Free The Pardon by James Grippando Page A

dollars in cash in Miami after dark. He checked the locks on his briefcase and stepped quickly from the car, then scurried across six lanes of traffic to the east side of the boulevard, following the sidewalk into the park.
    Bayfront Park was Miami's green space between bustling city streets and the sailboats on Biscayne Bay. Granite, glass, and marble towers lit up the Miami skyline to the south and west of the park. Across the bay toward South Miami Beach the lights of Caribbean-bound cruise ships glittered like a string of floating pearls. Cool summer breezes blew off the bay from the east, carrying with them the soothing sound of rolling waves breaking against the shoreline. At the north end of the park was Bayside Marketplace, an indoor-outdoor collection of shops, restaurants, and bars, and the starting place for the horse-and-buggy rides through the park that were favored by tourists.
    Tonight it was Governor Swyteck's turn to take a carriage ride. He hoped to blend in as a tourist, which was the reason for his white sailing pants, plaid madras shirt and Marlins baseball cap. But the leather briefcase made him feel conspicuous. He bought a stuffed animal from one of the cart vendors, just to get hold of the paper shopping bag, and stuck the briefcase in the bag. Now his outfit was complete: He didn't look at all like a governor, and that was the whole idea - though he did have a plan in case anyone recognized him. Another stop on my grass-roots campaign trail, he'd say, and they'd probably buy it. Four years ago he'd manned a McDonald's drive-through, taught phonics to first-graders, and worked other one-day jobs - all just to look like a regular Joe.
    Carriage ride? one of the drivers called out as he reached the staging area.
    Uh - I'm thinking about it, Harry replied.
    Forty bucks for the half hour, the driver said, but the governor wasn't listening. He was trying to figure out which of the half dozen carriages belonged to Calvin, the man he'd been told to hire for the nine o'clock ride. By process of elimination he zoomed in on a sparkling white carriage with red velvet seats, pulled by an Appaloosa with donkey-like ears poking through an old straw hat. The governor felt nervous as he approached the wiry old black driver, but he told himself once again that he had to see this mission through. Sensing he was being watched, he looked one way, then the other, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
    Are you Calvin? he asked, looking up at the driver.
    Yessuh, he replied. Calvin was in his eighties, a relic of old Miami, when the city was My-amma and truly part of the South. He had frosty white hair and the callous hands of a man who had worked hard all his life. He seemed exaggeratedly deferential, making Harry feel momentarily guilty for his race and the way this old codger must have been treated as a young man.
    I'd like to take a little ride, said the governor as he handed up two twenty-dollar bills.
    Yessuh, said Calvin as he checked his watch. Fair warnin' for you, though: You're my nine o'clock ride. I always stop at the concession stand on my nine o'clock ride. Get myself an iced tea.
    That's fine, said the governor as he climbed aboard. I wouldn't have it any other way.
    Calvin made a clicking sound with his mouth and gave the reins a little tug. His horse pulled away from the rail and started toward the waterfront, as if on automatic pilot, while the governor looked on with amusement as the animal navigated the route. How long you been doing this, Calvin?
    Lot longer than you been guvnuh, suh.
    So much for anonymity.
    The journey began at the towering bronze statue of Christopher Columbus and headed south along the shoreline. Palm trees and musicians playing saxophones and guitars lined the wide pedestrian walkway of white coral rock, the south Florida version of a quaint cobblestone street. Calvin played tour guide as they rolled down the walkway. He was a veritable history book on wheels when it came to