Dangerous Games (39 page)

The laptop probably contained some information, but she didn’t have time to hunt through directories and subdirectories in search of it. What else was here? A bunch of furniture left over from Kolb’s last apartment. A large scrapbook that looked familiar—she flipped through it and recognized it as the scrapbook on the Mobius case, which Kolb had been keeping before his arrest. She’d seen it in his apartment last year. No new pages had been added. No help there.

She kept looking. Her gaze, circling the locker, settled on something that looked like a portable computer resting on a shelf. But it was too small, and besides, Kolb already had a computer.

She took it off the shelf. It was a slim, lightweight pad, more like a tablet PC than a laptop, with a decent-size LED screen and no keypad. She found the power switch. The device booted up instantly, the screen glowing with a map of city streets. No, not streets—drainage pipelines.

She knew what this was. A GIS database. GIS—geographic information system. Recorder’s maps of the drainage network, converted from paper charts to geo-coded images, were digitally stored on the tablet’s hard drive. A storm-drain inspector toted the lightweight device around and accessed the maps by entering commands on the touch screen. Mason would have had access to the DWP’s inventory of tablets. He’d procured one for Kolb.

She wondered why Kolb hadn’t taken the GIS reader when he took the other items needed for tonight’s job. She supposed he’d already committed the details to memory—and if he got caught, he didn’t want the device found with him. It would have implicated Mason immediately.

Currently displayed was a citywide overview of the entire drainage system. She pressed the screen and opened a dropdown menu, displaying a list of recently viewed files. The file names were odd—each was a number from one to four, except for the fifth, which was named
Backup
.

She clicked on number one and found herself looking at the area where Angela Morris, the first victim, had been kidnapped. On his first outing Kolb apparently hadn’t driven Angela very far from the abduction site. Mason had modified the file, digitally drawing a red line from a tunnel system entryway, through a major artery, to a side passage marked with an X, where Angela presumably had been secured.

Abby brought up file number two. As expected, X marked the site where the drowned body of Paula Weissman—victim number two—had been found, manacled to a handrail.

File number three was a map of the neighborhood near the river—the neighborhood where Kolb had driven her tonight. The access point he’d been planning to use was nearby, again marked in red.

That left file number four and
Backup
. Number four was a map of the Silver Lake district of North Hollywood. Mason and Kolb had planned a minimum of four abductions, and this was to have been the fourth.

Mason could have taken Madeleine Grant to this spot. With the third abduction foiled, he might have skipped ahead to the arrangements for number four.

There was still the file named
Backup
. Probably it was a copy of a map she’d already reviewed, but she looked anyway.

What came up on the screen was a new location, in West LA.

Now she got it. The
Backup
file was Mason and Kolb’s backup plan—their emergency plan if Kolb was apprehended.

The red line on this map entered the tunnel system via an access point alongside the Santa Monica Freeway, then wound its way to a red X below the intersection of Olympic and Sepulveda. The X stood either for Madeleine’s location or for the site where gunfire would break out—or both.

West LA was halfway across town. Abby could never get there in time to make a difference. Surface streets or freeways—it wouldn’t matter. Both would be clogged with traffic even at this hour. But there might be another option.

From the maps, it was obvious the main arteries of the drainage system ran parallel to the city’s major thoroughfares. And the main lines must be large enough to accommodate a service vehicle, or DWP crews would never be able to make repairs. Where a DWP truck could go, her Civic could go also.

It was one way to beat the traffic. All she needed was a way to get inside the system. She returned to the citywide overview, then zoomed in on Vermont and Olympic, the neighborhood of the storage yard. The nearest major artery ran underneath Olympic Boulevard. She looked for an access point large enough to accommodate her car and found one three blocks west.

Tucking the GIS reader under her arm, she jumped back into her car. As she sped out of the storage yard, she had to switch on her windshield wipers. The rain was falling hard now. The tunnels must be starting to flood. She wasn’t sure her Honda would be able to navigate the passageways if the water was deep, but she would worry about that little problem when she came to it.

Right now she just wanted to get inside.

44

“Okay,” Mason said, “we’re coming to a split.”

Ahead, the tunnel divided into two pipelines.

“Which way?” Tess asked Kolb.

He studied the walls. Amid a tangle of graffiti and black mold he singled out a small orange arrow pointing to the left. “That one,” he said, indicating the left tunnel.

Tess silently admitted she never would have seen the mark.

They took the left passage. The distant glow of the Bureau car’s high beams had long since vanished. Only their flashlights lit the gloom. Above their heads, traffic passed over manhole covers, producing a series of echoing thumps, a ragged, metallic pulse. Water drizzled from drain holes in the lids, spritzing the tunnel in a chill mist. More water trickled out of side pipes, splashing down walls darkened with slime.

“It’s not coming down too hard yet,” Tess said.

Mason didn’t seem reassured. “It can change in a hurry. When the clouds open up, this place turns into whitewater rapids. The speed of the current increases with the volume of water.”

“It’s only up to our ankles now.”

“Even a shallow current can knock you down and sweep you away. You can drown in six inches of water—or get banged into a wall—”

“You’re just brimming over with positive thinking, aren’t you?”

“I’ve seen enough to know you don’t fool around inside this system in a wet weather flow.”

“We’ll be high and dry before the rain gets heavy,” Tess said with more optimism than she felt. She saw a line of metal rungs embedded in the wall, ascending into a shaft. “Where do those go?”

“To a manhole or a catch basin. They’re called step irons.”

“It’s a way out, anyway.”

“If the step irons hold. Sometimes they’re loose or rusted through. And you can’t always open the drain lid from below. The manhole covers are mostly too heavy to lift, even if they’re not locked down or rusted in place. The curb-side drain lids are lighter. You can usually push one of those away.”

“How much do they weigh?”

“Hundred pounds, maybe.”

“I can’t lift a hundred pounds.”

“Then you’d be up Shit Creek, Agent McCallum,” Kolb quipped from behind her.

She didn’t acknowledge the remark.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kolb added. “Drowning’s not a bad way to go. They say your whole life flashes before your eyes.”

“Be quiet.”

“What would be the highlights of your life, Tess? Your first kiss? First tongue up your asshole?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Crandall snapped.

“Relax. I’m only having some fun with the lady.”

“Just keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

Tess was tired of Kolb’s voice, tired of the wet concrete smell, the darkness, the water sloshing around her boots. “Focus on the job at hand,” she told him. “Which direction?”

They’d come to another split. Kolb pointed out the orange arrow. “To the right.”

“We getting close?” Larkin asked.

“Patience is a virtue,” Kolb said mildly.

Crandall sneezed, the noise echoing in the dark like a small explosion. “How do we know this butthead isn’t jerking our chain?”

“In case you forgot,” Kolb said, “my life is contingent on finding this bitch alive. I’d say I have a pretty strong motive to cooperate.”

“I don’t buy it,” Crandall insisted.

“You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to turn back?”

Tess had been thinking the same thing. Crandall’s claustrophobia might be getting out of control. Well, he would have to tough it out. There was no turning back now.

As if to confirm that thought, Tess’s flashlight, probing the tunnel ahead, picked out a woman’s shoe, floating toward them in the current.

“Mason, take a look at that.”

He fished it out of the stream. “This Madeleine Grant’s?”

Tess shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Mason let go of the shoe. It dropped back into the water and drifted past the rescuers into a side tunnel.

Tess raised her voice. “Madeleine!”

A flurry of echoes was the only reply.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Kolb said. “Even if she hears you, she won’t be able to answer. She’ll be gagged like the others. Can’t have her yelling up through a drain grate and attracting attention from someone on the surface.”

“You guys had it all worked out, didn’t you?” Larkin said as they kept walking. “Got it down to a science.”

“Everybody needs to make a living.”

“You piece of shit,” Crandall said, his voice tremulous and too high.

“You’re awfully judgmental for a big, bad federal agent. Then again, you aren’t so big and bad, are you? You’re, what, about twelve years old?”

Crandall said nothing.

“Now, Tess, on the other hand,” Kolb went on, “isn’t shocked by anything I say. Or by anything I’ve done. She’s got experience in the field. In the bedroom, too. Not that she draws any distinction there. What was the name of that special agent you were humping, the one Mobius iced—”

“God damn it, stop talking to her like that!” Crandall wanted to sound tough, but his thin, shaky voice conveyed only panic.

Kolb laughed. “Chivalry lives on, even at the FBI. Hey, Tess, I think somebody’s sweet on you.”

Tess ignored him.

“You should tell her how you feel, boy. Don’t hold your feelings inside. You know how the song goes. ‘If somebody loves you…’”

“Shut up,” Mason barked. Suddenly he was the one who sounded nervous.

Kolb broke into song. “‘It’s no good unless they love you…’”

“Isn’t there any way to keep him quiet?” Larkin asked.

“‘All the way…!’”

Tess turned to face him. “Stop it, Kolb. Now.”

He stopped; a wide grin on his face. When she was sure he was going to restrain himself, she started walking again.

Behind her, Kolb began humming the same tune, just loud enough to be audible. Tess decided not to make an issue of it. The man was like a child. He just wanted attention.

She glanced behind her at Larkin and Crandall. “You guys okay back there?” She was interested only in Crandall but didn’t want to single him out.

“We’d be doing better,” Crandall said, “if we could stop the nocturnal serenades.”

Tess saw the pallor of his skin. She didn’t think he was fine. To distract him, she tried a little levity as they continued walking. “You shouldn’t object, Rick. He’s singing your song.”

Crandall forced a laugh. “It’s Ed’s song, really. He’s the one who turned me on to Sinatra.”

“That true, Mason?” Tess asked. “You’re a Rat Packer?”

Mason seemed uncomfortable. “I guess so. Rick and I started talking one day after I started working as a liaison. Got on the subject of music. I tried to wean him off his taste in country-pop.”

“It worked,” Tess said, remembering her car ride yesterday. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a devotee of the golden oldies.”

“I used to play a little keyboard in college. Was part of a jazz combo. We did a lot of retro stuff, mainly Sinatra.”

“Really?”

“You’re surprised?”

“It’s just…well, I can’t quite picture you as a jazzman.”

“Why? I’m too uptight?”

“You’re too boring,” Kolb said. “That’s what she means.”

Tess frowned. “Pay no attention to him. That isn’t what I meant.”

Mason looked away. “I guess we all have our hidden talents.”

Behind her, Kolb asked, “What’s your hidden talent, Tess? Has it got anything to do with blow jobs?”

“I think it has more to do with locking up people like you,” Tess said evenly.

“I’m not locked up now.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

They reached another crossing point. Even Tess could see the orange arrow this time. “To the left—correct?”

Kolb grunted assent. “Very good, Special Agent. You learn fast.” She heard the smile in his voice as he added, “But maybe not fast enough.”

Tess almost asked him what that was supposed to mean, but stopped herself.

It didn’t matter. It was just another one of his games.

45

Abby ran a red light and heard the blare of somebody’s horn.

“Hey, I’m fighting crime here,” she muttered. “Gimme a break.”

It was one hell of a crime, too. She could see how it had come together. After his release from prison, Kolb had met Mason—probably at Below Ground, a place whose diverse clientele included ex-convicts and city employees. They’d started talking, and eventually it had occurred to them that their particular assets would make them a good team. Kolb had the street smarts, the toughness, the willingness to kill. Mason had some money, some knowledge of computers, and most important, expertise in navigating the drainage system.

No doubt they both wanted money, the kind of big tax-free score only a daring crime spree could produce. But people’s motives always ran deeper than cash. In Kolb’s case, he hated the city that had put him in jail, costing him his livelihood and his future. He wanted to make Los Angeles pay.

Mason’s motive was unknown, but Abby guessed it had something to do with his patronage of Below Ground in the first place. He was a bureaucrat looking for a walk on the wild side. Probably he knew he would be chosen as the DWP’s liaison to the Bureau. Perhaps he’d even volunteered for the job.