Ham thought, 7.65 millimeter.
A long moment passed, then John got back into the van, this time in the front seat. "Now we'll go to the hotel," he said.
The driver made a U-turn, and they went back the way they had come. Ham saw a foot protruding from a ditch as they passed where Peck's body lay.
"Peck was an informant for somebody, probably the FBI," John said quietly.
"How did you know?" Ham asked.
"A number of things: the sudden improvement in cell phone service at the compound, and Peck was the only one left with a cell phone. Even our flight clearance tonight. We would never, in the normal course of events, be cleared direct to a Miami airport. It just doesn't happen, unless someone is paving the way. There were other things, too: odd behavior. I really began to notice only after the cellphone incident."
Ham realized that he had probably gotten Peck killed.
Holly could see that Harry was angry and depressed.
"They changed cars somehow," Harry said. "I should have been behind them myself."
"What now?" Holly asked. They were driving along the main drag in South Beach.
"I'm taking you to your hotel," Harry said.
The van pulled up in front of the Delano. It was a terribly chic South Beach hotel that Holly knew only from magazines. "I hope they like dogs," she said, clipping on Daisy's leash.
"If they give you a hard time, flash your badge and tell them Daisy is a police dog." Harry got out of the car, got Holly's luggage from the trunk and handed it to a bellman. He took Holly's arm and walked her slowly toward the door. "Now, listen," he said. "You've got the most important job in all this. You're having dinner in the hotel's restaurant at nine o'clock, with a guy named Chip Beckham."
"Harry, what is this about?" Holly demanded.
"Chip is the head of the White House Secret Service detail," Harry said. "Your job is to find out if the president is in Miami and to get his complete schedule from Chip."
"I don't understand. Why don't you just ask him?"
"Chip and I have this little competitive thing," Harry said. "He won't tell me directly."
"You mean the head of the Miami FBI office is not entitled to know if the president is on his turf?"
"Normally, yes, if I went through a lot of red tape, but there's no Miami visit on the president's official schedule, and Chip won't tell me about any unofficial visit."
"Then, if the president is in town, you think he's the target?"
"Very probably."
"And do you plan to share this information with the head of the White House Secret Service detail?"
"At the appropriate moment," Harry said, "and we're not there yet. First, I have to know if the president is in town and what he's doing."
"Harry, if this guy makes a pass at me over dinner, I'm going to stab him with a steak knife."
"If he makes a pass at you, you have my full permission to do just that."
"Does he know who I am?"
"No, only your name and that he's meeting you."
"Oh, all right," Holly said. "How do I reach you?"
"I'll reach you on your scrambled cell phone," Harry said. "Now, just go in there and register. The room's all booked, and you're the guest of the Bureau, so live it up." He left her standing in the door, which was being held open by another bellman.
Holly did not like all these games. If she were running this investigation she'd have called in everybody but the marines by now. And she doubted seriously if this was the most important job. She felt shoved aside and out of the way. Harry wasn't going to share any credit, if he could help it.