lifting it above her head. As Sam had already deduced, she wasn’t wearing a bra. He was simultaneously frozen by her audacity and mesmerized by her beautiful set. Though he had seen them a hundred times on TV, there was no comparison to seeing them close up—real close. Her nipples were the size of golf balls; but even more remarkable was the meticulously laser-etched tattoo on the center of her chest. Her ruby came to rest in the middle of an hexagonal outline, on one side of which was the head of a dragon and on the other side an orchid with an exquisitely interlaced black and white design. There was writing directly above the hexagonal figure.
“I take it that the tattoo is a copy of the inset on the head of the statue?” Sam asked.
“Excellent deduction, Mr. Sonn. Apparently you are well deserving of your reputation,” Qu Min replied. Qu Min was not in a hurry to put her top back on.
“May I return the compliment? I don’t need to utilize my astute powers of observation to conclude that you are equally well deserving of your reputation.”
“Excuse me,” a woman's voice shouted from the bulkhead. Esther had arrived. “Have we met?”
Qu Min was not the least bit embarrassed; she was accustomed to being seen naked by men and women alike.
“Qu Min was just showing me her tattoo, Esther—for professional reasons.” Sam thought it best to offer some explanation. He grabbed Esther and kissed her, hoping that would defuse the anticipated short circuit. But Qu Min did not move a muscle to put her blouse back on. She continued to flaunt her wares, confident that Sam and perhaps, even Esther would sneak another look.
But after Esther untangled from Sam’s embrace she became aggressive. The two women stood toe to toe. They were evenly matched— in stature, in beauty and in passion. Sam felt that the hostility between them could easily lead to violence. And strangely, he felt a modicum of pity for Qu Min who now looked ridiculous.
“I suggest that you put this on and go back to your seat, Miss Lee,” Sam said inserting a note of sobriety into the proceedings as he handed her the blouse. Qu Min complied. Esther, however, was still fuming. Sam and Esther followed Qu Min to the aft side of the bulkhead. Sam and Esther sat two rows behind Qu Min.
“I don’t ever want to see you talking to that whore again,” she said to Sam. She made sure to speak just loud enough for Qu Min to hear.
“I didn’t expect you for another hour,” Sam said.
“It looks as though my timing was impeccable.”
“She’s traveling with . . .”
“Yes, I know. I just met Mr. Radford outside the plane. Buddy is very good looking and quite charming, you know?”
“Buddy? Sam repeated, “thinking that this duo had the potential to put a serious rift into their relationship.
As if on cue, Radford entered the cabin. Qu Min met him at the bulkhead. They kissed. Radford stowed his carry-on in the overhead compartment and took his seat. He didn’t take the trouble to introduce himself to Sam. He was remarkably poised and showed not the slightest uneasiness about being in the company of strangers.
Radford was the tour de force of the racing world. Not only was he a prominent trainer but his family were major breeders. Unlike Sam, who built his fortune on the up and up, Radford was not beyond stooping to questionable practices. Everyone in the business paid him homage, from the local nickel and dimers to the who’s who of Hollywood and Vine. He had horses entered in every big race at every major track in America. Much of his time was spent traveling from track to track, finding soft spots for his mounts in feature races. But his home base was Santa Anita Park in California, where he was the king of the Sport of Kings.
Like Sam, Radford was a risk taker, never reluctant to lay it all on the line. But unlike Sam, Radford was a con who had the power to twist the odds in his favor. His do or die wagers were never quite the acts of heroism he portrayed them to be. Notwithstanding, he was a first rate trainer of racehorses. His trademark was his vibrant white hair, barbered Roman style, and his mirrored sunglasses. He had very rigid Anglo-American features that seemed to be chiseled from stone. He was tall, ruddy complexioned, had a gentle but strong demeanor, and spoke in a low baritone. Sam could tell from his accent that he hailed from the heart of horse country—Kentucky.
“What did you and Mr. Radford speak about?” Sam whispered.
“He asked if I was traveling alone. Well actually, he didn’t put it that way,” Esther whispered back.
“Then how did he put it?” Sam asked again in a whisper.
“Well, he said I was too beautiful to be traveling alone.”
“Maybe we should switch partners somewhere along the line?” Sam teased, knowing he was playing with fire.
“I wouldn’t object,” she replied. Esther was still seething.
The shrill ring of Sam’s cell phone interrupted their conversation. It was Nick Tunney. Sam hoped he had some info on the Pulers.
“Are you in the air yet, Sam?” Nick asked.
“Not yet, we’re still on the runway.”
“I did some digging on that lead in the puzzle you cued me into—the Pulers. The Bureau has a thick file on them. In those days the Bureau kept close tabs on left wing environmental groups. An old buddy of mine faxed me over some interesting facts,” he said, pausing.
“Let’s hear it, Nick,” Sam said.
“ As you know, the Pulers protested the building of nuclear power plants in populated areas. They were started by a handful of sociology majors at the University of Chicago. The Pulers was the name of a newspaper they published and distributed around the country through sociology departments at other Universities. All of this followed the GPU disaster at Three Mile Island, so their demonstrations were well covered in the media. They did succeed in raising public consciousness. The FBI was determined to break them. They viewed the group as a threat to national security. Your friend Lentz was more than happy to paint a negative picture of them in the press. Lentz was a strong proponent of the Neo-Conservative political movement. There’s no doubt that members of the Pulers who may still be alive would likely be hostile towards Lentz.”
“Is there any possible connection between the Pulers and any of the other victims?”
“There are two other connections. Everton Lebraun, the first victim, was a member.”
“And the other,” Sam asked.
“Eleanor Moreau was also a member of the Pulers.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Her name is listed in the FBI files. She headed up a local chapter at LSU. Apparently they had protested the construction of the Nichols Point plant near the Mississippi delta. By the way, it was never built.”
“How about the files of the other victims?” Sam asked.
“Well there is an interesting twist to the Byteman murder. Actually, if the FBI knew he was the intended victim, they might not have moved to stop the murderer. The kid hacked every computer in the Pentagon. He was selling classified information to the highest bidder. The Russians bought the US Naval Code; the Israelis bought the recall codes
