Terminal

They drove for a short time before they saw the red Pontiac pull up a ramp to the first-floor entrance of the Edgewater Beach Hotel. The limo pulled off the road but remained on the ground level, turning in under the building. Sterling pulled off the road and parked in a diagonal spot to the right of the ramp. He turned off the ignition. At the top of the ramp they could see Sean directing the removal of their luggage from the Pontiac’s trunk.

“A nice little hotel,” Wayne said. “Less ostentatious.”

“I believe you’ll find the facade misleading,” Sterling said. “Through some of my banking connections I’ve heard this place had been purchased by a charming Swiss fellow who added significant European elegance.”

“You think Tanaka will try to make his move from here?” Wayne asked.

“I believe he’s hoping Sean and his companion will go out so that he can corner them in some isolated location.”

“If I were with that chick I think I’d bolt the door and order room service.”

Sterling picked up the car phone. “Speaking of Mr. Murphy’s companion, let’s see what my contacts in Boston have learned about her.”

9

March 6

Saturday, 7:50 P.M.

“This is a fabulous room,” Janet said as she opened the large wooden tropical shutters.

Sean joined her. “It looks almost as if we’re cantilevered out over the beach,” he said. They were on the third floor. The beach was illuminated all the way down to the water’s edge. A line of Hobie Cats were directly below them.

They were both making an attempt to put the disturbing beach experience behind them. At first Janet wanted to go back to Miami, but Sean talked her into staying. He’d said whatever the explanation for the episode was, at least it was now behind them. He’d said that since they’d driven all the way over to Naples, they should at least enjoy themselves.

“Let’s get a move on,” Sean said. “Malcolm Betencourt is expecting us in forty minutes.”

While Janet showered, Sean sat down and tried Brian one more time. He was frustrated when he got the answering machine yet again. He left a third message instructing his brother to disregard the previous phone number. He gave the Edgewater Beach number and the room number, adding that he’d be out for dinner, but to call later, no matter the time. He said it was vitally important for them to talk.

Sean then called the Betencourt residence to say they might be a few minutes late. Mr. Betencourt assured him it wasn’t a problem and thanked him for calling.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with Janet still in the shower, Sean took out the pistol he’d picked up on the beach. Snapping open the cylinder, he shook out some sand. It was an ancient .38 Smith and Wesson detective special. There were four remaining cartridges. Sean shook his head when he thought how close he’d come to being shot. He also thought about the irony of being saved by someone he’d disliked from the moment he’d first met him.

Snapping the cylinder of the revolver closed, Sean put the gun under his shirt. There had been a few too many inexplicable brushes with disaster in the last twenty-four hours for him to pass up this chance to arm himself. Sean sensed that something bizarre was happening, and like any good medical diagnostician, he was trying to relate all the symptoms to a single illness. Intuitively, he felt he should keep the gun just in case. Inwardly he was still shaking from the feeling of helplessness he’d had just before the gun had gone off.

After Janet got out of the shower, Sean got in. Janet was still complaining about not having reported the man with the gun, and said as much as she was applying her makeup. But Sean remained unwavering, adding that he believed Robert Harris was fully capable of handling the situation.

“Won’t it look suspicious if we have to explain after the fact why we didn’t go to the police?” Janet persisted.

“Probably,” Sean agreed, “but it is just something else Brian will have to handle. Let’s stop talking about it for a while and try to enjoy ourselves a little.”

“One more question,” Janet said. “The man said something about my interfering. What do you think he meant?”

Sean threw up his hands in exasperation. “The guy was obviously crazy. He was probably in the middle of some acute paranoid psychotic episode. How am I supposed to know what he was talking about?”

“All right,” Janet said. “Take it easy. Did you try Brian again?”

Sean nodded. “The bum is still not home,” he said. “But I left this number. He’ll probably call while we’re at dinner.”

When they were ready to leave, Sean phoned the parking valet to have the car brought up to the entrance. As they exited the room, Sean pocketed the Smith and Wesson, unbeknownst to Janet.

As they drove south on Gulf Shore Boulevard, Janet finally began to calm down. She even began to notice the surroundings again and to appreciate all the flowering trees. She noticed there was no debris or graffiti or any signs of homeless people. The problems of urban America seemed a long way from Naples, Florida.