The Girl on the Yacht (21 page)

“Wrong move, Detective West. Then again, you weren’t trained like a SEAL––always secure the area first, make sure the bad guy’s gone, then move to pursue. He grinned while the rest of the sheriff and police cars flashed their lights and wailed out their sirens in hot pursuit of the vanishing bomb-maker. Now he knew how close they were. If they came back, it would be at least a half hour––just enough time to get a car. He needed to find a woman––
I need a car and a house.

While folding his cap and sticking it into his backpack, he turned from the window. Like a shape-shifting, color-changing octopus, Michael relaxed his tense shoulders and morphed his face into the warmest of smiles while he strolled down the long hallway paying attention to the name placards on the wall next to each door.

Cameron keyed her microphone. “We have to stop that bus before it gets on the airport property, or we’ll be dealing with airport security. TSA will tie our hands.”

“I see it.” Purdy shouted into the radio. “It’s turning to go on the freeway overpass.”

“Stop the bus,” Cameron ordered over the radio.

Little Horse raced his car to the top of the bridge, locked his brakes, and skidded to a stop in front of the oncoming bus. Within seconds, patrol cars cordoned off the bridge at each end, leaving the bus surrounded by five cars. The uniformed deputies charged out of their vehicles with shotguns at the ready, and plain-clothed officers joined in with their handguns drawn. Cameron quickly took up her position leading the advancing team of officers toward the bus. She waved at the driver to open the door.

With shaking hands, the older bus driver hit the door release, and Cameron jumped up the steps to the half empty bus. At the other end, Little Horse entered with his pistol, scanning the passengers.

“Where’s the guy you picked up at Sunflower?” Cameron demanded.

The shaken driver turned to the varied assortment of riders and pointed to a bald man seated three rows back.

“No, the big guy.” Her eyes jumped from one passenger to the next.

“He was the only one from there,” the driver said.

“Damn, he played us.” She holstered her weapon and indicated out the window that the team should stand down.

The frightened faces of the riders peered back at her from their seats. “Folks, don’t be alarmed.” She raised her hands over her head while she came up with a plausible story. “Just a little exercise on airport security––no need to be alarmed.” She stared at the driver. “You can go.” Cameron climbed down the steps, and her immediate thought was that her captain will be upset when this comes across his desk.

The driver took a deep breath for the first time since she boarded. “I’ve got to report this to my supervisors.”

“You do that. First, get these people to the airport,” Little Horse ordered before he left through the rear door.

While the bus pulled away from the bridge abutment, and airport traffic began to flow again. The sergeant and the rookie investigator strolled over to Cameron.

“He played us,” she said in a tone of sheer bitterness.

Little Horse’s head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, this guy’s really smart. Cam, earlier you said he’d be out in front of us by an hour. I’m thinking at least two.”

“We need to regroup and put it together.” Cameron kicked the front tire of her Prius. “Damn it!” She let out a breath. “Purdy, have the local patrols canvas every person near that bus stop––somebody has to have seen which way this guy left. Have them check the buildings and the stores for a couple of blocks. Then, Little Horse, you go back to the station and see what the techs figured out on that guy’s computer. I’m heading over to see John at the marina to see if he’s got anything else for us.”

Her phone rang. She looked at the screen. In exasperation, her arms fell to her side. Her captain. She hit the accept icon. “Yes.”

“They got the safe open. There wasn’t a bomb inside,” the captain said. “I guess we dodged that bullet––no bomb this time.”

“Or . . . he has it somewhere else.” She clicked off before he could answer.

“What’s up, boss?” Purdy must have read the concern in her face.

“The bomb wasn’t in the safe,” she told them.

Purdy looked relieved.

“Damn.” Little Horse understood. “The guy needed to be somewhere this morning––that’s why he was gone when we got there.”

She nodded.

Purdy glanced from one to the other. “What does that mean?”

“He either needed more stuff to finish the bomb—”

“Or it’s done, and he planted it somewhere.” Cameron felt her brow bead with sweat.

Purdy’s face went white.

“I’m sure the psycho’s already found a new set of wheels,” Little Horse said.

The name placard above the door read, Wright Pullman, CPA. This might work. Michael pushed open the door of the plush office and made his way to the receptionist behind the tall counter. He studied her hands and teeth––no indication of it.

“Where can I find WWA Medical?” He pretended to be lost in the large building even though he had passed a sign indicating that WWA’s office was located in the west wing corridor.

“Oh, they’re at the other end of the building—you’re on the right floor, though.”

“Thanks.” Michael exited and continued down the hallway past other offices. He came to a sign that showed promise––Chen and Rains Development. He walked over to the young receptionist––best guess, twenty. He studied her hands and teeth––slight yellowish discoloring––
perfect
.

“Excuse me, I’m new at WWA down the hall. I’m David Smith.” A smile exuded a gentle soul, and he extended his hand to the woman whose name plate on the counter read, “Linda Rains.”

She looked at him and his backpack curiously, and then shook his hand. “Oh,” he nodded at the backpack, “my computer—cost me almost two grand.” He shook his head. “Someone stole my last one—it had my whole life in it. What a pain that is—don’t ever get a laptop stolen, or you’re in for some seriously frustrating days. Every piece of your life is on these things. I don’t leave this baby anywhere—not even my office.”

She rolled her eyes. “A friend of mine went through it a couple of months ago. It was awful.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m Linda––is there something I can do for you?”

“In my office––none of them smoke––and I was wondering if you might know where the designated smoker’s area is in the building. I’m sure it’s somewhere outside, right?”

“It’s kind of hard to find––they stuck us around the backside of the parking structure where we can’t be seen.” She peeked at the time on her cell phone display. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She grabbed her purse from behind the counter and walked toward the door. “Smoke break. Somebody get the phones. I’ll be back in ten,” she shouted toward the back office.

“We got it,” a male voice answered from somewhere behind one of the cubicle partitions.

Michael followed her into the elevator, and she anxiously tapped the ground floor button.

“It’s really nice here,” he said.

She looked confused.

He gave out a friendly laugh. “I just moved here from Kansas. Got this job offer and headed west.”

“That’s cool. So you like it?”

“Yeah, except for the social life. I’m single––don’t know where the hot clubs are––or anyone who’s single here. It’s kind of lonely.” He smiled.

“There are a lot of places in Orange County.” She looked him over. “I’ll write a few down for you when we go back upstairs.”

He nodded.
Let it lay there
. The elevator doors opened, and she exited to the right.

He followed her through a maze of paths that led to the far side of the parking structure. They entered a vacant smoking enclosure just off the back entrance of the concrete facade.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She took one out and offered him one.

“What do you do at WWA?”

“I handle patient records.”

Her eyes shifted to the path back to the office building while her hand reached back into her purse. Out came a can of pepper spray. She pointed it at his face. “Get away from me, creep.”

“Whoa.” Michael put his hands up in a surrendering fashion. “I just wanted to meet you.” He smiled his friendliest smile, but she began to circle him in the tight space.

“Do you even work in the building?”

“How did you know?”

“WWA is a medical supply company.” She started to run away.

“Not so fast.”

The taser prongs hit her bare neckline. Her muscles instantly responded to the electrical surge, and she collapsed into an uncontrollable writhing ball at his feet.

Professionally trained, his mind took a millisecond to evaluate and react. Michael grabbed her handbag from near his feet and shoved it into his backpack. Next, he pulled her keys out and slipped them inside his pocket. With little effort, he lifted the hundred and ten pound woman and slung her over his massive shoulder. She stirred. No time for the taser again.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered back to her and darted for the back entrance to the garage. Inside the darkened underground structure, he headed for the stairwell and pressed the door lock button on her car key fob. Nothing on that floor. Down at the next level underground, he opened the fire door, and tapped again at the fob.
Beep-Beep
. He grinned when he saw the black car’s taillights wink at him.

“Nice BMW,” he said to his still-groggy baggage. Before he left the cover of the stairwell, he scanned the perimeter––no one. As Michael double-timed it to the car, he hit the other button on the fob, and the trunk popped open. He tossed his listless package into the carpeted space and shoved the lid down. Seconds later, while driving out the employee exit, he spotted the security camera recording the coming and going activity. He rolled down the window and gave the finger toward the lens. If they ever looked at this footage, it would be his statement of their ineptitude before he disappeared somewhere in the world.

They knew his name, they knew his past, they knew where he lived.
You’re not going to catch me––I’m that good at what I do.

Ten minutes later, he was traveling up the freeway onramp heading north. After one mile, he exited, swung the car in behind a quiet strip mall, and pulled to a stop. The banging and yelling from the trunk was too much.

“Help, police. Help! Let me out of here. I won’t tell anyone. Help!”

He threw open the door and climbed out. While he marched toward the back, he hit the button, and the trunk lid popped open. She forced it up.

“You creep––let me out of here.”

She never finished her thought before the steel paw rolled up into an anvil of a fist, and hit her dead center of the temple. She was out––permanently. “You won’t mind if I stay at your pad tonight, would you?” he said to the dead woman. “I hope you live alone.”

He reached into his backpack and took out her wallet. He filtered through the contents until he came to the driver’s license.
Let’s see where you live, Linda Rains.
On Newport Peninsula—now how could you afford that prime real estate as a receptionist. A thought occurred to him—he studied the license—age 20—so you might live at home with Mommy and Daddy. How inconvenient—for them. We’ll find out tonight. I need to go take care of some business now, he thought as he slid into the driver’s seat. He glanced up at the navigation system and programmed in a destination: 9999 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills.

One last visit to the good old admiral who got me into this mess. By tomorrow night, I’m out of here with my sons—new identities, new country, new life.

The black BMW blended into the mass of high-end cars traveling along Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills. The place had always felt alien to him, even though he had grown up just off “the village.” This highly exclusive enclave mattered, and to its well-healed members, it was the only place that
really
mattered. Most of them were like that––every kid he went to school with at Beverly Hills High, and every one of their parents, believed they were special.

Just inside the city limits, he pulled into the circular driveway of a beautiful tan and glass high-rise with
Oceanview Towers
etched into the sand-colored marble facade. The door attendant approached in a white sport coat over a powder blue shirt, white shorts. The white boat shoes completed the tropical resort look in a city of busy streets—no ocean in sight.

“Good day, Michael. Do we have a new car? Very nice.”

“I borrowed it from a friend.”

“May I have it parked for you?”

“I’ll take care of it. Just open the gate. Do you know if he’s in?”

“He is.” The attendant pulled a remote from his pocket and tapped it once. The steel-mesh entry gate rose at the far corner of the building.

After making his way down a level, Michael pulled into one of the open spaces marked for the penthouse and stopped next to the admiral’s black Bentley. He eyed the private elevator at the end of the row of other cars owned by the old man––a black Cadillac Escalade, a black Aston Martin DB9, and his pride, the red ‘65 Mustang convertible.

Michael strolled into the elevator and slid his personal keycard through the slot. The speed that the four-person conveyance ascended always amazed him––from below ground to the twenty-eighth floor in seconds. He felt his ears pop. The doors opened into the luxurious alcove leading into the expansive living room that looked out over the Los Angeles Country Club. Down there, the wealthy made business deals over a pitching wedge, finishing their day with movie stars and media moguls at the bar.

The former admiral came out of the study when he heard the sound of the elevator. Michael stood at the kitchen counter in front of the man’s open laptop. He finished typing and looked up.

The admiral stopped in his tracks at the unexpected sight. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Can’t a son come see his father occasionally?” Michael gave the older man a menacing smile and opened the refrigerator.

The admiral stared at the open laptop.

Michael gave a nod. “Oh, I just ordered airline tickets.”

“You really messed up this time—a witness at Sutherland’s.” He marched toward his son.

“Dad,” he said, “everything’s good. Why don’t we talk?”

“If you’re here to squeeze me for money, it’s not going to happen.” He reached over and slammed the refrigerator door. “I thought you were smart enough not to leave that woman behind.”

“Well, that turned out to be a major problem.”

The admiral peered into his son’s eyes.

“The police know who I am.” Michael chuckled, finding humor in the thought.

“It isn’t funny. I ordered you to do a simple op and you blew the mission.” The disgust was apparent in his face. “You messed up––AGAIN.”

“Let’s get something straight.” Michael opened the balcony French doors and walked over to the rail. His mind suddenly lost the thought. “This is an incredible view.” He put his elbows on the railing and lowered his head.

The admiral pulled up to the railing. “Why did you come here?”

“I’ve got to leave with my boys––this will be the last you’ll ever see any of us.”

“If the cops know about you, how long do you think it will be before they know I’m part of the equation?”

“You never did care about me or your grandchildren.”

“You’re an idiot. Nobody talks to me like that. Get out of my house. The cops are going to come here looking for you. I need to think this through.” He pointed to the door. “Get out,” he shouted.

“Admiral, I’ll fix it so the police never come after you––and we’ll never speak again.”

“Fine by me. Don’t mess that up, too.”

“
I
messed up?
You’re
the one who messed up. I’ve been cleaning up your crap since that reporter in L.A.” Michael’s eyes were now a flaming hot red and his hands felt like they were going to explode. He took a deep breath and regained control. “So, Admiral, have you got any words of wisdom for your son?”

“Get lost––deep somewhere.” He had disdain in his voice. “Don’t ever contact me again. That’s all I need––for the cops to figure it out.”

“You know, you should have been a general in the Air Force.”

“What?”

“Then you would know how to fly.”

The father stared at him.

“One last hug, then I’m a ghost.” Michael extended his hands.

The admiral stiffened—hugging unfamiliar to him.

Michael embraced the man.

The father stood like a statue unable or unwilling to return the gesture.

Michael lifted his father off his feet in a huge bear hug and whispered into the older man’s ear. “You should have learned to fly.” He flung the powerful military leader over the railing.