Terminal

ROBERT HARRIS had been watching every move Tom Widdicomb made. He’d seen Sean and Janet before Tom had, and when Tom initially didn’t react, Harris had been disappointed, thinking that his whole “house of cards” theory was in error. But then Tom had spotted them and had scurried back to his Escort. In response Harris started his own car and drove out of the parking lot, thinking and hoping that Tom intended to follow Janet. At the corner of Twelfth Street he pulled over to the side of the road. If he were correct, Tom would soon be exiting, and Harris’s suspicion would be significantly reinforced.

Presently Sean and Janet drove by and turned north to cross the Miami River. Then, just as Harris expected, Tom came and turned in the same direction. Only a black limo separated Tom from his apparent quarry.

“This is looking more and more interesting,” Harris said to himself as he started to pull out. Behind him a horn blasted and Harris jammed on his brakes. A big green Mercedes missed him by inches.

“Damn!” Harris growled. He didn’t want to lose Tom Widdicomb and had to tromp on the gas pedal to catch up. He was determined to follow the man to see if he made any overt threatening gestures toward Janet Reardon. If he did, then Harris would nail him.

Harris was content until Tom turned west instead of east on the 836 East-West Expressway. As he passed Miami International Airport, then merged with Florida’s Turnpike heading south, Harris realized this was going to be a far longer trip than he’d anticipated.

“I DON’T like this,” Sterling said as they exited Florida’s Turnpike at Route 41. “Where are these people going? I wanted them to go home or stay in crowds.”

“If they turn west up here at the next intersection, they’re on their way into the Everglades,” Wayne said. He was doing the driving. “Either that or they’re heading across Florida. Route 41 cuts through the Everglades from Miami to the Gulf Coast.”

“What’s on the Gulf Coast?” Sterling asked.

“Not much, in my book,” Wayne said. “Nice beaches and good weather, but it’s subdued. Naples is the first real town. There are also a couple of islands like Marco and Sanibel. Mostly it’s condo heaven with a lot of retirees. Pretty low-key, but high end. You can spend millions for a condo in Naples.”

“Looks like they’re turning west,” Sterling said, his eyes on the limousine ahead of them. They were following Tanaka, not Sean, assuming Tanaka would keep Sean in sight.

“What’s between here and Naples?” Sterling asked.

“Not a lot,” Wayne said. “Just alligators, saw grass, and Cypress swamp.”

“This is making me very nervous,” Sterling said. “They’re playing directly into Tanaka’s hands. Let’s hope they don’t stop in some isolated pull-out.”

Sterling glanced to the right and did a double-take. In the blue sedan alongside them was a familiar face. It was Robert Harris, head of security at Forbes. Sterling had just been introduced to the man the previous day.

Sterling pointed Harris out to Wayne and explained who he was. “This is a disturbing complication,” he said. “Why would Mr. Harris be following Sean Murphy? Chances are he’ll only serve to make this situation significantly more difficult than it need be.”

“Would he know about Tanaka?” Wayne asked.

“I cannot imagine he would,” Sterling said. “Dr. Mason would not be so foolish.”

“Maybe he’s got a crush on the chick,” Wayne offered. “Maybe he’s following Reardon, not Murphy.”

Sterling sighed. “It’s disconcerting how quickly an operation can go awry. A minute ago I was confident we would be able to control the course of events since we had the informational edge. Unfortunately, I no longer believe that. I’m beginning to have that uncomfortable feeling that chance will become a major factor. Suddenly there are too many variables.”

BRIAN HADN’T checked any luggage. He’d simply brought a carry-on and his briefcase. After getting off the plane he went directly to the Hertz counter. After a short ride on the Hertz shuttle bus he found his rental car in the lot: a cream-colored Lincoln Town Car.

Armed with a detailed street map of Miami, Brian first drove south to the Forbes residence. He’d tried calling Sean’s number several times from the airport in Boston, but there hadn’t been any answer. Concerned, he’d called Kevin from the plane, but Kevin had assured him that the police had not yet picked Sean up.

At the Forbes residence, Brian knocked on Sean’s door, but there was no response. Hoping Sean would soon return, Brian left him a note saying that he was in town and would be staying at the Colonnade Hotel. Brian jotted down the hotel’s phone number. Just as he was slipping the note under Sean’s door, the door opposite opened.

“You looking for Sean Murphy?” a shirtless young man in jeans asked.

“Yes,” Brian said. He then introduced himself as Sean’s brother.

Gary Engels introduced himself. “Sean was here this afternoon around two-thirty,” he said. “I told him the police had been here looking for him so he didn’t stay long.”