An Absence of Light (66 page)

“What about the amount of time you’ve got to make the pontoon flight from Las Copas to Kalatis’s beach house and back to Las Copas? Is that enough time?”

Shit, barely. It’ll be damn close. The jump across Chocolate and West Bay’s not the problem. It’s the time on Las Copas going in, off-loading the client and cash, going the seventy-live yards to the ‘tooner and on-loading the client and cash. They’re giving us twenty minutes on that, then there’s the fifteen-minute jump to Kalatis’s dock, ten off-loading at the dock, fifteen-minute jump back to Las Copas, ten to dock the ‘tooner, get back to our planes, and get outta there. Then they’ve given us a ten-minute cushion from the time one plane leaves to go home and the other lands on Las Copas.”

“And that’s not enough.”

Redden dragged on the cigarette and then shook his head as he pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Nope, not enough. Doesn’t leave time for screw-ups… There’s always screw-ups, especially when you’re running out of a little ol’ dirt strip like Las Copas. You’ve got to be careful with radio contact in there. It’s crazy. And those damned generator lights. It’s gonna be touchy.”

Graver nodded and studied Redden a moment.

“Okay,” he said. “What about a contingency plan? What happens if something goes wrong somewhere along the line?”

“Yeah, always a backup plan. Actually there are two.” He used the toe of his boot to tap an ash off the cigarette. “If something goes wrong before the money’s delivered, we call a coded number and tell Kalatis what happened. He makes a decision. If he’s going to change airports, he’s got to coordinate the money delivery, and he’s got to make sure the guard who’s going to be baby-sitting that load knows the score. Then he calls us back and tells us the alternate pickup site.

“If something happens
after the
pickup, there’s a prearranged destination. It’s prearranged because after we’re airborne everybody’s got to be thinking the same thing. Personnel will be spread thin because the guys at the original drop site—Las Copas—will be out of pocket. Kalatis’s troops will be spread thin. That’s another reason the inflight alternate destination will be the same for all three pilots. Kalatis wouldn’t have enough people on the ground to spread them out to cover three alternate delivery sites.”

Graver looked at him. “You mean everyone meets at one airport.”

“That’s right. But the timing stays the same.”

“Which airport?”

Redden raised his hand dangling the handcuffs and pointed an index finger down to the concrete in front of him.

“I’m sittin’ on it,” he said.

Graver stared at Redden. “Have you ever had to use a contingency plan?”

“Once.”

“How did it go?”

“Clockwork.” He shrugged. “Everybody’s a professional. They can handle contingencies.”

Graver nodded. The tin walls of the hangar crackled in the heat.

“Did you tell Kalatis you had your doubts about the schedule of the timing at Las Copas?”

Redden nodded stoically. “Yep.”

“What did he say?”

Redden’s expression was grim. He took a last pull on the cigarette and mashed it out next to the other butt on the concrete.

“He doubled our fee,” he said. “Hell, we were already getting paid like damn CEOs, now we’re getting paid like
two
damn CEOs.” He looked around at Remberto and then back at Graver.” Just goes to show you, don’t it You pay a guy enough money, and he’ll risk hell and high water to do the job. The bigger the money gets, the more he tells himself he can beat the odds… even if the odds get bigger too. All he can think about is coming out on the other end—smelling like brimstone and steam—with all that tax-free cash.”

7:50 P.M
.

The five of them sat on the veranda facing the bay. Pizza boxes and hamburger carry-out sacks were scattered around on the small rattan tables along with cans of soft drinks. Graver leaned back in his chair and looked through the kitchen into the main room of the oversized bungalow where Redden and Ledet were sitting in the middle of the floor, their ankles and wrists cuffed together, looking like hostages in the fading light Alice was handcuffed too, but she was in the bedroom watching television. She had been told she was a material witness, and it was necessary to hold her for a while longer. Not being too bright, Alice accepted this without demanding to see a lawyer or screaming about her rights. And it helped that she had the television. It turned out she liked television a lot.

When they first arrived at the beach house and secured the three people inside, everyone had gone to the veranda and handed out the pizza and hamburgers. Graver had explained to Victor Last, who had remained with Alice, what had happened, and Last had listened without asking too many questions. Graver could tell that Last had sensed that questions were not the proper thing at this point in the proceedings, though it was not clear to Last just exactly what the proceedings were. Which was fine.

Then they had eaten their food, which was quickly growing cold, and talked about how Redden and Ledet’s stories had jibed and what they thought about Kalatis’s security, what they thought about his elaborate planning, what size plane the others might fly, and what the airspeed of the planes might be. In short, they talked about everything except the most important thing on their minds—what they were going to do—a matter that was totally absorbing Graver’s thoughts as he ate in silence, staring out to the dying light in the bay, while the others talked.

After finishing his hamburger, Graver sat back in his chair and opened his notebook. He started jotting down an outline of the schedule of flights, when each pilot left Bayfield, landed at Las Copas, off-loaded and on-loaded cash and clients to the pontoon plane, departed Las Co-pas and arrived at Kalatis’s pier, off-loaded cash and clients, and returned to Las Copas. At each juncture he noted the timing as related by Redden, keeping in mind that it was a schedule to which Redden doubted they could adhere. The plan was tight and efficient But something about it was terribly wrong.

“Okay,” he said finally, leaning forward in his chair and holding his notes in his hands in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. Everyone stopped talking, wadded last bits of paper, put away boxes and sacks from in front of them.

Graver began reading the flight plans, stopping once in a while to listen to someone’s different recollection of what Redden had said was going to happen at a particular point In this way everyone reviewed a plan that was confirmed by consensus, no points remaining so unclear that anyone thought it was necessary to go back to Redden for clarification. When Graver was through he sat back in his chair again.

“Any observations?”

There was a momentary pause, and then Murray spoke up.

“Yeah, one.” He was careful to keep his voice down. He wiped his mouth one last time with a paper napkin, wadded the napkin, and tossed it into a paper sack between his feet “I personally think that seventy-five percent of this plan is total bullshit.”

Graver almost smiled with relief. “So do I,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

“First of all,” Murray said, passing a thick hand over his short haircut, “Kalatis has got this thing on a schedule that looks too tight. We know how Redden feels about this.” He pulled his chair a couple of feet closer to Graver so he wouldn’t have to worry so much about being overheard by the two men inside the bungalow.

“Second, Kalatis has decided to give up his gimmick about living somewhere in Mexico. Now this is a game he’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep up for months, maybe a year or more. And now, at the last minute before bringing in the last of the big money, he’s going to let all these people know where he really lives?” Murray shook his head. “No way. I don’t buy that. Even if he is skipping out, I don’t buy that.

“Third, he’s changing—
at the last minute
—a schedule that has worked like clockwork for all this time. Why, right before his biggest haul, would he risk running an all-new schedule which is so complex that it is almost guaranteed to break down somewhere?

“Fourth, if I were in Kalatis’s shoes, I’d be simplifying my last deal, just to make sure I didn’t screw it up, instead of making it more complex. Or, I’d just leave it alone.

“Fifth, judging from Redden’s account, Las Copas is as remote as hell.” Murray was leaning forward toward Graver, and he turned and looked at Remberto. “What I think,” he said, “is that the first stop at Las Copas is the last stop… for everybody.”

Graver looked at Remberto who gave a very small nod of agreement, and then at Neuman who was stunned, and then at Last who was looking like he wanted to break out in a sweat.

“That’s what I think too,” Graver said.

“They’re going to kill
all
of them at Las Copas?” Neuman was incredulous. “The clients… and the pilots… and the copilots?”

Graver nodded. “Yeah. I think the reason Kalatis wasn’t concerned about how the tight schedule was going to work was because it didn’t matter. The clients, the pilots, and the moneys—all stop for the last time at Las Co-pas.”

“Goddamn…” Neuman was shaken.

“Yeah, and I think that was dawning on Redden too,” Murray said. “That guy’s no dimwit.”

“What about the planes? They’d have four planes there,” Neuman said.

“Probably only three,” Graver said. “The pontoon plane might not even be needed. And they’ll just have other pilots to take them away. But Redden, Maricio, Wade and their copilots know too much about this particular operation. The new pilots, they’ll just be hired to pick up some planes at an old dirt strip. That’s all they’ll know. And they’re not going to ask a lot of questions. The money’s too good, like Redden said.”

“And when it is all over,” Remberto added, looking at Neuman, “there will be only three witnesses: the security guards who will do all the shooting. You can bet they will be paying those boys a percentage of the money brought in on the three planes. You have to pay people like that very well. You never let your tigers get too hungry.”

“The question is, what’s the best way to break this up,” Graver said. “There’re only five of us.” He hesitated. “I see two chances. One: We leave now, immediately, for Las Copas. Ambush the guards when they come in early to string the lights, and then intercept each of the planes as it comes in. We’ll have to get the ‘all clear’ signaling arrangements from one of the guards.

“But there are some immediate risks and problems with this idea. There can be only four of us at Las Copas. One of us would have to stay with Redden who would have to fly the other four in, drop them off, and get back to Bayfield. Also, we’d have to leave immediately to get to Las Copas as early as possible if we hope to beat Kalatis’s guards there. Actually, it may be too late for that already. I’d guess Kalatis’s three men would want to be at Las Copas plenty early to set up.” He looked at his watch. “It’ll be getting dark in less than an hour.

“Or two: to intercept them at each of the airports, right after the client’s guards have left after unloading the client and the money. There would be only one guard to deal with in this scenario.” He looked down at his notes. “The problem with this second course of action is that we’d get to intercept only one load of money and one client, because when that first plane—Wade’s—doesn’t reach Las Copas on schedule, Kalatis will be notified, and he’ll send someone to see what went wrong. We’d have to forget about being able to intercept the other two loads of cash.

“And,” he added, “it doesn’t achieve my objective. I’m betting Kalatis will be attracted to that cash like a shark to blood. He’s going to show up where there’s the most of it.”

Everyone thought about this for a while, running through the course of action, imagining each phase.

“What if we rode into Las Copas on the first plane?” Murray suggested. “We’d have only the one guard to deal with at Andrau, and when we got to Las Copas and overpowered the guards there we could radio to Kalatis that everything was on schedule. We could intercept Maricio. Redden wouldn’t even have to take off. We’d have all three loads in one place.”

“That’s good only if we are right about what is supposed to happen at Las Copas,” Remberto interjected. “If we are wrong, Kalatis will know something is wrong by eleven thirty-five when the first plane fails to arrive at his pier.”

Graver drummed a finger on his notebook. “And I’m afraid we’ll find more than three guards at Las Copas,” he said. “If we do, we’ll be trapped in that plane, maybe in a cross fire. And if we’re right about them taking out everybody after landing, we don’t know just how they’re going a to do that. They could have everyone get off and kill them right there on the dirt strip without even coming out of the brush. Then what?”

The haze of the dying evening extended in both time and space until it seemed to have swallowed the horizon in its progress toward the smoky sheen of dusk. It was as if the world ended just there, a little ways out in the bay, and the thick hoar of the Gulf summer evening spilled over an imperceptible edge into the cosmos. Seagulls screaked, invisible in the limitless, timeless gray.

“I don’t see how we can do it,” Graver said, finally. He dropped his notebook on the floor at his feet and rubbed his face with his hands. “I just don’t think we can risk it Too many unknowns, too little time. It could end in a disaster.”

For a moment the only sounds that could be heard on the veranda were the shrills of the seagulls and the uncertain gasping of the surf.

“Well,” Remberto said, his voice low, just above the surf, but clear and steady, “if you want all the cash at one place because you think it will bring in Kalatis, then I think there’s another way we can do this.”

10:40 P.M
.

Rick Ledet banked the Cessna 185, and Neuman looked across the cockpit past him, out the window, and down at the black space that Ledet assured him was Chocolate Bay.

“I see the strip,” Ledet said, pulling the Cessna back up to parallel with the horizon. They were headed back toward Houston and Neuman could tell by the glow from the city lights that they were upright again. “I’m going to bank again and head back toward the Gulf. Then I’ll throttle down and do some turns, and every time I say so, you fire one off. We’ll light ’em up like a damn firefight.”