Duby's Doctor (11 page)

Carinne heard a welcome voice say,
“
Mademoiselle ....”
Then Dubreau stepped from behind Rico
and wrapped her beach towel around her shoulders. It covered her
like a tent, from neck to ankles.

Dubreau’s face was expressionless. His
mirrored glasses reflected the wall of three dark-suited men
staring at her. She said nothing, but her heart swelled with
gratitude for that towel.

Averell invited Iglesias to settle with him
in upholstered patio chairs near the rose bushes. Averell motioned
at Carinne to stay, and he had Dubreau bring a chaise from across
the patio to the rose garden. Carinne was to sunbathe before
Iglesias’ greedy eyes.

Dubreau placed the chaise, lifted the
adjustable backrest so that Carinne could sit rather than lie down,
and handed her the book she had been reading and had left near the
pool. He patted her shoulder reassuringly while blocking the view
of Averell and Iglesias. When Duby would have stationed himself
near the chaise, Carinne pretended to fuss with her hair – using
small gestures to warn him away. He went to stand behind Averell
and Iglesias.

Averell and Iglesias talked business. It was
the kind of business that results in bloody civil war and
desperately oppressed people in small, third world countries. Rico
stood nearby, motionless as a statue. Dubreau picked a single rose
from the nearest bush, and while the men talked, he idly stripped
the long stem of its thorns. No one would have guessed that he even
heard – much less remembered – every word spoken.

Lazaro and his dog continued their patrol.
The tower sentry remained alert.

“So,
general-
ly – if you’ll pardon
the pun – how are things going in Mirador?” Averell said.

Iglesias crossed one leg over the opposite
knee. He exhaled, indicating he had concerns but was not in great
distress. “The rebel pockets in the hills are always the problem.
The CIA keeps them too well supplied. Too well ‘advised.’”

Averell nodded. “Anything they have, I can
get for you. Perhaps it would be mutually beneficial for His
Excellency and me to enter into a long-term arrangement.”

Averell produced two cigars from his breast
pocket and gave one to Iglesias, who seemed delighted. Averell
continued, “Let me make some calls and arrange for you to see what
I can offer you: a solid network and a bottomless inventory. State
of the art.”

Iglesias was enjoying his cigar and leering
at Carinne while listening to Averell.

Averell saw this and used it. “But, all work
and no play, eh?” he said. “I had tickets to the theater for this
weekend, but I will be busy making His Excellency’s arrangements.
Would you consent to accompany my daughter to the performance?”

Iglesias grinned. “But of course,” he
said.

A half-hour later, Averell and Iglesias
adjourned to the house with the two bodyguards, leaving Carinne to
read in her chaise. Rico walked ahead of the two businessmen.
Dubreau, trailing behind them, dropped the, now thornless, rose
beside Carinne’s chaise and kept walking. He did not look toward
her until the men crossing the grass were a long way from the
pool.

Carinne did not look toward the bodyguard or
the other three men at all. She kept her eyes upon her open book
even while one hand reached down to lift the rose from the grass.
She brought the delicate bloom to her nose and inhaled its
sweetness. Then she closed the rose inside her book.

At dawn the following morning, Dubreau jogged
down the driveway toward the electric gates. He was out for his
standard dawn constitutional.

At the gate, he punched a security code into
a wall-mounted keypad. The gate glided open. Duby jogged out onto
the street, and the gate closed slowly behind him.

He jogged along the residential streets of
Coconut Grove, winding his way past stunning architecture, Bohemian
cottages and lush tropical plants. The sun was still behind the
eastern horizon, the sky still dark in the west, and few vehicles
traveled the tangled narrow lanes that served as streets.

After passing Peacock Park, he jogged into
the parking lot of the Dinner Key Marina. He circled the seafood
restaurant adjacent to the marina, and when he came to the
metal-fenced trash dumpster behind the building, he leapt for the
top of the seven-foot opaque gate and heaved himself effortlessly
over it. Catlike he landed in the narrow space between the dumpster
and the concealing fence. He reached into a hollow atop a corner
post of the fence and pulled out a cellular telephone in a
weatherproof case.

Running in place, he punched numbers into the
phone, waited, and then responded to someone’s answer. “It’s me,
E.T.,” he said. “Be ready to move in a week. Ten days at the
most.”

He listened to the other party for a moment,
then said, “I promise I’ll have a head full of specific names,
dates, and places. He’s going down. No way out for him this
time.”

The other party said something emphatically.
Duby placated them with, “Just be ready. I’ll call.”

Still running in place, he disconnected the
call, replaced the phone in its case, and replaced the case in its
hideaway. Then, he vaulted over the gates as quietly and easily as
before, landed softly on the pavement, and continued his regular
morning jogging route, satisfied that he was unobserved.

Mid-morning saw Carinne on the tennis court,
beneath the watchful eye of the tower sentry, slamming a winning
serve past an aging tennis pro named Jerry. She and her opponent
approached the net, shook hands, and went their separate ways –
Jerry to the equipment building, Carinne to the main house.

Inside the mansion, Carinne strode through
long, marble corridors carrying her warm-up jacket, towel, and
water bottle. Determination hardened her face. She walked past two
employees in business suits who were sweeping an electronic
detecting device across the wall hangings, paintings, and other
furnishings in the corridor. At the main entrance to the house, two
dark-suited men were erecting and troubleshooting a metal detector
worthy of any major airport.

Through a distant open door, she saw
white-coated kitchen staff setting up a buffet table as long as a
fishing pier. One man in a dark suit stood by and watched their
progress.

Carinne stopped at a closed door and
knocked.

“Come!” her father shouted from beyond the
door.

She entered her father’s office to see him at
his ornate desk, so large that she secretly thought of it as a
mahogany ping-pong table. As a little girl, she would beg her
mother to bring a ball and paddles and sneak into the room for a
game of table tennis, but Mother never would. Daddy’s office was
forbidden territory, even to his wife and daughter. Especially to
his wife and daughter. And her mother was careful to avoid the
Wrath Of Dad whenever possible.

Averell had spread detailed drawings of the
estate upon the desk and was discussing strategic security points
with Rico and Dubreau, who flanked him. Carinne flopped into a
chair across the desk from them and let her jacket and water bottle
tumble to the floor beside her.

Averell and Rico took no notice of her.
Dubreau removed his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, turned to get
a tissue from a nearby dispenser, and, while he wiped the lenses,
sent Carinne a wink he knew the other men would not see.

When Averell finished what he had been saying
to Rico and Duby, he spared a glance for Carinne while he turned
the huge blueprint pages. “Did you win today, sweetheart?” he
asked, obviously disinterested.

“Of course,” said Carinne. “Jerry’s getting
old. Plus, over the years, he’s taught me all his tricks. Daddy,
why can’t I just go to one of the clubs to play – and meet some new
people?”

“Nonsense. If Jerry is too old, we’ll get you
a new coach.”

Carinne quietly exhaled and seem to deflate
into the depths of the luxuriously upholstered chair. She looked
around Averell’s office. Nothing had changed since the last time
she had been here. Nothing ever changed, at least not for her.

A new idea blinked into her mind and she sat
up straighter in the chair. “I know you’re going to be busy this
afternoon – getting ready for your big meeting and all – so, I
thought I could just drive myself to the dentist. Then, you won’t
have to spare someone to go with me.”

“No.” Her father didn’t even look up from his
papers.

“I’ll go straight there and straight back, I
promise.”

“You are far more important to me than any
meeting.” His body language said she was less important than the
blueprints on his desk. “Dubreau will drive you. Rico can handle
the guests.”

Dubreau and Rico looked at one another. No
love lost there.

“I should stay,” said Duby. He couldn't
gather information if he wasn't on site.

“You go. Rico stays this time. That’s all.”
Averell’s tone closed the conversation.

Rico smirked as if he had just been confirmed
as teacher’s pet.

Carinne stood and moved wordlessly toward the
door.

Dubreau quickly gathered her tennis gear from
the floor and followed her.

Within the hour, Dubreau was waiting beside
the limo when Carinne emerged from the front door of the mansion
and sulked all the way to the car. Dubreau did not wink or smile or
even relax his posture. He simply opened the car door in a formal
manner and helped her into the back seat.

From Averell’s office window, Rico watched
Dubreau leave with Carinne. Averell sat at his desk, reading and
annotating documents for his afternoon meeting to come.

“You know I’m better than he is,” Rico
said.

“Are you?” Averell sounded skeptical and a
little amused.

“You don’t really need both of us.”

“You keep each other sharp, Rico. And, the
constant circling is fun to watch. Someday I may throw you both
into a pit and see who comes out alive. For now, you each have a
job. Do it.”

The Averell mansion glowed and glistened like
a fairy tale castle in the sultry Florida evening. Inside, people
bustled about with last-minute preparations. Tonight’s dinner for a
South American potential client was to be lavish and impressive.
Kyle Averell knew how to wine and dine in a manner that guaranteed
a favorable result. The pending contractual arrangements were
important to Averell, and he was pulling out all the stops to make
tonight’s guest a very happy – and agreeable – man.

Carinne had been swathed in the best designer
gown money could buy. Her hair and makeup had been styled and
applied by highly paid professionals. Her father intended her to be
the centerpiece of the evening, the shining prize to be dangled
before a drooling client. He couldn’t dangle her until he could
find her, however. A search had begun.

It was Rico who found her, in her evening
gown and near-priceless jewelry, visiting the rabbit hutch near the
tennis courts.

Carinne cuddled and cooed at the newest baby
rabbits until a shadow fell over her. The frightened bunnies fled
to the far corners of their hutch, and Carinne turned to look up
into Rico’s frown.

“They’re waiting for you,” he said.

Averell and Iglesias, the client’s
representative, sipped cocktails in the elegant formal living room.
Iglesias’ bodyguard stood sentinel on one side of the room’s
entrance, Dubreau stood on the other side. Rico entered, directing
Carinne ahead of him with his hand on her elbow. She looked
beautiful, of course, and she wore her carefully perfect smile, but
she felt as if she were being led to her own execution.

Her father and his guest stood from their
chairs when she came into the room. Her father’s smile was too
sweet, letting her know she was in disfavor and had better toe the
line for the remainder of the evening. He stepped toward her. “Ah,
here she is! Always fashionably late.”

Rico delivered her hand into her
father’s.

Her father, in turn, placed her hand into the
outstretched palm of Iglesias.

“Definitely worth waiting for,” said
Iglesias, bowing and placing a kiss on her hand.

Averell set his cocktail glass on the nearest
end table and extended an arm toward the door. “Now that everyone
is here, let’s eat dinner, so these two young people can get to the
theater before the curtain goes up.”

Dubreau drove the couple from Coconut Grove
to a theatre in Miami Beach, that night. When the play ended and
Iglesias escorted Carinne from the theater, Dubreau waited at the
curb, standing at attention beside the limousine. Stiffly formal,
he opened the back door and helped Carinne into the car.

Before joining Carinne in the vehicle,
Iglesias slipped some paper money into Duby’s hand.

“Mathieson Hammock,” the man said as he
settled himself on the seat.

“
Oui
,
monsieur
.” Dubreau closed
the car door.

The sandy beach and meandering paths of
Mathieson Hammock were popular with boaters, swimmers, and nature
enthusiasts. But, only one vehicle was parked beneath the
overhanging royal poinciana and banyan trees this night. Mathieson
Hammock Park officially closed at dusk, but a determined driver
could wrangle his vehicle past the flimsy gate, and Dubreau had no
trouble getting in and driving all the way to the end of the park,
where the road ended and the beach began.

Thus it was that the Averell limo was the
only vehicle for miles. It squatted, black and silent, only twenty
white-sand feet from the gently lapping bay waters.

Dubreau sat stiff-necked in the front seat,
trying to ignore sounds coming from behind him.

Hidden from the chauffeur’s view by the car’s
black-tinted, bullet-proof privacy panel, Iglesias didn’t wait long
before making his move. He began with soft words, and followed that
with tentative touching. A hand on the knee. Fingertips on the back
of her neck. And, soon the hands were moving from her extremities
toward the center of her body, and from the outside of her clothing
toward openings to the inside.