CHAPTER 77
Palm Beach, Florida
The Wilson home on South Ocean Boulevard was receiving a delivery on a hefty pallet draped with a giant tarp.
In the driveway, a woman in aviator glasses, coveralls, and a ball cap directed two muscled deliverymen to maneuver the large pallet off the truck and into the Wilsons’ four-car garage.
Passersby might imagine the delivery was a sculpture or some artwork or some crazy piece of exotic furniture the Wilsons wanted to shield from prying eyes. That sort of secrecy was pretty typical behavior for the families who lived on Palm Beach Island.
Once the pallet was securely settled in one bay of the garage, the stout men closed the garage door, retrieved the clipboard with the signed receipt from the son of the property owner, and pulled away in the big box truck marked Florida Moving and Storage.
While Meg and Si unpacked and inventoried the contents of the large pallet, Jimmy T.
and Rudy headed due west to exchange the big box of fun, as Meg called the truck, for an old 5 series BMW.
Ordinarily a nondescript Chrysler or even a minivan would work for a recon and surveillance operation, but in a place like Palm Beach, a bland American model would draw more attention than a sporty European sedan.
The Russians had never seen Rudy or Jimmy T.
, so it was decided that the two of them would operate wherever they could get clear “eyes on” either of the objectives.
After they got the BMW, they’d drive around the island for a cursory look at the Egorov place and the yacht Oryol in the boat basin, then link up with Meg and Si after sunset.
Si Wilson’s house provided a slight hiding-in-plain-sight advantage, but even with Meg and Si operating as a buddy team focused on video and electronic surveillance of the Egorov house, the weak link was still Meg: Pavel Egorov certainly wouldn’t have forgotten the woman who had rappelled onto his yacht from a helicopter in the middle of the ocean and kicked him in the nuts.
But the decision was made that as the chief intelligence officer for Team Rhino, Meg needed to be there for the inaugural reconnaissance mission of an official Rocket’s Red Glare operation.
“Okay, Si, time for us to make some money,” Meg said. “You know how to throw a paper airplane?”
Si gave her a slight scowl. “Just how pampered a life do you think I’ve led? Believe it or not, Meg, I once even played in a mud puddle.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Meg said. “I am asking so you’ll understand the motion I need you to replicate so you can launch our drone.”
“Okay, okay,” Si chuckled. “When the time comes, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
The tall hedges around the Wilson property gave them plenty of free space to play sneaky Pete, but they waited until Meg determined that it was dark enough to fly the drone without any interference from neighbors.
With perfect form, Si launched the drone, then sat next to Meg as she remotely controlled the aircraft.
“Look at the clarity of that camera feed!” Si exclaimed as the small TV screen came alive in bright green.
Meg maneuvered the aircraft out to sea, then had it make an easy 180-degree turn back toward the house. She gently nudged the toggle guiding the nose of the plane to the south and watched as it slowly traced the breaking waves along the beach.
Si saw the lifeguard stands and the Worth Avenue clock tower, then the breaker walls protecting the mansions along Ocean Avenue. He knew most of the houses, or at least the names of the owners, and he called off each one as Meg steered the drone farther south.
“Holy shit—wow,” Meg commented as the drone flew past the impressive buildings. “Did you see that place?”
“Yeah—it’s crazy money, Meg,” Si laughed. “No bullshit, some of the owners spend barely a few days in those places—not months or even weeks. These are their third or fourth homes. Like I said, crazy.”
“Speaking of crazy, looks like the Egorov boys are home tonight.” The unmistakable silhouettes of a Lamborghini and a Ferrari loomed in the half-moon driveway of their estate. “Let’s do a flyby and see what’s what.”