The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone 13)

[PAUSE]

Jansen: All right. We’ll do it your way. But you’re sure? You’re ready to send the Bishop to his death?

Foster: You don’t have to keep asking me that. It’s clear we both know what we’re doing. They’re sending lawyers to federal court on the third and fourth to try to lift the injunction preventing another march. King will stay in Memphis until they get that done. Room 306. There’ll be plenty of opportunities on the fourth to make this happen. Be ready. I’ll call and provide you the best one.

Jansen: Memphis it is then.

The tape ended.

I popped it from the machine and stared at the cassette.

A confidential source who has furnished reliable information in the past.

A fancy way to keep a trusted source’s identity secret. I’d seen similar language in many NCIS reports. No wonder Benjamin Foster didn’t want Coleen to know anything about this. He’d set Martin Luther King Jr. up to die.

All for a 1933 Double Eagle.

I looked again at the date on the cassette. March 31, 1968. Three days before the assassination. Bruce Lael had lived with that knowledge a long time. No wonder he’d made contact with Foster. I could only imagine what those talks had been like. I was truly amazed at Foster. To hear him talk, he’d been at King’s side for years. He was there in the hospital when the man died. He cast himself as some civil rights warrior.

I sat in the truck.

Something buzzed in my pocket.

Nate’s cell phone had come alive.

I removed the unit and answered.

“You ruined my clothes,” Valdez said.

Like I cared. “Stuff happens.”

“That it does. I have Reverend Foster, his daughter, and his son-in-law. I want my coin or I’ll kill them.”

“How about I just give your files back?”

“Too late for that. Reverend Foster would like to speak with you.”

A moment later Foster came on the line.

“You and I need to talk. In person,” Foster said.

I agreed. We did. “How’s that possible?”

“Valdez says he will make it happen.”

Like I was going to trust that. I stared out the windshield at the bus station. My mind raced.

“Do you have a car?” I asked.

“I did. But you took it.”

“Sorry about that. Can you get another one?”

I heard Foster speaking to Valdez.

“Yes. I can get a car,” Foster said.

“All right, here’s what I want you to do.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I sat in the truck and ate a burger, still troubled by what I’d heard on the cassette. Foster had told me that it would be more than an hour before he appeared. The time was approaching 3:00 P.M., that hour about up. I’d told Foster to drive to Gainesville and find the bus station. I knew this site was secure. All I had to do was make sure it stayed that way, up to and including Foster’s arrival. The experience with the backpack had taught me a lesson. I didn’t plan on making the same mistake twice, and my caution was compounded by the fact that Valdez and Oliver were definitely working together.

That meant anything might happen.

Including the possibility that this was a trap.

I had told Foster to drive here and that a ticket would be waiting for him at the information desk inside. He was to take the designated bus when it arrived. Of course, the idea was to get him in and out of the station without attracting attention or alerting any tail that might be on him. I’d already reconnoitered the bus station, noting all of the exits, and I’d positioned the truck two addresses down from the depot in the parking lot of a strip mall busy with traffic. There was a path from here to a side exit in the bus terminal that could work as a discreet way for Foster to disappear.

Not foolproof.

But what was?

At least I was trying to stay ahead of things.

The burger had tasted great. I hadn’t eaten a meal since last night. For me, stress brought a loss of appetite. When I tried a case I’d go days without eating much of anything. Once the verdict came in, my appetite always returned, and usually with a vengeance. I was beginning to see that the same malady occurred as a field agent.

I sucked more of my lemonade through the straw.

It seemed I was now the proud owner of a relatively new Chevy pickup. But I doubted we’d be together for long. That was another thing about my new temporary career. Few physical or personal attachments ever lasted.

From where I was located I had a clear view of the depot’s main entrance and parking lot. I’d been watching everything carefully and had neither sensed nor seen nothing out of the ordinary. I kept reminding myself that Valdez was only allowing this gesture as a way to locate me.

So I’d taken even further precautions.

At a Mail ’N More I passed on the way to get the burger, I rented an onsite storage bin with a combination lock. I also bought a couple of oversized manila envelopes. The coin stayed in my pocket, since it might come in handy. It meant little to me, but everything to Valdez. So I decided to keep my options open as far as it was concerned. Cars came and went from the bus depot. Nobody seemed even remotely suspicious. Finally, a pale-yellow Camry entered and found an empty space.

Benjamin Foster emerged.

The car he was driving could definitely be tagged. After all, it came from Valdez, supplied surely by Tom Oliver. Another car entered the lot and parked on the far side beneath the trees. My eyesight was excellent and I could see two forms inside.

The tail I was expecting.

Foster disappeared inside the terminal.

Both car doors opened.

Jansen and Oliver stepped out.

I felt honored. Batman and Robin themselves had come.

There’d only be a few moments. The ticket that Foster would receive at the information booth contained a note that instructed him to leave the building through the side exit to his left.

It also told him not to be obvious or in a hurry.

I revved the truck’s engine and cruised through the lot, toward the dry cleaner next door, which sat between the strip mall and the bus terminal. It had a drive-through lane that faced the side exit from the depot. The key was to time this just right.

Oliver and Jansen were headed for the terminal’s main entrance. Foster had been inside about two minutes. More than enough time. Oliver and Jansen were still thirty feet from the front doors when Foster emerged from the side exit. I wheeled from the dry cleaning’s drive-through line and came to a stop, the passenger-side window already down.

“Get in. Fast,” I yelled.

Foster hustled over and hopped inside.

I could no longer see the front of the terminal, but I had to assume Oliver and Jansen were inside, looking for Foster. Once they didn’t see him in the main lobby, they’d check the bathroom. Only then would they realize he was gone.

Which should be ample time.

Foster settled into his seat.

I drove from the dry cleaner and turned left, heading off down the street, keeping watch in the rearview mirrors.

No one was following.

“We have much to discuss,” Foster said.

I agreed.

“Nate and I were taken a few miles outside of Palm Beach,” Foster said. “Like they were waiting for us.”

“Valdez and Oliver are definitely working together. Before you say a word, though, there’s something you need to listen to.”

I hit PLAY on the radio and watched as Foster listened to his conversation with Jansen from thirty-two years before. When it was over, I stopped the cassette. I wanted him to know that this was going to be a no-bullshit conversation.

I knew it all.

“Where did this come from?” Foster finally said.

“Bruce Lael kept a copy. He gave it to me.”