“I’ll be in the Oval Office for a few hours.” He pointed to the phone at the end of the table. “You can push this button if you have any questions. Tell the operator who you are and she’ll let me know.”
Miller stood again when he did. “Sir, don’t forget your cup of coffee.”
“Oh, no,” Ryan said. “Those are both for you. I expect you’ll need them.”
? ? ?
By four p.m., Clark had watched the triad security men make their prescribed rounds three times. They appeared to have six assigned posts, with a seventh spot behind a small utility shed down the hill between the pool and the lake. There they’d stashed a folding camp chair out of sight of the main house and used it to rest their feet during periodic smoke breaks. Muffin Top and Geezer both seemed to get winded just walking up the steep hill when they had to reach a post nearer the house. Clark noted that in the book by their respective names.
There was movement in the house, and once, someone inside called out to the nearest security man to bring something inside from a truck parked out back. Clark had yet to see anyone who might be Magdalena Rojas, or, for that matter, Emilio Zambrano or Lily Chen. They were here, though. No one had this kind of roving security just to guard an empty residence.
Then, at almost exactly five straight up, the double doors on the second floor yawned open and an Asian woman stepped out onto the deck. She wore a red one-piece swimsuit that fit her well and showed off long legs and an athletic body. Clark guessed her to be in her late thirties, maybe even forty. Her hair was short, shaved on one side, the front turned up in a high pompadour. A pair of large heart-shaped sunglasses covered much of her face. Even from a distance Clark could see a haughtiness in her walk—chin up, one arm crooked out to the side, as though she were leading an invisible dog. Two girls followed her out like attendants. Both dark, probably Hispanic, and wearing red swimsuits that matched the older woman’s. The lead girl—Clark guessed her to be Magdalena Rojas—carried a rolled towel and a container of sunblock. A somewhat taller and heavier girl followed with a round tray loaded with two tall glasses and a bowl of popcorn. Each girl wore a wide strap around her left ankle. In any other situation Clark might have thought they were decorative. He’d never understood the fashion of youth—even when he’d been young himself. But given the circumstances, the straps were more likely restraints. Neither girl looked to be older than thirteen. A well-muscled man with salt-and-pepper hair brought up the rear, pulling the doors shut behind him. Emilio Zambrano wore red board shorts and a white Hawaiian shirt, open in front to reveal a hairless chest draped in gold chains. Had it not been for the dazed looks on the faces of the girls, it would have been easy to mistake the foursome for a family out for a swim in matching suits.
The girls followed a few steps behind Lily Chen, careful as they descended the stairs from the upper deck to the pool. Richie Rich, the triad security man with the blingy watch, stepped into the cabana. The heavy bass beat of some rap song Clark didn’t recognize—which wasn’t saying much—began to thrum from speakers around the pool.
Clark smiled inside. “Well, that’s helpful,” he whispered.
He was gratified to see that all the security men turned to look inward at the sound of the music, when the more practical thing to do would have been to face outbound. Either the triad guys weren’t very well trained, or they considered Zambrano and Chen to be more dangerous than anything that might possibly attack their position from the outside.
Clark scribbled a couple more notes in his book. A barked command from Zambrano to one of the Asian guards—Rattail, from the looks of it—caused the heavier of the two girls to drop her tray. The glasses crashed onto the concrete walk beside the pool. Lily turned slowly, lowering her big sunglasses to glare down at both cowering girls. Zambrano cuffed the tall girl in the back of her head, shouting something Clark couldn’t quite make out. The girl fell, wilting from the blow, and began to pile the broken glass on the tray. Magdalena set the towel and sunscreen on the ground and stooped to help. Cursing now, Zambrano walked to the edge of the pool next to the diving board and then turned to give the girl a swift kick in the thigh. She’d apparently gotten glass in the pool.
Chen pointed at the water. The girl stood slowly, glancing at the pool, then shaking her head. Chen nodded, smiling and continuing to point at the water. The girl shook her head again. It was obvious that Chen was telling her to go retrieve any broken glass, and it was just as obvious that the girl was terrified to get into the water.
Chen grabbed the girl by the hair and dragged her in, shoving her over the side. The poor girl sputtered and kicked, but, after her initial panic, was able to stay afloat by dog-paddling. There were no markings on the edge, but the diving board said it was at least eight feet on that end.
Lily Chen continued to point, shoving the crying child away with her bare foot each time she made it to the edge. By now, Rattail, Muffin Top, and Mini Fridge had all gathered around the pool to watch the fun. Muffin Top laughed, but a glare from Lily sent him hustling back down the hill to his post at the docks.
Chen pantomimed holding her nose and diving, but the girl was too panicked to pay attention to any directions. She could barely keep her head above water. Magdalena approached with her head down, staring at the ground. She said something to Chen, who gave a flick of her hand and turned away.
Magdalena jumped in immediately, helping her friend to the edge of the pool and then turning to dive to the bottom, surfacing a moment later with the jagged bottom of a broken glass. She climbed out of the pool and set the glass on the tray, offering to carry it back inside. Instead, Lily snapped her fingers and Rattail took care of it, trotting dutifully up the steps to the deck and disappearing into the house.
Clark wrote “pool boy” beside Rattail’s name in the notebook. When he looked up, Zambrano had attached a short leash from a metal deck chair to the taller girl’s ankle. There was a similar leash on another chair, probably meant for Magdalena, but she was busy rubbing sunscreen on Lily Chen’s shoulders. The Chinese woman said something to Zambrano, who shrugged, and then dragged the deck chair, along with the attached girl, to the edge of the deep end. He pointed in again, as if telling her there was still more glass at the bottom from her accident, and then he kicked the chair over the edge.