“We have no idea what he intends to do.”
“Whatever Chris’s planned has been done carefully. And right now, he has the jump on us.”
“De Florio needs to handle this.”
He agreed. “But it has to be done right.”
A knock came at the study door. A steward entered and said, “Lunch is ready.”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
The steward left.
“Keep your voice down,” he said, “we’re not in the boardroom.” He thought for a second. “Chris is already dying of cancer, it shouldn’t be too hard to induce death consistent with that.”
“What about an autopsy?”
He gave a knowing grin. “As his close partners, Chris left specific instructions to be cremated. We, of course, honored that request and immediately disposed of the body. There’s no family to question anything and, by the time anyone notices, he’ll be ashes. Besides, once everybody knows he was dying of cancer there’ll be no questions.”
“I guess we’re going to make sure that information gets out.”
“We’ll issue a press release. Chris was widely known and liked. It’d be expected that the company would make a public statement.”
“What about Walker and Reed?”
“We know Reed has the list. Brent Walker’s involvement could be just a wild goose chase Chris is leading us on. But, for safety’s sake, I’ll have De Florio watch them both carefully.”
“Chris’ fate could send them a message.”
“Let’s hope,” he said.
1:40P.M.
IT TOOKCHRIS ONLY A FEW MINUTES TO DRIVE ACROSS THE PROPERTYto his house and make it upstairs. With the bedroom door closed and locked he listened to the entire recorded conversation. The device had functioned perfectly, everything memorialized. At the end he activated theRECORDbutton and added, “Conversation among myself, Larry Hughes, and Hamilton Lee dated June 22. Occurred in the study of Hamilton Lee’s house at Hickory Row at approximately noon.”
He rewound the tape, then retrieved an oversized brown envelope from one of the desk drawers. He favored that particular brand because the manufacturer used brown paper produced by Southern Republic. From his jacket he removed the flash drive and dropped it inside. On a couple of pieces of personal stationery he penned two notes, taped both shut, and stuffed them in the envelope. He then slid the microcassette recorder with its tape loaded inside, licked the flap shut, and added a layer of tape to the outside for added security.
He was now living on borrowed time.
Little doubt remained as to what Lee and Hughes would do. He probably had until dark.
But no longer.
He crept into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and tried to compose himself. The pain in his abdomen was steadilyincreasing. He needed to get back to the negotiations and it was important he appear calm.
Later, he’d complete the final step in his plan.
1:50P.M.
LEE CLIMBED INTO A GOLF CART AND DROVE TOWARD THE NORTHEASTcorner of Hickory Row. The county line divided the property nearly in half, a series of guesthouses lying within walking distance of the Savannah River and the largest of the three quail hunting fields.
A paved road appropriately dubbed Shade Tree Lane wound north through the hickory trees. The sweltering afternoon air draped things like warm syrup. A mixture of grass and matted straw littered with oversized pinecones formed a front yard for one of the smaller guesthouses. Squirrels scurried for cover as the cart’s electric whine announced his presence. He parked behind the white pickup truck already there and knocked on the front door.
De Florio answered.
He stepped inside to the air-conditioned interior and they sat.
“Mr. Hughes and I have decided Bozin must be processed immediately. He apparently intends to see all of us, including you, in jail.”
