Myrtle’s was perched on the waterfront of Monterey Bay, half on land and half sticking out over the water, held up by a forest of sea-weathered wooden pilings. Claire had been watching the place and its surroundings for more than an hour already. To its left was a shallow parking lot wedged between Del Monte Avenue and the bay. To its right was a kayak rental place. Beyond both of those were public beaches, but only a few people were on them; the day was sunny but unseasonably cool.
There was no sign of anyone unpleasant staking out the area. It didn’t mean they weren’t there, of course.
No sign of Sam, either, though Claire had already known she wouldn’t catch sight of him. He would be every bit as cautious as her, watching the place from concealment and distance. If he was coming, he was probably at least as far from Myrtle’s as she was, studying the building and all its approaches.
Claire lowered the binoculars and set them beside her on the passenger seat. The vehicle was an old Geo Tracker she’d borrowed from a Walmart parking lot at four in the morning, after catching a night’s restless sleep in the woods at the edge of a cow pasture. She’d borrowed the binoculars, too, from a sporting goods store here in Monterey. She meant to return both as soon as possible.
She leaned back and closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.
“Be here,” she whispered. “Be alive.”
*
Dryden looked at his watch. 11:32. He raised the binoculars he’d borrowed from Eversman and stared through them for thirty seconds, sweeping them slowly left to right, then back.
“No sign of her,” Dryden said. “There wouldn’t be, though. She’ll keep her distance until the minute she goes in.”
He was sitting in the second-row seat of a black Chevy Suburban, one of three identical vehicles Eversman had brought to Monterey, along with a clutch of his security personnel. Whether they’d come from the guesthouse or not, it wasn’t clear; they’d been parked in the drive and ready to go when Dryden first saw them.
Marnie was sitting next to him on the bench seat. She was wearing the coat she’d worn yesterday, her Glock once more in its shoulder holster beneath it. Dryden had one of Claire’s Berettas in his waistband.
Up front, Eversman was in the passenger seat. One of his security men, a stocky guy named Collins, sat at the wheel. All eyes were focused on the decrepit little bar, five hundred yards away; Dryden had given Eversman its name and location this morning.
The other two Suburbans were much farther back, stationed out of sight on side streets, four men in each vehicle, heavily armed. Eversman had insisted on bringing a significant force, in case things went badly. Dryden’s only demand had been that the other two SUVs keep their distance; from Claire’s point of view, anyone but Dryden himself would look like a hostile. If she got spooked, she would vanish.
Marnie looked at him. “You okay?”
Dryden nodded but said nothing, keeping his gaze on the distant bar.
Marnie kept hers on him. Up front, Eversman and Collins turned and glanced back at him, too.
“We only get one shot at this,” Dryden said. “I don’t want to take any chances.” He nodded toward the bar. “I don’t like the sight lines we’ve got from here. I want better coverage on the left and right.”
“I can move up the other two vehicles,” Eversman said.
“No,” Dryden said. “I’m going to get out and go closer on foot.” He looked at Marnie and indicated the cross street in front of them. “Do me a favor. There’s a café two blocks to the right on that street. You can’t see it from here, but you’ll find it. From there you should have a clear angle on the right side of the bar. Just … watch for anything that looks wrong. If anything sends up a flag, come back here as fast as you can and tell these guys.”
Marnie stared at him, her features suddenly taut. “Are you worried about something?”
Dryden shook his head. He managed a smile. “Abundance of caution.”
He clapped her on the shoulder, nodded to the two men up front, then shoved open the door and stepped out of the vehicle. He headed off in the direction of the bar, and a moment later heard Marnie’s door open and close behind him.
*
When Dryden was a block away, still visible, Eversman took out his phone and switched it on. He called the driver of one of the other Suburbans. The man picked up on the first ring.
“Slight change, but nothing serious,” Eversman said. “The woman, Calvert, is at a café two blocks downhill from me on Sixth Street. After Dryden connects with Claire Dunham, Collins and I will pick them up. When that happens, you’ll get Calvert and meet us at the third team’s location.”
He ended the call, his eyes still tracking Dryden as he moved closer to the bar. The guy’s movements were casual; he wandered along a street of storefronts, looking in some of the windows, glancing up every so often to study the target location. At last he came to a little ice cream shop with a few metal tables and chairs out front. He bought something—it looked like a sundae, but it was hard to tell—and took a seat, watching the bar from maybe two hundred yards’ range.