As he made his way down the road, keeping to darkness, the noise of the dogs subsided. Only one dog continued barking. Steadily, insistently, as if trying to relay information. Finally a man’s voice shouted something and the dog was quiet.
Carver slumped behind the Ford’s steering wheel, catching his breath and wondering what to do next. Obviously the security behind the gates was more than he could cope with; his presence would be detected within minutes after he set foot on the property. And within minutes after that, the dogs would be at his throat or a security guard would be holding a gun on him. Carver thought a security guard might look good at that point, considering the size and temperament of the Dobermans.
After about ten minutes, he drove the Ford another few hundred feet up the road and parked it in the shadows. Slid the gun back beneath the seat. Got out and again crossed the highway. This time he limped along until he found a driveway that was blocked only by a chain.
He made his way around the chain and started up the driveway, which was bordered by some sort of tall shrubbery with dark and aromatic flowers. Tried to place the scent. Lilacs? Like the perfume of someone he’d once known.
When he saw the lights of a huge house in front of him, he veered off the driveway and cut through trees and more dense shrubbery. This shrubbery bore no blossoms, but it had sharp thorns that scratched his bare arms and occasionally came dangerously close to an eye.
Past the house, the ground fell away and the rhythmic sighing of the surf, until now only part of the background noise, became louder. Carver stumbled several times when his cane sank too far into the sandy earth as he forged through tall sea grass toward the beach.
On his right he saw some wooden steps leading down to the beach, illuminated by dim lights recessed in a thick railing. He was tempted to use the steps, but he opted instead for the cover of darkness. There was only a tilted sliver of moon, and he was sure he could make it down the sandy slope to the smooth beach without being seen.
He sat down and scooted on his rear end down the steep slope, digging in the cane now and then, using it as a brake. The technique worked well, and he reached the level sand and the ghostly rushing surf in good shape. Not counting bruised buttocks.
Quickly he stripped to his jockey shorts. Glanced around to get his bearings, then limped toward the water. Speared his cane into the sand and then tied his shirt to its crook like a flag. Felt for a moment like an explorer staking a claim.
He sat down in the soaked, firm sand, just beyond where he’d planted the cane, and waited for a large enough breaker to roar in. Wished one would hurry. He didn’t want to be seen sitting here in his underwear on some rich bastard’s private property. Aside from everything else, it would be damned embarrassing. Probably only designer-label trunks were worn on this beach.
Finally there was an express-train roar. A looming dark shape rising monstrously from the sea. The oncoming swell curled in on itself in the faint moonlight and broke into boiling whitecaps as it neared the shore. Crashed onto the beach and spread. Surrounded Carver, first with grasping fingers of white foam, then with cold water. Worked beneath him and gave him buoyancy. Lifted him gently and made it possible for him to do an awkward backward scoot seaward until the wave’s receding force got well under him and carried him out into deeper water with its powerful backwash.
He pushed against the water with both cupped hands as he struggled out farther into the ocean, feeling shifting sand and sharp pebbles beneath his bare feet. Drawing a deep breath, he ducked under another incoming wave, smaller than the one that had carried him out. Let the ponderous force of it break over him, then came back up and continued pushing himself away from shore until the bottom fell away and he was floating free. And even through his fear and hyper-alertness, he experienced the elation of having complete control of his body again. In deep water, he was as physically competent as any man and much stronger than most.
He swam out several hundred feet, beyond the breakers, then treaded water and looked back at the beach. He could see the faintly illuminated flight of steps. Farther up the rise, a vast house with several lighted windows. Down the beach a slight distance was a dock, and a large cabin cruiser bobbed at it in rhythm with the waves.
Carver stroked north parallel to the shore, toward the guarded property where the black limo and its passenger had disappeared. The dark water was cool and felt good. He moved through it as if he’d been born in it; since the leg injury and the countless therapeutic swims, it had become his element.
As he swam in his smooth Australian crawl, he watched the beach. The elegant estates and docked pleasure boats. At one house a party was in progress. Music drifted out over the water like signals from another world. There were bright lights. Carver could make out people dancing in a pavilion. He remembered the Latin music in Desoto’s office. He hadn’t danced in years, and now he wouldn’t again. He kept stroking.
When he saw the wire fence extending into the sea, he was sure he’d reached his destination. Something would have to keep the dogs from roaming the beach and bringing back pieces of sunbathers.
He floated on his back for a while until his breathing evened out, rising and falling, gazing up at the crescent of moon. Then he swam to a point between the sections of wire fence and surveyed the area.
What looked like barbed wire curled along the top of the fence. The beach was flat and empty. Beyond it was an impressive house, only one story but with low wings that stretched on opposite sides of a larger main structure. Most of the windows were illuminated.
Carver stroked in closer. Palm fronds shook themselves in the warm breeze, sometimes waving between him and a lighted window and giving the impression that someone was moving around inside the house. There was a narrow pier built out from the beach. A large pleasure craft was docked there. Its graceful hull had to be fifty feet long. Light glowed behind three portholes and, faintly, higher up on the bridge.
Carver swam closer to the boat and could make out a name lettered near its bow: Bold Entrepreneur. That figured, on a boat that had to cost at least half a million.
As he stroked in nearer to the beach, he caught sight of a racing dark figure on the sand. Another trailing it. Like swift animated shadow. The dogs. Romping and kicking up sand. Damned things were even on the alert for someone coming in from the sea. One of them barked twice, but Carver was sure it wasn’t because of him. Too playful. And he was still several hundred feet from the beach.
He swam farther out, then angled in so the graceful shape of the boat was between him and the direction the dogs had taken.
Breaststroking easily and almost silently, he moved up very close to the boat. Could have touched its hull. He was sure someone was on board, and he was hoping he’d hear something useful. But the only sound other than the sea lapping at the hull was music wafting out through one of the open portholes. Bach maybe? Beethoven? Elton John? Carver might not know the difference.
He swam alongside the hull until he could gaze around the stern at the house. The boat rose and fell gently, shoved a wave at him and he tasted saltwater. He breathed in instinctively, gagged and almost coughed. He had to be careful; if he choked, someone on board might hear him.
The house and grounds were quiet. Now and then Carver glimpsed one of the dogs trotting through its rounds. Once he thought he saw someone in uniform, probably a security guard, swagger along the beach wearing a nightstick and holstered gun like a cop.
Maybe it was a cop, Carver thought. Bent cop, moonlighting with drug kingpins. This must be where the strategy confab of the SCBL drug smugglers was going to take place. The private plane, and then the limo, had delivered one of those attending. Did Jefferson know about this location? Was Courtney Romano able to contact him and tell him? Did she know?