I chose the rendezvous point with a purpose. The bronze statue of a waving Walt Disney holding hands with his creation, Mickey Mouse, sat in the center of the park, just before the castle, at a busy crossroads. There should be plenty of people, though the rain might have thinned the crowd.
Occasionally, I caught site of Nate and Valdez on the far side of Main Street, staying parallel to Oliver and Jansen. They were all being cautious, which I expected. Looking back, I’m ashamed at my arrogance. I’d been a field agent for all of two days and I was making life-and-death decisions like I was a pro. Even worse, I was doing it with a cavalier attitude of a lawyer thinking that the worst that could happen was I lost the case. Sure, my client might stay in custody, or be taken off to prison, but I still get to go home.
Not here.
Losing came with the direst of consequences.
I kept moving.
Oliver and Jansen came to the end of Main Street and I entered the last shop, creeping over to the open doorway and watching as the four men regrouped and walked straight toward the Disney statue. I caught the waft of popcorn and cookies, which seemed oddly out of place with what I was facing. The rain remained a steady drizzle. People here had ditched umbrellas, nearly all of them draped in plastic ponchos with Mickey Mouse logos. My four targets had utilized neither, opting to just get wet. They stopped at the statue, which stood on a low dais surrounded by flowers. I exited the shop and stepped into the rain. Darkness had arrived with the suddenness of a drawn curtain.
Valdez saw me coming.
“No files or Foster?” he called out.
I came close and stopped. “No Coleen?”
The Cuban shrugged. “What can I say? I’m not trustworthy.”
“You okay?” I asked Nate.
He nodded. “I’m fine. Coleen’s okay, too.”
“Where are the files?” Oliver asked.
“Safe from the rain.”
“Odd choice of a place to meet,” Valdez said.
“Not really. I like Mickey Mouse. And all these tourists should keep us all under control. The last thing we want is attention, right?”
It had to be a little odd, though. Five grown men, standing in the rain, no umbrellas, chatting with one another. Discouraging was the fact that I hadn’t seen a single security guard or policeman in the past several minutes.
“What now?” Jansen asked.
I caught his contempt.
“You do what I tell you and we’ll all get out of here with what we want.”
“Who died and put you in charge?” Jansen asked.
“He is in charge,” Valdez said. “He has my coin and your files. Why don’t we give him a chance to produce both so we can end this.”
“I agree,” Oliver said. “But I have an added problem. The FBI has become focused on me, and I don’t intend to spend my retirement in jail.”
“You should have thought about that before you had Martin Luther King Jr. and Dan Veddern killed,” I said.
I caught the shocked expression on Nate’s face.
Oliver pointed a finger at me. “That’s exactly what I’m going to hear, over and over. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t order anybody killed.”
I pointed at Valdez. “That’s not what he said.”
“Is that true?” Oliver asked.
Valdez nodded.
I’d already decided to keep quiet about the copy of the recording Lael had provided me. That was my ace in the hole. “Do you have the original recording Foster wants?”
Oliver fished a small spool of the old reel-to-reel tape from his pocket. “Right here. You have the files?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“But you don’t intend to give them to us, do you?” Valdez asked.
“You know how to get them, and the coin. Where’s Coleen?”
“She’s here, in the park,” Valdez said. “Just not with us. I can have her brought to wherever, as soon as we conclude our business.”
“Bring her here,” I said.
I watched as Valdez reached back, thinking he was looking for a phone or radio in one of his pant pockets.
Instead a gun appeared.
He fired two shots into Nate’s chest, the bangs loud and out of place. Nate collapsed, falling back against a knee-high stone wall that encircled the statue, ending up sprawled spine-first over the railing and into the flowers encircling the dais, his legs dangling up in the rain.
Valdez then tossed the gun to me.
Instinctively, I caught it.
The bastard smiled.
I gripped the weapon, aimed it straight at him, and pulled the trigger.
Just clicks.
Again.
More clicks.
“Only two rounds,” he said. Then he pointed and yelled, “He has a gun. Run. Everyone. He has a gun.”
Bastard.
He was mimicking what I’d done to him at the Columbia, only this time there really was a gun. Jansen reacted, reaching for his own weapon beneath a jacket. Oliver stepped back, out of the way. The people around us had already heard the shots and could see Nate’s body lying in contorted angles at the base of Disney’s statue.
Shouts rose, fast and anxious.
People scattered.
I tossed the gun away and ran.
Chapter Forty-eight
Nothing about this was good.
I had badly underestimated Valdez and Nate paid the price. Naively, I’d thought that no one wanted to make a scene. I’d wisely not displayed the coin in my pocket, keeping its whereabouts a mystery. I knew Valdez wanted the coin and Oliver the files. But Valdez seemed to play by a book that contained no rules.
I raced across the wet concrete, glancing back over my shoulder to see Oliver and Jansen rushing my way, all of us weaving a path through the chaotic crowd. Thankfully, Foster was safe, back near the main entrance, a long way from this trouble. I negotiated a wooden bridge and passed through an elaborate timber gateway labeled adventureland. What happened back at the statue had not filtered to the people this far away yet. Everyone was still enjoying the attractions, moving in all directions through the drizzle. Buildings lined the concrete path to my right, trees and foliage to the left. I had no idea where I was going. This was a big place. Surely, plenty of exits. I could find one and just leave. I had the coin and the files. But there was still the matter of Foster and Coleen. They both needed my help, and I’d never run from a fight. Not then. Not now. Not ever. The one saving grace was the coin in my pocket.
But would that keep Valdez at bay?
Another quick glance over my shoulder and I saw Oliver pressing my way, but no Jansen. I kept going. Buildings stayed on my right, a potpourri of Asian, African, and Middle East architecture arranged in a calculated disorder. I caught the sounds of drums and squawking parrots. I rounded a ride that dominated the center of the pavement in front of me and angled left. I passed the Jungle Cruise attraction, crowded with people, and spotted what looked like an old Spanish-style castle that housed Pirates of the Caribbean.
Then I saw Jansen.
Past the Pirates building, waiting for me where the pavement curved right and began to head out of Adventureland. Somehow he’d managed to double around and hustle ahead of me. It had to be from the other side of the buildings. I’d spotted more crowds through a couple of breezeways that linked this side with the other. Apparently, Jansen had been here before.
I banked left and passed through a collection of baby strollers parked outside the Pirates ride. I zigzagged through them and hopped over the last row, pushing through a wet hedge and finding a concrete walk that paralleled the Pirates building. This was not an area where the public ventured.
Both Oliver and Jansen were still on my tail.
Ahead I spotted a high barbed-wire fence with a gate leading out.
Padlocked.
To my right, a metal door opened from the side of the building and a man emerged. Probably an employee working on the Pirates ride. I found my wallet and held it up like a cop would, displaying credentials.
“Malone, from Human Resources,” I said, as I brushed past. Then I stopped, reached back, and grabbed the inside handle.
“Where are you going?” he asked me.
“To fire someone.”
I closed the door.