"How about in the dark?" Peggy asked sourly. "Because no matter what you told that Big Bambu character, there's no way were getting back before nightfall."
Holliday smiled. "I've had a little experience in Zodiacs at night," he said, remembering making landfall on the wide beaches of Mogadishu in Somalia for a little surgical payback after the Black Hawk Down incident. Twenty-two miles from the carrier USS Abraham Lincoln to landfall, and all done in darkness as black as tar.
By the time they reached the old breakwater marking Tritt's unpretentious little house, the sun had almost disappeared, leaving nothing but a streak of crimson bleeding over the glimmering sea. Holliday cut the engine to a soft putter and scanned the area. The neighboring cottages were hidden by jungle foliage, and what could be seen was much closer to the road than Tritt's. Somehow Holliday got the feeling they were used more as vacation homes than as full-time residences.
As the sun set completely Holliday guided the Zodiac to shore, keeping his course straight, aiming for the almost luminescent strip of beach at the foot of the assassin's property. The boat slid up onto the beach, sand grinding under the hull, and Brennan jumped out, mooring rope in hand. He held the rope while the other two got out of the Zodiac, and all three of them dragged the inflatable well up the beach. Holliday carried the jack.
He checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes, in and out," he said. "That's probably the response time for the cops. It's a pretty small force."
They went up the slightly sloping lawn to the back door. Holliday took the jack, positioned it across the doorframe horizontally and began to crank. After a few moments the ends of the jack were tight against the wood. He kept cranking. Slowly but surely the wood of the doorframe began to bow out left and right; then finally the bolt on the lock mechanism popped and the door came open.
"I'm impressed," said Brennan, lifting an eyebrow. "A scholar with the skills of a burglar."
"Fifteen minutes," reminded Holliday.
They ducked under the jack and stepped into the cottage. They found themselves in a kitchen-dining area simply furnished with a teak dining table, four chairs and a buffet containing silverware and table linens. The furniture was neither new nor antique and had probably been sold to Tritt along with the rest of the house.
There were two small bedrooms at the end of a short hallway as well as two bathrooms, one a powder room or WC and the other a full en suite bathroom leading to the third and largest of the bedrooms. The master bedroom was as anonymous as the kitchen-dining area. There was a queen-sized bed, end tables, a chest of drawers and a walk-in closet full of folded shirts, a variety of sportswear and shoes, plus a row of suits still in dry cleaning bags. The bags read New Oriental Laundry and Cleaners Ltd: Looking Good Is Our Pride and Joy. The suits were all expensive, mainly Brioni and Zegna. There was a single painting on the bedroom wall above the bed, depicting a pot of flowers on a windowsill with palm trees and a Caribbean beach done in shades of blue and white and pink. Without a word, Peggy and Brennan split up and began searching the spare bedrooms and the bathrooms. Holliday went down the hallway to a pair of pocket doors and slid them back.
The front room of the cottage was a living room, though it was outfitted as an office rather than a place to relax at the end of a busy day. There was a desk in front of a brick-lined fireplace that looked as though it hadn't been used for a very long time. The floors were hardwood, possibly cherry, and looked freshly waxed and polished. There wasn't a spot of dust anywhere.
On one corner of the desk was a black, high-intensity Tensor lamp; in the other corner a complicated-looking desk phone. There was a Wi-Fi box connected to a cable outlet, but no computer visible. Tritt was no fool when it came to security. The reason there was no alarm system was there was nothing to hide and no incriminating evidence of any kind.
Facing the desk on the opposite wall was a flat-screen TV. There was a high-backed leather swivel chair behind the desk and an upholstered chair with a pole lamp beside it next to the front window. Holliday crossed the room in the gloomy half-light of dusk and pulled the drapes closed. He went back to the desk and switched on the Tensor light.
The desk was utilitarian and made of dark blond oak. It was a pedestal style, probably bought a long time ago as government surplus. There were three drawers in each pedestal and one drawer in the middle. There was nothing in any of the drawers except the center one, which contained some loose drawing paper, a few Rapidograph drafting pens, a CD-ROM in a clear plastic case with no label and a neat stack of bills held together by a big paper clip.
Without even pausing Holliday slipped the CD case into his pocket, took out the bills and removed the paper clip. There was nothing very interesting. A Cable Bahamas receipt for both his Internet and television service, another receipt from Vonage but no actual bill listing calls, and a receipt for home delivery of Chelsea's Choice drinking water.
He rechecked the other drawers and again found nothing inside. Why have a desk with six useless drawers? Was it simply that the desk had been here when he bought the house, or was there another reason the drawers were empty? He thought about it for a moment. The desk hadn't been in this room when he bought it-it wasn't the kind of furniture you wanted in your living room, which meant Tritt had placed it here, either bringing it from another room or perhaps even farther afield.
But why lug a big desk around when all you really needed was a simple, modern desk from somewhere like Ikea? It wasn't logical, and if there was one thing he knew about Tritt and the place he lived in, it was that plain, clear logic prevailed. He started taking the empty drawers out and examining their outer surfaces, sides, backs and bottoms. He found what he was looking for on the back of the second drawer down on the right. Three phone numbers, the top two in faded pencil and the bottom one inked neatly with one of the Rapidograph pens, the sevens crossed in the European manner.
He sat up straight in the chair, the drawer upright in his lap. He let out a shrill whistle, then took one of the pens and a sheet of paper from the middle drawer. A moment later, Peggy and Father Brennan appeared in the doorway.
"It's rude to whistle, even if you're Lauren Bacall," said Peggy, referring to the old Bogart movie based on a Hemingway book.
"What country code is four-one?" Holliday asked.
"No idea," said Peggy.
"Switzerland," said Brennan.
"You're sure?" Holliday said.
"Positive."
"What city code is two-two?"
"Geneva," answered Brennan.
"I found three phone numbers on the back of one of the drawers," said Holliday. "One of them has the Geneva city code, one is in France, I think, and the last one is in Switzerland, too." He looked at Brennan. "Any ideas?"
"Call the last one," said the priest.
"It's two in the morning over there," warned Peggy.
"Maybe you'll get a message." Brennan shrugged.
Holliday reached for the phone.
Peggy stopped him. "Wait," she said abruptly. She crossed to the desk. "This phone has a redial function." She hit the speaker button, pressed REDIAL and watched as the numbers scrolled out onto the caller ID screen. Geneva again. The phone double buzzed for four rings before a sleepy voice came over the little speaker, rising and falling in the particular way associated with satellite calls.
"Mandarin Oriental, Jean-Pierre speaking."
"You're a hotel?"
"And have been for quite some time, monsieur. I am the night manager. Would you like a reservation?"
Holliday gently cradled the phone receiver.
"There's a Delta flight to New York via Atlanta in an hour and a half… If we hurry we can just catch it."