Justice by Tom Lowe

Author:Tom Lowe [Lowe, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

FIFTY-TWO

O’Brien arrived early to scout for positions a sniper could use. He parked near a fifteen-story hotel, which was across the street from the Café de Normandie. It was a little after noon, and people were on the downtown streets, walking toward lunch appointments. The temperature was in the mid-seventies. The air traveled from the east, but with very little movement. O’Brien looked at half a dozen flags on shiny poles outside the hotel’s front entrance, and they were limp.

He crossed the street, walking casually, and looking back at the rooftops of buildings two blocks in all directions. If Agent Ward’s personal cell phone was bugged, O’Brien didn’t know if his adversaries had time to dispatch a lone sniper. Gaining rooftop access and avoiding security cameras wasn’t an easy thing to do within a few hours. If it were a few days, the chances were much greater. A case in point was the Veterans Day Parade. It’s an annual event. Senator Delaney’s participation as grand marshal had been known for a month.

O’Brien entered the restaurant, spoke to the hostess, and was escorted to an outside table. There were three high-back chairs at the table. He took a seat facing the street and the traffic. There were no other tables between him and the road. The sidewalk portion of the café was bordered with a black wrought-iron decorative trellis, with red bougainvillea laced through the lattice work.

He ordered black coffee from a balding waiter wearing a buttoned-up white shirt and a black apron. O’Brien surveyed the customers and the perimeter. There were ten people eating or ordering food. Each table was under a blue and white umbrella.

The street was divided into four lanes. Eastbound traffic flowed in front of the restaurant. Among the cars was a lime-green bus that rumbled down the street. O’Brien sipped his coffee and watched the sparrows hopping under the sidewalk café tables, hunting for bits of food. Special Agent Sara Ward approached in a dark business suit, sunglasses, and flat black shoes. O’Brien knew Ward’s service pistol was under her jacket.

She smiled. “You’re early. That’s good.”

He stood. “And you’re right on time. Thanks for coming. Please take a seat.”

She sat, removing her dark glasses, a soft breeze teasing her shoulder-length hair. She set her purse on the vacant chair next to her. She wore no lipstick. Very little makeup. “I’ve never been to this restaurant. I assume you’ve been here, or you wouldn’t have picked it. Or perhaps someone recommended it to you.”

“I’ve been here once. About four months ago. I was with Wynona and our daughter. Living near DeLand, I don’t get into downtown Orlando very often. The last time I was here was during the Veterans Day Parade.”

She lifted her dark eyebrows. “And the world knows what happened then. Let’s hope today’s lunch will be less eventful.” She smiled and looked at the menu on the table. “What do you recommend?”

“The Croque Monsieur is excellent. Wynona had a quiche. She loved it. The French salads and paninis all look good.

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