“I think I’m starting to get it now,” Favreau said, his demeanor having clearly switched from skeptic to true believer. “We might just have to stay for a while.”
CHAPTER 32
As he neared the end of the service road, Cooper said, “I’m almost to the rear gate. Are you guys in position?”
“We will be by the time you get to the house,” Deuce told him.
“All right, wish me luck.”
Taking a deep breath, he drove the catering van over the rise and headed toward the guard shack. One of the two guards stationed there stepped out and held up a hand as Cooper neared. Beyond the lowered security arm, the Latham house and grounds were lit up like a parade float, and Cooper could hear the thump, thump, thump of a bass beat playing.
He eased on the brake and rolled down his window, painfully aware he didn’t look remotely Bahamian, but hoping St. Cajetan was enough of a melting pot that it didn’t matter.
The guard came up to the window with a clipboard in hand. “Purpose of your visit?”
Cooper stared at him. “Seriously? Read the side of the van.”
The guard nodded and made a note on the clipboard. “Name?”
Cooper used the one he’d found on the driver. “Winston Laroda.”
He was taking the calculated risk that with the constant stream of catering trucks going in and out today, the faces and names of the drivers had become a blur to these guys.
As the guard checked his clipboard, the second guard — who had the demeanor of a man in charge — approached them. “He’s all right, I remember the van. Go open the gate.” He looked at Cooper. “I’ll still need to see what you’ve got in back.”
Cooper gestured. “It’s unlocked. Do whatever you have to.”
The second guard went around, opened the doors, and stared in at the metal rack full of pie boxes.
“Rich or poor, everyone loves pie,” he said, then closed the doors and patted the side of the truck.
As the security arm raised, Cooper rolled up his window, let out a breath, and hit the accelerator, following the road past the rear of the house and around to a delivery ramp at the side. As he backed down the ramp toward a loading dock, the van beeped a warning.
“I’m almost in,” he said. “Warlock, are you in range yet?”
“I believe I am. It’s all up to you now.”
The plan was for Deuce and Warlock to park the Buick in the adjacent neighborhood, make their way toward the estate on foot, then split up — Warlock looking for a place to perch with his laptop while Deuce positioned himself as close to the house as possible with a sniper rifle, just in case they needed a diversion.
Or backup firepower.
“What about you, Deuce?”
“I’m looking at you as we speak.”
“See you on the other side,” Cooper said, then came to a stop and cut the engine. He reached down and retrieved a black plastic packet from under the seat, and carried it into the back of the van.
He chose one of the pie boxes on the center shelf, pulled it open, and removed the pie — French apple from the looks of it. He laid the packet inside, put the pie on top of it, and closed the windowed lid. It was a tight fit, the crust pressing up against the plastic, and he knew it wouldn’t fool anyone who took too close a look, but the casual observer might not notice anything amiss.
He returned to the front of the van, opened the driver’s door, and climbed out, then went around to the back doors and pulled them open.
Most of the deliveries had been made during the day so the loading area was empty. Cooper unlocked the rack’s wheels and pulled it out onto the dock. He got behind it and rolled the rack through the service doors toward the hallway on his left.
Latham’s mansion may have carried the facade of a Southern plantation house, but according to the blueprints, its three stories and basement were a labyrinth of hallways and interconnected rooms more akin to a medieval castle, and easy to get lost in. The second and third floors held the living quarters, the main floor boasted a full-size ballroom and ancillary staff offices, and the janitorial and kitchen facilities were down in the basement with the loading dock.
As Cooper turned a corner, he found himself staring at a security checkpoint with a metal detection portal in the middle of the hall and once again hoped that the combination of repetition and his uniform would work to his advantage. Trying to look as casual and unconcerned as possible, he rolled the rack toward the portal.
One of the two guards manning it jumped in front of him, and gestured for him to pass the rack to the second guard.
“Those things set the machine off every time,” he said. “Too much noise.”
“Mmm, pie,” the second one said as he rolled the rack around the metal detector to the other side. “This one looks like coconut cream. Do you think we’ll get a slice after we finish our shift?”
The first guard directed Cooper to step through the portal. “You’re a dreamer, Perry. Once the guests and those vultures in the kitchen are done with them, there won’t be any left.”
Cooper put his wallet and cell phone in a tray, stepped through the portal without making it beep, then retrieved his belongings and moved toward the rack.
“Wait,” the second one said, producing a security wand. “I have to check it out.”
The sight of the wand made Cooper’s intestines clench. He stood there, still trying to look casual, as the guard — Perry — passed his wand over the boxes. Instantly, the thing started to squeal.
“I don’t know why you bother,” the first one said. “You know it’s these metal racks that do it. Happens every time.”
Perry flicked off the wand. “I bother because if I don’t and something goes wrong, I lose my job.” He turned to Cooper. “You don’t have any explosives or weapons in here, do you?”
Cooper grinned at him. “If I did, they probably wouldn’t taste very good.”
Both guards laughed and the first one said to Perry, “Just check a few of the boxes and let him go. He has a job to do.”
Perry studied the top row of the rack, peering through the plastic windows at the pies, then opened one up and breathed it in. “I was right. Coconut cream. I wish my wife could bake like this.”
“You’re lucky you have a wife,” the first guard told him. “Now let the man go.”
Perry held up a hand to silence him and crouched down to look at the center rack. Cooper glanced at the weapons holstered on their thighs and wondered how quick they would be to use them. From their looks and attitude, he pegged them as temp security staff, not part of Latham’s regular crew.
Perry reached forward, opened another box, and again breathed in. “Sweet potato. Second only to coconut cream.”
“Stop salivating and be done with it already. You’re making me hungry.”
But Perry suddenly froze, his gaze on the center row of pies. “What’s this?”
Thinking he had just been busted, Cooper’s gut tightened as Perry grabbed hold of a box, pulled it out, and opened the lid to reveal a decadent-looking chocolate chiffon pie.
“I would kill a man for a slice of this.” He looked up at his partner. “Do you think anyone would miss it?”
“Put it back or you’ll get us both in trouble.”
“What’s one pie out of so many?”
“Put it back, Perry. Now.”
Looking disappointed, Perry closed the lid and returned the box to the rack.
“Go on with you,” he said to Cooper as he backed away from the pies. “You’re the devil in a black vest.”
The guards laughed again and Cooper joined in this time, trying not to look relieved as he grabbed hold of the rack and rolled it toward the kitchen.