My pleasure. Which way are you going?”

“East, toward Miami.”

“I’ll round up the gang. They’re getting bored with you.”

Kyle walked for an hour, and passed fewer than ten beachcombers going the opposite way. Thirty yards behind him were two of his guardians, a male and a female, a happy couple with receivers in their ears and handguns in their pockets.

He heard music, and saw a small crowd under a fake thatched roof. It was the Gator Hotel, a 1950s-style mom-and-pop motel with a small pool and low rates, a depressing little place, but it had the only action on the beach. Just for the hell of it, and to torment his followers, he sauntered away from the water, walked between two small dunes, and pulled up a chair at Pedro’s Bar. Jimmy Buffett was singing softly about life in a banana republic. The bartender was mixing rum punch specials. The crowd numbered seven, all over the age of sixty, all overweight, all chatting in crisp northern accents. The early snowbirds.