Blue Smoke and Murder

75

SEPTEMBER 17

9:00 A.M.

That’s right,” Jill said into the room phone, “I’d like to rent something big enough for a lot of luggage, but not so big it’s like driving an elephant on ice.”

“One of our guests just asked me to return a Cadillac Escalade to the airport for him,” the concierge said. “Would that vehicle be satisfactory?”

Jill wouldn’t have known a Cadillac Escalade if it left tire prints up her back, but since St. Kilda had rented the vehicle and left it to be “returned,” she knew that half of the paintings would fit into the cargo area.

“Works for me,” she said. “Will the hotel be able to accommodate three pieces of very valuable luggage in a secure place?”

“Of course. The receipts for three suitcases will be with your car rental agreement.”

“I’d rather you kept them until a friend arrives to pick them up. She’ll present her ID to Mr. Tannahill’s head of security.”

“As you wish,” the concierge said smoothly. “I’ll deal with the rental company for you. The rental papers will be at the concierge desk for you to sign. Please bring your driver’s license.”

“Of course,” Jill said. “Thank you for the trouble.”

“For a personal guest of Mr. Tannahill, it’s no trouble at all. Please let me know if you need any further assistance.”

After Jill hung up, she looked at the sat phone lying two feet away from her on the nightstand. She wondered who was listening, if it was the same person who had killed her great-aunt and burned the old house down around her dead body.

Unease rippled through Jill, leaving a chill in its wake. Zach had already checked out. She was alone.

Being alone wasn’t new to her.

The loneliness she felt was.

So was the reality of a shooter and arsonist listening to her every breath, the flush of the toilet, the rustle of her clothes when she dressed.

It flat creeped her out.

You asked for it. You got it. Now suck it up and get the job done.

A knock on the door made her jump.

Dial back, she told herself harshly. If you rev too hard now, you won’t have anything left for the real rapids.

And she knew those rapids were coming. She just didn’t know when or how.

The knock came again.

“Who is it?” Jill said loudly.

“Quincy Johnston from St. Kilda.”

She checked the peephole. A gray-haired man with a plush walrus mustache and a leather briefcase stood in the hallway. Behind him, two bellmen waited beside luggage carts that held three large aluminum suitcases apiece.

She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Bring them in.”

The bellmen maneuvered the carts into her room.

“Sign here,” Johnston said.

“Not until I see the paintings,” Jill retorted.

Without a word Johnston noisily opened each of the six cases, then closed them. “Satisfied?”

With Zach gone? Not likely.

“Yes,” was all Jill said aloud. “Take those three suitcases to the concierge’s secured storage area,” she told one bellman. “Leave the claim tickets with the concierge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“When I call the concierge, the head of security will release the three suitcases to the person I name. But only when I call. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young bellman said again.

“If you have any questions, I’ll brief the concierge on my way out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Johnston gave the bellman two twenties.

The young man smiled and left.

The second bellman accepted his own hefty tip and walked out, leaving both luggage and cart, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Johnston opened his briefcase and handed her some papers.

“Read carefully before you sign,” he said. “We don’t want you flip-flopping on us again. When I walk out of here, St. Kilda walks, too. You’ll be on your own.”

“That’s the whole point of firing St. Kilda,” Jill said. “I work better alone.”

“Your choice.” Johnston sounded bored.

She took the papers and rustled them, making enough noise for the bugged phone to pick up. Then she started reading.

Johnston opened his briefcase, put his finger to his lips, and handed her a leather portfolio.

She almost dropped it. “Heavy words, here.”

“One of the partners in St. Kilda is a judge,” Johnston said. “If you require translation of any legal jargon, please let me know.”

“So far, so good.”

She opened the portfolio, saw a BlackBerry, a Colt Woodsman, two loaded magazines, and five one-hundred-dollar bills. She raised her eyebrows.

“Explain clause three, paragraph two,” she said.

As Johnston began a long ad-lib, she checked the weapon quickly, carefully, knowing that his voice would cover any noise she might make.

How did Zach know this was the right gun for me? Jill asked silently. Was it in my file? Did I tell him?

Can he read my mind?

Who cares? she told herself. The gun is here and I can operate it with my eyes closed.

“Okay, I get it now,” Jill said, carefully laying the unloaded gun, two magazines, the BlackBerry, and the money on the bed. “I’ll never darken St. Kilda’s doorstep again, and vice versa.” She handed over the empty portfolio. “You have a pen I can use?”

“Of course.”

She signed, he countersigned, and the deal was done.

“Here’s your copy,” Johnston said, handing her two papers instead of one. “Good luck, Ms. Breck,” he added, opening the door. “Without St. Kilda, you’ll need it.”

The door closed firmly behind him.

Jill looked at the flat, long-barreled semiautomatic pistol and two loaded magazines lying on the peach sheets of the bed. She hoped that was all the “luck” she needed.

“Where did I leave that TV remote?” she asked aloud. “It should come with a leash.”

She started throwing pillows around until her sat phone was covered up.

“Ah, there it is.”

She turned on the TV to a twenty-four-hour weather station, ramped up the volume, and went back to the bed. She eased one of the magazines into the butt of the pistol but didn’t cycle the action. She slipped the extra magazine, the pistol, and the money into her belly bag. On the way out of the hotel, she’d carry her sat phone in her hand, like someone anxious to called or be called. After that, the phone could live on the passenger seat.

The BlackBerry PDA was familiar. Some of the rafting outfits she worked for used them.

She folded the copy of her severance agreement with St. Kilda and put it into her belly bag. The second piece of paper was more interesting. She sat on the bed to read the typed message.

Jill,

Zach told me you used a pistol like this before you went to college. The bullets are.22-caliber long rifle hollow points. The opposition shouldn’t be surprised you’re carrying. If they are, they’re seriously stupid.

Give a hundred to the concierge. Use the rest for gas and food on the road.

The alert function on the PDA is muted. Do visual checks every ten minutes or so. If you have local cellular service, you can text-message me. My IM is the first address stored. Zach’s is second. The BlackBerry is bugged-locater and voice activated, just like the opposition’s bug on your satellite phone.

If things really head south, scream.

Mary is wired in as your friend/contact on your sat phone. Use my number, then hit #. The call will be forwarded to her. Be sure to use the protocol you and Zach talked about last night.

Jill smiled, remembering what else they had done while discussing “protocol.”

Check in at least every two hours on the sat phone. Every hour would be better. They’ll be listening, but they expect you to use some kind of cut-out to release the second half of the paintings.

We’ll be with you all the way. Zach will be above, the others will be on the ground no more than four minutes away.

When the opposition makes contact, message me if you can. Or talk to yourself near the BlackBerry. Either will work.

Drop this paper in the toilet and flush. Remember, the opposition may be watching you from the moment you leave your room, so stay in role.

– JF

Jill reread the note and dropped it in the toilet. The paper melted like the water was acid. She flushed and went to finish packing.

When she was done, she checked the PDA. No messages had arrived. Quickly she finished filling her backpack, eased the gun and spare magazine into her belly bag, added the BlackBerry, and was ready to go.

Or as ready as she ever would be.

Same as the river. You watch, you weigh, you decide. You like the adrenaline, remember?

Yeah, but only when I’m the one on the oars. Right now I’m up a dirty river and there’s not an oar in sight.

She didn’t like the feeling.

And there was nothing she could do about it except quit.

She wasn’t a quitter.

Taking a deep, slow breath, she put the sat phone on the luggage cart before she wheeled it out the door and into an elevator. A moment later she was in front of the concierge’s desk. The desk was run by a handsome man whose name tag said eduardo and listed his hometown as Bogotá, Colombia.

“Do you have a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope I can seal?” she asked.

“But of course.”

“Thank you.”

She wrote quickly on the paper, stuffed it into the envelope, sealed it, and gave it to the concierge. “This is for the head of security.”

Eduardo nodded.

“You look like you handle requests like this all the time,” Jill said.

He gave the liquid shrug of a man born well south of the Mexican border. “In my homeland, such precautions are business as usual.”

“Seems as if the world really is getting smaller every day,” she said with a feral smile.

“The receipts for your luggage are already in the hands of the Golden Fleece’s head of security,” the concierge said.

“Good. When I call, the person I describe in this”-she tapped the envelope in his hand-“will present credentials to the head of security, and the cases will be turned over. Nothing happens until I call.”

Eduardo nodded.

“If I call you and tell you to change the plans in any way,” she said, “hang up immediately and call the Las Vegas police.”

“Of course. If you could fill in your driver’s license number and sign the rental agreement, all will be in order.”

She took her thin cloth wallet out of her belly bag, found her license, filled in the number, and signed.

“Thank you, Ms. Breck,” he said, handing over the rental agreement. “Your car is in front, waiting for you. Would you like assistance with your luggage?”

“No, thanks.” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her belly bag and said, “I appreciate your trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all,” Eduardo said, smiling and pocketing the bill. “Have a safe trip.”

Jill laughed, a hard sound that owed nothing to humor. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

But she didn’t expect it would turn out that way.