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Lee Brackett leaned back in his chair, pulled the bill of his ball cap down lower on his forehead and grimaced. He'd been sitting in various spots in the Miami airport on and off for several hours making like a tourist and he was chafing under the stupidity of it all. He knew that the game wasn't happening there and so did his new keepers. But then, that was probably the point, wasn't it? They had to be sure that he'd follow their directions, no matter how inane he found them. Oh, they'd never fully trust him, but they had to feel confident that he was their man, at least for the time being. So every once in a while they sent him out on one of these little tests of theirs.
It was such a fucking waste of his time. Besides which, he hated playing dress-up. He glanced down at his outfit and one corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry smile. Bermuda shorts. He was sitting in an airport wearing fucking Bermuda shorts, a loud Hawaiian shirt and sandals, for god's sake. Of course, it could be worse. He could still be sitting in a maximum security prison cell wearing prison issue blue jeans and a denim shirt. Suddenly, the humor of the situation struck him and he fought not to laugh out loud. He was free and he was going to stay that way. Working for these bozos was just a temporary bump in the road.
Good humor restored, he sat back and did a little people watching. It never hurt to keep in practice. His gaze was drawn to the United Airlines counter closest to his table. The long counter was deserted, but for one man leaning wearily against the first class section talking to a ticket agent. There was something oddly familiar about him, something that nagged at Lee. The guy was a bit shorter than average, maybe five foot seven, and he had long curly hair tied back off his face. When he turned slightly his profile was revealed and Lee sucked in his breath.
Sandburg. Lee forced himself to look slowly around the terminal for Ellison. He frowned when he came up empty and did another slow sweep. Nothing. What was Sandburg doing there without the big cop attached at the hip? He smiled slightly and decided that this was more interesting than waiting for a non-existent informant to appear. He shouldered the strap of his bogus overnight bag, put on a pair of sunglasses and wandered casually over to a rack of colorful brochures that stood close enough to the ticket counter for him to overhear Sandburg's conversation.
"Look, I was supposed to show up here and give you my name. What happens after that I don't know."
Lee frowned slightly. Sandburg sounded exhausted.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg, but I don't know anything about this." The woman frowned.
"Something wrong, Jean?" Another agent walked up.
"Kathy," Jean said in relief, "I'm glad you're back. This gentleman seems to think that we should be holding something for him."
Lee watched as Kathy glanced at Sandburg. She turned back to her co-worker and said, "I'll take care of this, Jean. Thanks for covering my station."
"No problem." Jean shrugged and walked back to the coach section.
Kathy smiled and asked, "May I have your name, sir?"
Sandburg sighed. "Blair Sandburg."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Sandburg. I was expecting you. I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding." She reached below the counter and brought out a sealed envelope. "Here you are, sir."
Lee noted with interest that Sandburg's hand trembled slightly as he took the envelope. What the hell was going on here?
"Thanks," he said and then stepped away from the counter and leaned against an empty spot on the wall.
Lee watched as he opened the envelope, pulled out a single sheet of paper and read it. Sandburg sighed again and pushed off from the wall, heading in the direction of the International Terminal. Intrigued, Lee followed at a leisurely pace behind him. This was far more entertaining than what he'd been doing and, if he was lucky, he might just learn something that he could use in the future.
He ducked into a duty free gift shop when Sandburg stopped at the information booth in the middle of the International concourse. He nodded at something the guy in the booth said and then headed for the sandwich shop just across the way. Lee followed and paid for a bottled water, then sat down at a table a few feet behind where Sandburg was sitting. He could see and hear just fine, so he pulled out a magazine from his fake overnight bag and pretended to be engrossed in it while he waited for Sandburg to do something. He just hoped that the kid wasn't waiting for Ellison, otherwise this was going to be a very short surveillance.
It wasn't long before his wait was over. Lee had long thought that there wasn't anything left that could shock him, but it turned out he was wrong. The identity of the man who sat down at Sandburg's table not only shocked him, but filled him with dismay. What in hell did Arthur Crandall have to do with Blair Sandburg? An even worse question, to Lee's mind, was what the hell did Blair Sandburg have to do with Crandall?
He sat at his table, surreptitiously watching the two men eye each other warily, and ran scenarios through his head. He couldn't come up with anything that didn't involve Ellison in some way. The problem was, Ellison didn't seem to be anywhere around. Was that it? Was Crandall holding Ellison somewhere in order to get Sandburg to agree to do something? Lee immediately dismissed that as far fetched at best. That kind of scenario was more likely to happen the other way around. Snatch Sandburg and threaten Ellison with his safety. Crude, he thought contemptuously, but effective, and definitely right up Crandall's alley. He observed in fascination as Sandburg abruptly sat back in his chair.
"I didn't expect you to show up in person."
Crandall shrugged. "I wanted another chance to persuade you to change your mind. I thought perhaps that talking face to face rather than over the phone would be more effective."
Sandburg shook his head once. "No. I told you I'm not interested. I'll do it this one time, but that's it. I'm out of it and I'm staying out."
"I understand that you've been working closely with a detective in Cascade." Crandall's lips twitched into what someone who didn't know him might call a smile.
Sandburg shoved his chair back and stood up. Lee blinked at the venom in his voice when he spoke. "You leave Jim out of this. If I ever hear that you've tried to contact him--"
"Sit down." Crandall's voice went cold. "Don't think to threaten me, dear boy. You don't have the means to follow through and we both know it."
Sandburg slowly sat down. "Just accept that I won't come back. What do you have?"
"Oh very well." The cultured voice was almost petulant. He pulled an airline envelope out of his breast pocket and slid it across the table. "St. Maartin. Here's your ticket, as well as your return flight booked through to Cascade. You leave in an hour. The address where your friend is staying is inside the envelope. See him, pick up the information, and come back. Simple as that."
Sandburg shook his head. "Nothing's ever simple where you're involved," he muttered. He reached out for the ticket. "All right. I'll take care of it, but only because he asked for me. And no matter what happens, I leave in two days for Cascade. After this I don't ever want to hear from you again. Got it?"
Crandall stood and gazed down at Sandburg impassively. "I've 'got it' as you say. Just do the job and there won't be any complaints." He turned on his heel and strode off, but Lee noted that Sandburg just stared down at the ticket packet.
Lee was more confused than ever and even more determined to find out what was going on. Sandburg was leaving on a flight to St. Maartin in an hour. Lee had just enough time to arrange for a seat and do a little digging of his own. Not only did he want to know how Sandburg and Crandall were acquainted, but he also wanted to know what was going on with the Guide and his Sentinel. Ellison might have been one of the few to have bested him, but, contrary to what some might think, Lee didn't feel a need for revenge. Lee was too pragmatic not to want to keep all options open and taking revenge on Ellison would be counter-productive to his ultimate goal of complete autonomy of action. Indeed, he had a grudging respect for the cop and for the young grad student who was more important to the man than Ellison seemed to realize. That thought brought him back to wondering just what Sandburg was doing here without Ellison. He shook his head and left in search of a ticket to the Caribbean.
Blair slowly descended the stairs from the plane and walked across the tarmac to the terminal at Queen Juliana airport. The air was warm and humid and would normally have felt like heaven to him, but nothing about this trip was even remotely normal. He'd left the loft without a note or word of explanation and could only hope that Jim wouldn't cut his vacation short. He sighed. If an elaborately planned train robbery couldn't make him do that, Blair doubted that anything could.
He shook his head and stood in line to have his passport stamped. His hair was starting to frizz and curl wildly, damp tendrils already sticking annoyingly to his neck. The long trip had done little to alleviate the stomach pains he'd been having since Clayton Falls, but at least he hadn't had to vomit during the flight. Oh yeah, things were looking up.
A few minutes and a stop at the Hertz counter later and he was crawling into a tiny car, ready to find Salah. The address Crandall had given him was on the French side of the Island. The Hertz agent had helpfully traced out the most likely route for him to take on a small map. Following her suggestion, he took a left as he exited the rental lot.
The two-lane road wound around the tiny Island, following the ocean. He drove through what looked to have once been a golf course and resort. The course managed to retain some of its original shape, although the normally manicured look of the greens was absent. He frowned slightly and wondered what had happened to cause the dilapidated appearance. The townhouses that were part of the resort were in disrepair and appeared to be deserted. The whole place had a decidedly surreal quality to it, a luxurious man-made oasis abandoned by man and reclaimed by nature. He shivered and was suddenly thankful that it was broad daylight.
Leaving the abandoned resort behind, the road climbed slightly and headed inland for a bit before turning back toward the ocean. He soon passed a sign welcoming him to the French side. As he drove he passed several casinos in various stages of construction. Some were open for business; others were in the process of being renovated. There was very little tourist activity around them, as it appeared that nighttime was the popular time for gambling on the Island. A few twisty turns and he left the casinos behind as well. His directions indicated that he should pass through the town of Marigot and then follow the main road for a few kilometers to a small place called Village du Grand Case.
Blair sighed softly. Maybe this really would turn out to be a cakewalk and he could get out of there quickly. Another time he would have looked forward to exploring the Island and comparing the two cultures that shared it, but not this time. Now all he wanted to do was meet Salah, get the information and then get back to the States and put this all behind him.
Grand Case arrived sooner than he expected. It was small, one short main street that was also the main road and a few tiny cross streets. It had originally been a fishing village, but apparently it was now more famous for the number of restaurants it boasted than for it's fishing. The buildings were old and quaint and stood wall to wall without intervening space between them. It would be easier to find Salah's address on foot, so he parked his car and got out.
Few people were on the sidewalks at that time of day. It was between the traditional times for meals and the tourists would either be in Marigot or Philipsburg, on the Dutch side, shopping for luxury goods or at the numerous beaches. The little town would come alive later for dining, he thought as he searched for the street he wanted. Nearly every building he walked past was a restaurant of some kind. Italian, Chinese, Caribbean and, of course, French. All closed in preparation for the evening meal. Several coffee and pastry places were open, but few were busy.
Finally Blair spied the street he was looking for and headed for it. It was little more than an alley, but widened a bit as he got further from the ocean. Numbers on the doors were all that indicated the addresses. Searching, he spied a recessed blue door with the number 768 on it. He shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and knocked on the door. When there was no answer after a few moments he knocked again, harder this time. He waited, but there was nothing. Frowning, he was about to knock one more time when the next door over opened and a man about his own age stepped out. He was taller than Blair by a couple of inches, with wavy brown hair, shot with gold streaks, and warm brown eyes. Good looking in a tanned 'I live in the Caribbean' kind of way. He glanced over at Blair and raised an eyebrow.
"No one's there at the moment." His accent was American.
Blair bit his bottom lip and stared at the stranger. "Any idea where, um, they went? Or when someone might be back?"
The guy grinned. "Depends."
He kept from snapping his reply by the skin of his teeth. "On what?"
"On your name."
"Sandburg. Blair." He frowned. "Blair Sandburg."
"Then, yeah, I know where they went. Don't know if they're still there or not, though."
He raised his eyebrows. "And that would be?"
"Jackie said that if you showed up that I should tell you that they went out to Point Blanche." He shrugged. "I guess maybe they had some business at Wathey Pier."
"And how do I get to this Point Blanche?"
"It's over on the Dutch side. Did you come from the airport? Well, it's easiest then to just go back the way you came, past the airport, and continue on the same road through Philipsburg. You can see the turn for the Point. The road dead ends just before the Pier."
Blair sighed. "Great. Thanks."
"No problem, man." He grinned and headed in the direction of the ocean.
"Yeah, no problem," Blair muttered. Sure. Except now Blair had to climb back in his car and drive halfway around the Island again. If it weren't for the fact that it was Salah, he'd be so out of there.
Lee cursed the tiny automobile that he'd been forced to cram himself into and then cursed Sandburg for stopping in the tiny village. There was no way to follow him and not be seen. He pulled the lever of the car trunk and went around to open up his bag. He could live with the shorts, but he needed to change into a different shirt; the Hawaiian job was just too loud not to be remembered if Sandburg caught sight of him. Luckily he had a grey tee shirt in his bag and he quickly pulled it over his head.
Just as he climbed back into the driver's seat, Sandburg returned to the main street and headed for his car. Lee watched as he flipped a U-turn and headed back the way they'd just come. Now what?
He made sure that he kept enough distance from Sandburg's car so as not to rouse suspicion. As they passed the airport, he just shrugged. He'd doubted that this thing, whatever it was, would be resolved so easily. It looked like Sandburg had a new destination on the Island in mind.
They managed to reach Philipsburg in the middle of the afternoon. Traffic crawled through the narrow main street and tourists packed the tiny sidewalks, spilling occasionally out into the road. Lee glanced towards the ocean while he waited to inch forward and found the reason for the congestion. A huge white cruise ship sat at anchor in the middle of the bay. He'd had the singular misfortune to be in a port town once before on a day when a ship docked and disgorged its passengers for a feeding frenzy in the upscale shops. Lee shuddered. He'd rather face a hardened assassin than get between a cruise shopper and his or her 'special deal.'
The traffic finally reached the end of the main drag through Philipsburg. Lee kept an eye on Sandburg's car and noted when it turned right. He followed until Sandburg pulled off at a sign that said Port Blanche / A. Wathey Pier. A couple of other cars made the same turn and Lee felt safe in following. He pulled into the parking lot in front of a row of souvenir shops and a small restaurant and stopped his car.
Sandburg continued on, only to park on a gravel turnaround when the road ended at a chain link fence. A large sign on the fence indicated that it was a restricted area. Lee could see heavy machinery and industrial port equipment on the pier, though no ship was docked and there didn't seem to be any people about.
Sandburg walked over to a chained up gate in the fence and just stood there, appearing to examine the seemingly deserted pier. After a few moments, he casually looked over his shoulder as if making sure he wasn't being observed, then he pushed the gate open as far as he could between the loose chains and slipped through.
Damn. The area was too open for Lee to follow him without being noticed. The best he could do would be to sit on the restaurant patio and wait for Sandburg to either reappear or for something else to happen. Not exactly a hardship, he thought as he ordered a beer and settled back to wait. At least the Heineken should be authentic.
Lee was on his third little green bottle when all hell seemed to break loose. He leapt to his feet when he heard a familiar rapid popping noise coming from the pier. That had to be an automatic pistol firing. His mouth dropped open as the taller of the two cranes started swinging around in an erratic motion. The crane swung out away from the pier and Lee could just make out what looked like Sandburg clinging desperately to the hook. A muffled boom suddenly rocked the pier and the metal building between the cranes exploded in an impressive display of fire and shrapnel. More explosions followed, causing the pier itself to bend and buckle. Sandburg lost his grip on the hook and seemed to fall in slow motion the 30 feet to the sand below.
Two men sprinted across the sand to reach him. Lee winced as they grabbed the kid by the arms and dragged him across the sand, away from the pier. Not the smartest move to make with someone who might have a spinal injury, but he couldn't fault their action when, only moments later, a large jagged chunk of metal landed on the sand where Sandburg had lain.
Any idle thought of rushing out there and trying to help was quashed by the distant sound of sirens. Lee needed to keep a low profile and he especially didn't want Sandburg to know he was following him. Besides, it would ruin his image if anyone ever found out that he'd actually thought about volunteering to help.
He could make out the paramedics rolling Sandburg onto a backboard and then he watched as they loaded him into the ambulance. A short consultation with a tall black man, one of the two who had pulled the anthropologist to safety, and the man was allowed to climb into the ambulance as well. There couldn't be more than one hospital on the Island and that's where he'd find the kid.
"And you don't know what caused the explosion, Mr. Sandburg?" The man's accent was faint.
"For the fifth time, no, Captain, I don't." He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pounding in his head.
"And you were on the pier, because?"
"Like I said the last time you asked that, I thought I'd read about the pier being an historically interesting site. I'm an anthropologist and I guess I got a little carried away. I was just trying to get a look around. I didn't realize that it was going to blow up on me." He tried his best look of innocence on the police captain and almost smiled when he nodded in sympathy.
"Next time, you should pay more attention to the private property signs. You could have gotten yourself hurt and that I would not like. Injuring tourists is bad for business, not to mention all the paperwork I would have to fill out. I believe that you didn't blow up the pier, but our Island is too small to shrug off such a violent occurrence. Since the doctor has said that it is not necessary for you to remain in the hospital, I regret that I shall have to ask you to leave as soon as possible."
"Not a problem." Blair shifted on the examining table and grimaced as he felt a stabbing pain from his injured side. "I have a ticket out on a morning flight to Miami. Think that'll be soon enough?"
The man smiled slightly. "That will be satisfactory. You won't mind if I'm there to see you off?"
He shook his head. "I'd be surprised if you weren't."
"Very well, then, Mr. Sandburg. I'll see you at the airport in the morning." He nodded once and then left the room.
Blair slowly peeled the hospital gown off over his head and then worked his left arm into the sleeve of his shirt before pulling it on. He was thankful that the doctor hadn't made him strip completely. It might have been more than he could manage just then to pull his pants on by himself. He glanced up as the door to the examination room opened and a familiar figure entered.
"Do you need help?"
"Nah, I've got it. Thanks anyway, man." He carefully lowered himself to the floor. "I just want to get out of here."
"Yes. We should go."
Blair glanced at him sharply. "It is safe, isn't it, Salah?" He relaxed again when his friend nodded.
"It is as safe as can be determined. We won't be going back to Grand Case. A friend has a house on Sentry Hill. We shall stay there until it is time to take you to the airport."
He was too tired to ask any more questions and allowed himself to be led out to a waiting car. It was larger than the little toy he'd been driving all day and he frowned. In all the excitement he'd forgotten to ask about the rental car.
"Salah? What happened to my car?"
"Ah, we didn't think you would feel up to driving, so it was taken back to the airport and turned in for you. I hope that is all right."
"Yeah, that's fine. I just didn't want to leave it abandoned somewhere." He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. The pain pills worked their magic and he was asleep before they'd left the parking lot.
Blair opened his eyes and stared around the unfamiliar bedroom, trying to figure out just where he was. He remembered the explosion and he sat upright, only to gasp and curl up around his tender left side. The door to the room opened and Salah entered.
"You are awake. That is good. Are you hungry?"
Blair slowly forced himself upright, relieved not to feel more pain. "I could eat."
Salah held out a hand to help Blair to his feet. He moved cautiously, not wanting to strain his injured side any further. God, he felt like shit. A part of him grimly wondered just what terrible thing he'd done in his life to deserve the last few days. Another part of him just wanted to get the hell out of there and go home, back to Cascade and back to Jim. He followed Salah down a hallway into a small kitchen and sat down at a table straight out of a dining room of the 1950s. A plate full of jerk chicken and rice and beans was set before him, along with a bottle of Heineken beer. Salah set a second plate down and took the chair across from him.
The food was good and filling and just spicy enough to make his mouth water. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last or even when he'd felt like eating. When he thought over the last few days, he realized that it had to have been before he'd been doused with the contaminated water in Clayton Falls. He was grateful to feel like he could eat. As soon as he'd taken the edge off his hunger, he glanced across the table at his friend.
"What happened out at the Pier?" He'd run into trouble that was already happening and he didn't have a clue what was going on. That, in itself, was a dangerous situation.
"I'm sorry you were caught in that. The explosion was a surprise to us as well."
"And?"
"It might be better if you didn't know. You are leaving tomorrow, after all."
"Salah..."
"You haven't changed any, have you? You are still the obstinate young man, determined to know everything there is to know, whether you should or not." He shook his head, a small smile on his lips.
"If you remember that, then you remember that you'll eventually tell me anyway, so you might as well tell me now." Blair raised an eyebrow.
Salah chuckled. "I heard a rumor that something illegal was being smuggled through ships docking at the Pier. All right, it has to do with guns. Normally, I would trust the Dutch authorities to put a halt to it, but the rumor spoke of payoffs in the right pockets."
"What exploded?"
"The rumors weren't quite correct, it seems. There were no guns, however, there was quite a lot of C4."
"Explosives?" His eyes widened.
"Believe me, I was just as surprised as you. Not only was there C4, but it was rigged for detonation. We were set up. I believe the person who shot at us was there to make sure that it blew at the right time -- once we were inside."
"Salah--"
He held up his hand. "Before you say anything, no, I don't know what it's about."
"Perhaps the information I'm supposed to collect from you?"
Salah shook his head. "That makes no sense. The information is sensitive, true, but nothing that would warrant killing over. No, this is about something else. In any case, it isn't something that you need be concerned about."
Blair snorted softly. "I'm concerned because you're my friend and I owe you. What did you mean about the information you have? I was told that it's vital."
Salah frowned. "It's just confirmation data on information that's already known. No one's life is at stake."
"Why did you ask for me, Salah?" Blair rubbed his hand over his forehead. "If all you needed to do was pass on this information, you could have done that with anyone. Why'd you have to pull me back into this, man?"
Salah stared at him. "But I didn't ask for you, Blair. I was told that you would be here and that I should wait. To tell you the truth, I was surprised that you were the one to come for it, but I looked forward to seeing you again."
"What?" He frowned. "Who told you that I'd meet you? Was it Crandall?"
Salah nodded.
"Son of a bitch." Blair clenched fists, wanting nothing more than to punch something, preferably the man who had manipulated him into this situation. "He's played us both, you know that, don't you?"
"It would appear so. For me, it is of little consequence, but for you I can see that it is a terrible thing." He cocked his head and regarded Blair steadily.
"Yes, it is." He sighed. This was something he'd put behind him a long time ago and he hated like hell to dredge it up again, but his friend deserved to know what was going on. He gazed into Salah's warm brown eyes and shook his head slowly. "I've been out of the game for a long time, Salah. Since the last time I...saw you."
"I see," he said softly. "I knew, of course, that Jack had left."
"Yeah, well, you can't very well go out in the field when your legs don't work, can you?" He wiped his hand over his face. "I'm sorry. You, of all people, don't deserve that. As you can imagine, Jack was pretty disillusioned after he got home. He knows there're good people out there like you, who still believe in what they're doing and who try to do the best they can. He walks a pretty fine line, Salah, trying to expose the corruption and dirty tricks without revealing anything that could harm the good guys."
"I've read his book. It appears that he's successful in his effort." He smiled broadly, white teeth flashing in his dark face. "But what of you? Are you not one of the 'good guys' as you say?"
"Me? I was a stupid kid who needed money to stay in school. Grants and scholarships only go so far, Salah, and I was seriously wondering how I was gonna manage to keep from having to drop out and get a job. I was only 18 when Crandall approached me with his offer. It sounded easy, at first, you know? Just do a little courier work, that sort of thing. Then after I got used to it, he added side trips during the expeditions that I took. After awhile I was going out on my own. Eventually, I wanted to get out, but I didn't know how."
"Until?"
"Until that last assignment went so horribly wrong. If you hadn't come along and rescued Jack and me from that hell hole, we would've both died."
"There must have been more than just that to make you get out. You had to have faced the threat of violence before, what was different about that time?"
"After we got home, Jack found out that it was all a set up." Remembered rage boiled in his gut. "Crandall sent me in there knowing it was a trap. He'd wanted me to become something else, something I'd refused and he's not one to accept a refusal at face value. The assignment was his punishment."
"He meant for you to die?"
"No, he meant for me to be captured. The idea was that I'd experience enough torture that I'd be grateful for his carefully choreographed rescue when it happened." He bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. "He just didn't count on you happening."
"Forgive me, but, after that experience, how could you trust him again?"
"I didn't trust him, I trusted you. I just forgot the part that he could have been lying about you." Blair shook his head and smiled slightly. "Doesn't matter. Once he'd dangled you as a carrot, I had to come."
"Because you think that you owe me something."
"I do owe you. I owe you my life. I know you were there to rescue Jack, not me. You could have left me there and I know it. Taking me with you was a risk you didn't have to take. So, yeah, I owe you."
"No longer, my friend. If you hadn't come along today and flushed out the shooter, my friend and I would be dead right now. Any debt you think you owe has been paid in full." He smiled warmly. "Now, eat your dinner and then you must get some sleep. The doctor was quite insistent that you rest."
"Yes, mother." Blair grinned. "By the way, when are you going to give me the information?"
"Ah, but I already have. It's in the sealed pack of tourist postcards in your bag."
"Okay." He nodded. "I hope you don't take this wrong, Salah, but I could live the rest of my life quite happily if I never see you again."
"I could hope for the same thing, my friend."
The next morning, Lee Brackett was already at the airport when Sandburg arrived for his return flight. Once he'd assured himself that Sandburg was all right, he'd spent the night discreetly calling a few of his contacts. He'd pieced together the story behind the explosion and wasn't surprised at what he'd found. Crandall was a vindictive idiot, nursing grudges for years until he was able to do something about them. The problem with that kind of fool was that he usually managed to screw things up royally. Now, he'd put the two people he'd just tried to have killed on alert. They may not know for sure that Crandall was behind it, but they'd surely have their suspicions.
Lee shook his head over the incompetence that was allowed to reign freely over certain parts of the intelligence community. It was one of the things that had convinced him to go freelance and it certainly looked like it hadn't improved any during the time he'd spent behind bars.
Ah well, it had been an entertaining couple of days and he'd renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Sandburg, albeit from a distance. Who knew? Maybe he'd have a use one day for the information he'd obtained. He smiled at the airline attendant as he handed over his ticket and headed for the back of the plane.