Alex flew to Miami International Airport the next day, still accompanied by MacPhail and Ramirez. They were met at the airport by Special Agent Frank Cordero and Special Agent Linda Rosen from the local office. They would serve as her new driver and bodyguard. With embraces, Alex thanked MacPhail and Ramirez, who had now completed their assignment. They turned around and headed to their flight back to D.C.
Cordero led her to a black Lincoln Navigator. Alex carried a small duffel with her personal effects. They were minimal.
The SUV was soon on the expressway that led to downtown Miami. Agent Cordero drove. He said little. Agent Linda Rosen sat in the backseat and was friendlier. She made some small talk about her dog and how the two of them, Frank and she, would be with Alex for the next day. “Pretty much till you hit the water for Cuba,” she said.
“Water?” Alex asked, surprised they knew so much about her plans.
“It always starts with water, continues in the air, then ends on a beach. No matter which way you go.”
“You send people in and out of Cuba frequently?” Alex asked.
“If it happened any more frequently, they could print a schedule.”
Breaking his silence, Frank in the front seat laughed. But not for long.
Outside the Navigator, ninety humid degrees gripped Miami. Even the beaten-up cars on the expressway had air conditioning. Mere survival.
They passed the Orange Bowl and then the dull skyscrapers of downtown Miami. Cordero paid a toll. Then they took the causeway that led to Miami Beach.
“You know the address, right?” Alex asked to the front seat.
Linda answered. “Yeah,” she said. “Frank’s got it. We know the way.”
On their left was an island set in a lagoon. Rising from it were mini-mansions. On Alex’s right was the maritime channel, the exit for ships leaving the Port of Miami. The sight of them reminded her of Panama, and, with a shiver, the thought of Panama reminded her of the bullet that had come through her window on the west side of Manhattan.
The causeway led to Miami Beach.
Linda reached down to a shopping bag at her feet. From it she drew a cardboard box, the type that might contain six gourmet oranges. She handed it to Alex. “Here,” she said. “Welcome to south Florida. Merry Christmas in June. Present from Frank and me.”
Alex opened the box and examined the contents. The centerpiece was a Walther PPK 9mm short. Alex made sure it wasn’t loaded. The pistol was slim and sleek and would carry well. It was small but could pack a lethal wallop if necessary. It came with a box of fifty bullets and a nylon holster.
“Thanks,” Alex said, still examining it. She hefted it.
“Keep it low below the window levels,” Linda reminded her. “I don’t want other drivers to see it. It’d be a pain to explain to the Miami police what we’re doing here.”
“Of course,” Alex said.
There was one more item in the box. An ankle holster that was in heavy waterproof canvas. Alex could hit the water, if necessary, or endure a rainstorm, and her ordnance would be secure.
Frank guided the vehicle up and down a couple of side streets, then pulled up in front of a deco-streamlined house in South Beach with the usual Miami pastel paint job, pink and blue on white stucco, four stories on a quiet street, windows curtained. Alex eyeballed it from her car. Frank parked.
“We’re staying outside,” Linda said. “Don’t worry about us. We’re babysitting you till you go on to Key West tomorrow,” she said.
“You sure? You don’t need to.”
“We have our instructions,” Frank said from the driver’s cockpit.
“Got it,” Alex said.
Alex moved her gun into her own duffel bag and closed it. She took the bag with her as she opened the car door and stepped out. Heat hit her. A lot of it. Plus a wall of humidity. Miami in late afternoon: thick, nasty air and low clouds.
She went to the door and drew a final breath. She knocked. Solid oak on top of steel reinforcement. Better to stop bullets, she reasoned. Better to stop a battering ram!
No response. She knocked a second time. Then she heard rustling within the house and the fall of latches from within. The door swung open and Paul Guarneri stood in front of her.
“Hey!” he said. “Nice of you to drop by.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
There was an awkward moment as they stared at each other. Then he opened his arms wide to embrace her. Against her better judgment, she fell easily into his arms and accepted a long hug.