“Good,” Ross said. “The bandstand is over there.”
“We have some large speakers,” Cabrillo said, “that we’ll need some help moving.”
“Let me summon some help.”
“We like to take care of our equipment ourselves,” Cabrillo said. “We just need some carts.”
Ross nodded and turned to one of the caterers.
“This is the leader of the band,” she said. “He needs to borrow a few of the carts you use to move the tables.”
The man nodded and motioned to Cabrillo. “Right this way.”
Mark Murphy stood on the bandstand and surveyed the surroundings. Three large tents were erected, forming a Y with the band at the far end. The bandstand was slightly elevated from the ground, and to the rear the back of the tent had slits that opened to provide access. Electrical cables to power their speakers and lights stretched out under the tent. He sat his guitar down and poked through the slit in the back. Forty feet behind the rear of the tent was part of the wall that formed the boundary of the house. To the right side of the Y portion of the tent, some thirty yards away, was the rear wall of the mansion and the doors leading to the kitchens and inside. He began to walk the perimeter of the tent.
At the front, or top, of the Y were the entrances for the guests. In the opening between the legs of the Y there was a portable fountain and a small wooden platform that was currently empty. Murphy continued around the other side, examining the way the tents were fastened to the ground. There were large metal stakes on the edges with guy wires running farther out onto the lawn, where they were staked into the earth. He stared up. Long metal poles, two per each section of the three separate tents, poked through the tops. He found a slit in the tent and walked over to one of the poles. The bases sat on plastic holders.
Murphy figured it wouldn’t take much to bring it all down.
Ho was making his way back to the mansion when he stopped in his tracks.
Several longhaired men were approaching the tent, but that didn’t concern him. What did concern him was the lady that was following. Ho pivoted on his heel and walked over.
“I’m Stanley Ho,” he said, smiling. “I’m your host.”
“I’m Candace,” Julia Huxley said.
Ho’s eyes were riveted on Huxley’s ample assets. “I find this hard to believe,” Ho said, “but I don’t remember meeting you before.”
“I’m with the band,” Candace said, smiling wickedly. “At least I came with them.”
“Performer?” Ho asked.
“In many ways,” Candace said, smiling.
Ho was beginning to get the feeling that if he played his cards right, he might get lucky.
“I need to go inside and greet my guests,” Ho said quickly as he saw Iselda approaching from the corner of his eye. “Perhaps we could talk later.”
He turned and moved toward the back door of the mansion.
“Mr. Ho,” Ross shouted after him, “I think we have the placement figured out.”
“Just take care of it,” Ho said over his shoulder.
Ross passed by Huxley. “Slut,” she whispered.
“Lesbian,” Huxley replied.
MAX Hanley was sitting in a leather chair in the command center of the Oregon.
“Okay, people,” he said to the trio of operators that remained, “we’re a go. Display from the tree,” Hanley ordered.
The image from the tiny camera in the tree filled one of the screens in the control room. Hanley could see Cabrillo rolling a cart containing several long speaker boxes across the lawn. Ross had just passed Huxley and was now turning to go back toward the tent. Murphy popped out from the side of one of the tents. As if on cue, he turned to the tree and smiled.
“Larry,” Hanley said, “all okay.”
Larry King was the Corporation member hiding in the tree. He adjusted his sniper rifle and then pushed the tiny microphone over his voice box and answered.