Chapter 42

“Kate, you need to get up here. We got a problem.”

That was all Max had said, all he needed to say. It was the start of the third day since Lyle had been in Boston and things had been quiet--until now. No one had heard from Lyle since he’d called after his first day to say he hadn’t learned anything.

Kate called him back twice and left messages. Bates had started implementing even tighter security all over the park. Max had been restless every time Kate had seen him. Attendance was still down. Now the phone call.

She took a couple of deep breaths and started for the executive floor. When she got into Max’s office, he was talking on the phone. Brent Pelham stood over him with an expectant look on his face.

Pelham walked over to Kate and spoke in a low voice, “Something happened at the McHale’s Navy ride. We don’t have all the details yet. One of the boats went haywire. Guests and employees are in the water.”

“This just happen?”

“A few minutes ago. We’ve got security, fire, paramedics, and engineers at the ride right now.”

“I’d better get over there. Don’t want to scare any more guests than we have to.”

Kate turned to go but stopped when she heard Max slam his phone down.

“Goddamn idiots,” Max said. “It was a false alarm. Nobody’s hurt.”

“What was it?” Pelham asked.

Max got up and walked over. “Some fool tourist decided to stand up in his boat. Tried to step off onto one of the islands and fell in the water. Apparently, his wife started screaming and flailing around. The boat got sideways under the waterfall and she got wet.”

“I can see it now,” Kate said. “The boat returned to the dock, half full of water with a passenger missing so the supervisor called security.”

“That’s right. And security pushed the panic button. Look over there.” He gestured to the distance where the glow of red and blue flashing lights could be seen through the trees. “They called everyone except the Marines.”

“The guest okay?” Pelham asked.

“Son of a bitch is fine. They fished him out of the water and had the ride started again before the fire trucks got there.”

Kate looked out the window at the flashing lights. Everyone at the park was jumpy. Many employees had seen one or more of the park’s “accidents” in person. And everyone had heard about them, talked to other employees, and seen the oppressive news reports. So when an overenthusiastic guest took a plunge, the staff overreacted.

Pelham wandered out of the office, shaking his head.

Kate turned to Max. “What’s happening with Clyde? He have any answers?”

“Nope. I’m giving him a week more. That’s it.”

“Does he know that?”

“Hell, yes. Now, what about Lyle? I tell him to wait for a few days and he flies off to Boston. And then we don’t hear from him.”

“He’s called in. I know he’s working. If he had something, he’d call.”

Max walked the length of his office in front of the windows. “Well, if we don’t come up with something soon, it won’t matter anyway. We’ll be working for FedPat--if we’re working at all.”

“You said if my media blitz worked, we’d have time to recoup.”

“But our cash flow has to improve right then and there. We’re already in violation of our contract. Legal department says if we can show a positive upward trend, they can fend off court action. For a little while. If it comes to that.”

“FedPat doesn’t sound so supportive now.”

“Bastards are playing hardball. I got another call into them. We just need a few concessions.”

“Sounds as if everything does depend on making a big splash over July Fourth.”

“Not like that splash we had out there.” Max waved a hand in the direction of McHale’s Navy.

“I’m getting the press invitations back from the printer today. They’re beautiful. We’re calling it, Flashback: History Alive! That should start some buzz.

She turned to go but paused at the door. “I’ll call Lyle again.”

“I’m inclined to fire his ass,” Max said. “Tell him.”

On the way back to her office, Kate thought about the tap on Kevin Waterman’s phone. She’d put a new memory card in the machine three days before. By now, there must be something--something that she or Lyle could use. She decided she’d replace the card again that afternoon and spend the evening listening.

***

It was just after noon and Travanti still hadn’t called. Lyle sat in a coffee shop corner booth with his notes and papers spread out in front of him. The dog-eared pages had marks from a highlighter and scribbled annotations, as if a college student had been using the material to cram for an exam. Lyle looked at the pictures of the three FedPat executives who were hoping to grab the CEO’s office. Bedrosian’s grin reminded him of the character Barnaby from Dark Shadows. Any one of the aspiring CEOs--or Shaw himself--could be directing the sabotage at NC. But only one of them, as far as Lyle knew, had been talking to Kevin Waterman.

He pored over all his articles, reports, and notes. His instincts told him he had to grill somebody soon, maybe confront Bedrosian.

He sipped his coffee--then sucked in a quick breath when he realized he was thinking like a cop again: stakeouts and interrogations. Walk in the front door, identify yourself, read ’em their rights, then ask questions. But he wasn’t a cop anymore. He was free to attack the problem any way he could. And staring down at his old notes, he had an idea. But he’d need Travanti’s help. And someone else’s.

He reached for his cell phone and dialed Travanti’s direct number. When the captain knew it was Lyle calling, his voice lowered slightly. Lyle knew he didn’t find out anything.

“Sorry, Lyle, but I don’t have very much for you.”

“Were you able to check those names?”

“Yes, but not much came back. Outdated traffic warrant’s about all. And as far as the company goes--”

“I don’t want to talk about this on a cell phone,” Lyle said. “Can I come over? It won’t take long, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Travanti protested that he didn’t have much more to say, but Lyle insisted so the police administrator agreed. Lyle detected a slightly apologetic tone in Travanti’s usually strong voice. He thought it meant that Travanti had either not checked up on FedPat or had not done a very thorough job. Either way, it might make the high-ranking Boston cop more receptive to Lyle’s idea.