THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR (14 page)

“That sounds ominous.”

As we drove out of Portland, I kept my eye on the rear view to see if we had picked up a tail, but with the traffic on the Interstate, that would be difficult to spot, so I just enjoyed driving the Bentley until the GPS navigation system told me to turn off at exit 228 to the coastal town of Newport. I checked the rear view mirror and saw a grey sedan several hundred yards behind us turn off the Interstate as well and follow us. It didn't mean anything, but I kept an eye on the mirror.

Many years ago before I joined the Army, I sailed a thirty four foot sloop from Portland on a delivery to Ventura in California, and was blasted by a huge low pressure that built forty foot waves, which battered the little sloop and dismasted us one hundred miles out at sea, and fifty miles south of Newport. Luckily the engine held out and I managed to bring myself, my crew of two and the yacht safely into Newport Harbour.

That was well before the events that changed my life, and I felt a soft spot for the town and the people who lined the dock as we brought the yacht into port at six in the morning; people who had stayed awake for three days and nights listening to the Coastguard radio as we struggled through the freezing storm, fighting to reach the port. They brought us flasks of hot coffee, warm fresh bread, scrambled eggs and bacon, hot oatmeal, many bottles of bourbon and, incongruously, crates of ice-cold beer.

Julie listened as I rambled on about the adventure and the little city on Oregon's coast, as we drove slowly through and pulled into the parking lot of the incongruously named
Mario's Seafood Grill
.

“It doesn't look much, but this is the best seafood on the Oregon Coast,” I told Julie as we stepped out the car and walked to the door. “At least I hope it still is.”

Just before we stepped inside I quickly scanned the street and spotted the grey sedan I saw earlier, pull into a parking space just down the road. The occupants stayed in the car.

We were shown to our table in the funky restaurant that was full of happy customers and given the menu, which Julie eyed with surprised delight.

“I hope the food's as good as the menu promises.”

“It was the last time I was here.”

“You are full of surprises, Thomas Gunn.”

“Money doesn't buy everything and great food doesn't have to be expensive.”

A homely waitress, with bright eyes and winning smile approached the table. “Hi, my name is Amy and I'll be your server today. Are you ready to order?” she asked welcomingly.

“I'm having the fresh Dungeness crab steamed in sake with aioli and avocado, red onion, apple and endive salad,” Julie replied decisively. “And a glass of ice cold Chablis.”

“The lady knows what she wants. And I'll have the Spicy Alaskan Salmon cakes, with hot and sour sauce and the same salad. But being a simple soul I'll have an ice cold Sam Adams draught Boston Lager.”

“Great choices, I'll be right back with your drinks,” Amy said approvingly and walked busily away to the back of the restaurant.

“You said I should enjoy this car while it lasts. What did you mean?” Julie said quietly.

“We change when we get to the Country Club. The Bentley goes back to Portland with a couple who look surprisingly like us and we carry on to San Francisco.”

“I thought as much. And I did see the grey sedan.”

“You're getting way to good at this.”

“Nobody pays any attention to a woman looking in a mirror, and I'm just trying to stay alive,” she said gravely as Amy approached the table with our drinks.

“Here you go, I'll have your meals here in ten minutes. Anything else I can get you?”

“This is great, thanks,” I said giving her the biggest smile I could muster.

“Who are the people in the sedan?” Julie asked as soon as Amy walked away.

“Rogue British Special Forces, now working for some group within the UK Government. Or De Costas' men.”

“I have a funny feeling about this Thomas.”

“We're just on a fishing expedition.”

“Sure, but you didn't say how big the sharks were.”

We were back on the road
within the hour, feeling as if we had dined at the most expensive restaurant in the world. Julie gushed about the crab for ten minutes, before settling down in the comfortable seat and falling asleep. Her ability to do that amazed me. If there is something on my mind, I can't sleep. It bothers me; worries me; nags at me until I find a solution. And if I don't find a solution, I stay awake until I do.

Not Julie.

It was one of the things that attracted me to her. Apart from the obvious stunning body and intelligence that flowed from her like some sort of ghostly plasma. No wonder men just stared, and women looked as if they could kill her and happily serve time.

She was an enigma.

The free soul I so desperately wanted to be.

She slept, and I drove on alone with my thoughts about the 'mission' at hand. But I was flying blind as usual. I thought I had a plan. I thought I knew what I was doing, but being here in the US with fond memories of a life in a country that seemed so easy and carefree, with a beautiful woman that I loved, I wondered if Hamish was right. Why didn't I just leave it alone and let Hamish and the Government investigate?

But there was this part of me that couldn't let go. That needed to know everything. That didn't trust the Government. That didn't trust anybody.

Coos Bay went by as a blur and before I knew it, we were entering California just south of Brookings. Julie woke from her nap and looked around as the sun began to dip to the ocean, an orange light bulb shaped illusion that kissed the horizon for a brief moment before disappearing from view.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

“Sleep well?”

“Just a little nap. We there yet?”

“Close. Another hour.”

“Grey sedan still with us?”

“Yup. Lay back about a mile, but closed up in the last five minutes. He's hoping he won’t lose us through Crescent City.”

“But you won’t let him.”

“Nope. I want him on our tail all the way to the country club.” And that is precisely what happened, and as we turned into the driveway of the Club stopping to clear through the security before entering the grounds, I watched as the grey sedan slowed and then accelerated past the entrance as it became obvious they would not get past security. Wealth has its advantages and expensive, exclusive Country Clubs with serious security is one of them. Of course any well-trained professional can breach any security, but it takes time, and by then we would be long gone and our 'stand-ins' on their way back to Portland in the Bentley.

Timing is everything.

Julie had warmed to her role as the girl friend of a wealthy businessman, striding into reception as if she owned the place, smiling winningly at the young man behind the counter as I handed over my membership card.

“Thank you Mr Gunn, we have been expecting you and your suite is ready. Alicia will show you the way.”

Alicia, a pretty nineteen year-old, was well trained, pleasant and efficient. Once in our suite, Julie heaved a sigh of relief and headed for the bathroom, discarding her clothes as she went.

“I want to lie in hot soapy water for an hour with a tall glass of ice cold vodka tonic, one ice cube and two olives.”

“Yes ma'am,” I replied. “I'll follow you on both counts, just hope the bath tub is big enough.”

“Oh it certainly is,” came Julie's muffled reply followed by the sound of running water. I checked the drawer in the side table beside the bed and found credit cards and driver's licenses in the name of Tommy and Martha Blacket, my mother's maiden name, and the keys to a three year-old Volvo XC70. Then I poured two strong vodka tonics, with one cube of ice and two pimento stuffed olives, stripped naked and walked to the bathroom.

“There you are,” Julie said quietly. “After I soak for a while, finish my drink and ravish your body, what do you have planned?” She snaked a long leg out of the bubble filled bath and rubbed it up my thigh.

“I've forgotten already,” I said, staring at her beauty and wishing this was another time.

“Come on in, the water's lovely,” she said taking her drink. “I'll help you remember.”

The light knock
on the door was barely discernible, but I was awake and expecting it. Julie finished dressing and watched as I crossed the room, Glock in hand and, standing to the side, tapped twice, paused and then tapped once more. There was a responding two taps. I opened the door carefully and let the man and woman into the suite. They looked exact twins of Julie and me. The prosthetics were unbelievable and nobody would be any the wiser when they checked out of the Club in the early morning.

“Down the hall to your right, there is a staff door, this electronic key opens it. Take the stairs to the first floor. One of our men is waiting for you. He'll get you out of the grounds,” the woman said quickly, sounding disturbingly like Julie. “Good luck.”

As she left the room, Julie smiled at them. “Enjoy the Bentley,” she said mischievously and followed me down the corridor to the
'Staff Only'
door.

Between three and four o'clock in the morning is always the best time to start a battle or leave a building unnoticed. Most people are deep into REM sleep and those that aren't are either insomniacs or up-to-no-good. I doubted our friends with the grey sedan would have had time to fully reconnoitre the clubs grounds and form a plan, so I wasn't concerned about them.

At the bottom of the stairs, the Security Guard who had checked us as we arrived stood waiting.

“The electronic key please.” He asked crisply. I handed it over. “Follow me.”

It took nearly forty-five minutes meandering through the woods that skirted the golf course at the back of the Club, before our guide pointed to a small group of houses on the edge of the golf course.

“The house on the right is the one you want. Car's in the garage and the hardware you requested is in the back under the floor. Go in through the gate on the right hand side. Back door's open. Make yourselves some breakfast. Wait until six before you leave, that's when the neighbours get up and they won't be surprised to hear you go.”

“Thanks. We appreciate your help.”

“Any friend of Danny's...” he smiled and let the sentence hang, shook my hand and disappeared. Within a few minutes we were in the house, making breakfast, and at six o'clock, went through into the garage. I checked the false floor in the back of the Volvo and was happy with the weapons and spare clips that were secreted there. The Volvo was full of fuel, the electric garage door slid open at the touch of a switch and we were on our way, following the route pre-programmed into the GPS navigation system.

“What do we call ourselves?” Julie asked.

“Tommy for me, and this is for you.” I handed her the driver's license and credit cards.

“Martha Blacket? Dear God, do I look like a Martha?”

I glanced at her and grinned. “Oh I don't know, kinda suits you hon, and we are husband and wife,” I laughed trying my American accent.

“You're gonna have to work on that, hon. Try just doing a New England accent, it's lazy British with a bit of West Country. Then you'll get away with it.”

“These are just so nobody can track us from here to San Francisco. Once we confront De Costas, all bets are off.”

The drive was uneventful. For the first hour Julie slept, and then took over while I tried to rest, unsuccessfully. There was too much going on in my mind and I still kept a look out behind, just to make sure our cover hadn't been blown. Hopefully by now the grey sedan was following the Bentley back to Portland.

Julie turned off Highway 101 at Novato and headed across country to Stinson Beach just as the female voice on the Navigation system instructed.

“God that voice is so sleazy,” she said seeing I was awake. “Makes my skin crawl.”

I reached over and changed the settings. “There, no more voice.”

“You could have done that a few hours ago, you know.”

“Thought it would keep you company.”

She snorted and turned right onto the road that led to Stinson Beach, rounding the lagoon and turning down Calle del Arroyo towards the gated community where a beach house awaited us.

Julie pulled up at the security gate. “Mr and Mrs Blacket. We're renting a property.” She handed over her driver's license.

“Yes Mrs Dawson is expecting you at the house. Take a left here and follow the road,” he said handing back her license.

“Thank you,” Julie flashed her toothy smile, and watched as the security guard blushed beneath his California tan.

The split level beach house,
with the lounge, dining room and kitchen on beach level; bedrooms, bathrooms, den on the top, drive level. The living room opened out onto a large deck with steps leading down to the beach. I stood and looked out to where the surf ran up the sand, and thought once again how easy it would be to forget the reason we were here. Julie came quietly up behind me and took my arm, snuggling into my shoulder.

"Well, when do we start work? " She didn't look at me, just stared at the waves breaking on the shore.

"Not today, that’s for sure," I said. She turned, smiled and handed me a pair of swimming shorts.

"That's exactly what I hoped you would say. There’s plenty of time, let's just enjoy a few days, without any hassles."

So we did.

Free of any pressures or worries. We forgot everything and swam, enjoyed beach barbecues and pretended we really were Tommy and Martha Blacket from Rhode Island on vacation at the beach. We regained our Mediterranean tans and made love in the king size bed as if nothing else in the world mattered.

But of course we couldn't forget, and Julie brought it up over dinner as we sat on the deck watching the last glows of the sun eating a delicious clambake.

"I see you brooding, Thomas," she said and took a sip of chilled Pinot Grigio. "You're anxious, antsy. I feel it too."

“It's time to rattle Mr Samuel De Costas' cage.”

I got up, went into the house and came back with a manila envelope, handing it to Julie. “I found this in the mail box this afternoon.”