Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,64

she left and headed off to Bloomingdale’s.

* * *

—

Holly sat at the head of the worktable and read through her schedule. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said to the gathered group. She went into her office and motioned for Bill Wright to follow.

He had a copy of the schedule in his hand. “Do you see what I see on this?”

“I see two opportunities,” she said. “St. Mary’s College, where I’m giving an award to a theatrical group, and the Army Intelligence Center, in New Jersey, where I’m giving a speech to the graduating class. I think Jersey looks best.”

“Maybe,” Bill replied. “Sykes and his people already have uniforms, so they can blend in out there. On the other hand, security is tight at that center, so making an escape after the fact could be a problem.”

“Which do you think?”

“I want to send people to both and thoroughly check them out.”

“I’ll look forward to your decision,” Holly said. “Now, I have to get back to work.”

Bill left, and Holly returned to the long table. “This is approved,” she said, waving the schedule. “What’s next?”

* * *

—

Bess was in a dressing room at Bloomingdale’s, trying on a dress, when there was a rap on the door.

“Yes?” she said, expecting a saleslady.

The door opened a crack. “Are you decent?” a male voice asked.

“Tom? Come in.”

Tom Blake walked into the booth, looking embarrassed. “Excuse me, but I need to speak to you about Sykes.”

“All right.” She turned her back to him. “Zip me up, will you?”

Tom zipped her up. “This morning, did you tell Fisk everything Sykes said to you?”

“Yes, I think so. Sykes wasn’t there long. Why do you ask?”

“We’ve lost him,” Tom said.

“Have you got people at the Army Intelligence Center and at St. Mary’s?”

“Not yet; we were supposed to follow him wherever he went.”

“Well, since we suspect him to use one of those two places, you’d better cover both, hadn’t you?”

“I’ve requested more people from New York’s FBI station.”

“Do you expect they’ll honor your request?”

“Yes, but they can be slow.”

“I’m sorry, Tom, but my next problem is which dress to buy. You’re on your own.”

Tom made to leave.

“Oh, one other thing,” she said. “Does Sykes have anyone following me?”

“We haven’t spotted anybody, but behave as though you’re being tailed.”

“In that case, you’d better not be seen leaving this dressing room, or I’ll have to scream for security.”

“Thanks for your help,” Tom said.

“Anytime.” She went back to trying on garments. She particularly liked the selection of silk blouses.

50

Wade Sykes sat in the rear seat of his SUV, wearing his class A uniform, with his colonel’s eagles on his shoulders, and waited for the traffic to move at the main gate of the Army Intelligence Center. The gate guards were looking closely at IDs and examining the trunks of visiting cars.

Eugene was at the wheel, also in his class A uniform, with its sergeant’s stripes.

Finally, they pulled to a stop at the guardhouse. The sergeant on duty spotted the eagles and snapped off a salute, which Sykes returned. “Good morning, Colonel,” the man said, peering into the car, which Eugene had taken care to clean of any items that might arouse suspicion. “IDs,” he said. Eugene handed him both his and the colonel’s, and the guard had a long look at them before handing them back. “Open the tailgate, please,” the guard said. Eugene pressed the button. The guard lifted the floorboards and had a look at and around the spare tire, then closed the tailgate. He walked back to the driver’s window and handed over the IDs. “Pass on,” he said, and Eugene did so.

“The IDs held up,” Eugene said.

“What did you expect?” the colonel asked. “They’re the real thing. If they’d run them, our photos would have popped up.”

“I guess we can’t do better than that,” Eugene replied.

Sykes consulted a map. “Second right,” he said. “The auditorium will be on your left.”

Eugene found the building and pulled into the parking lot, and both men got out.

Sykes walked to the main entrance of the building and tried the doors; they were unlocked. They passed through a large lobby area and the double doors. The empty rows of the auditorium lay before them. “It seats seven hundred fifty,” Sykes said, “and I’m sure it will be full.”

“Can we go upstairs?” Eugene asked.

The colonel led the way. “It has a projection booth.”

The booth was in the center of the last row of balcony seats. Eugene tried the door. “Locked.” He took a lockpick