The Rule of Nine (17 page)

If he pulled the trackers and tossed them, Liquida would know it. So he disconnected the wire from the car batteries and reattached it to the new ones. The small battery would provide power for about five days. In Harry's car the extra battery was held in place by bailing wire in an open area along the side of the engine compartment.

Harry used his fingers to unwind the wire. In a few seconds
the battery came loose. He reached underneath and pulled the tracker off the bumper, and then fished it up from the inside using the power wire connected to the battery.

The normal GPS most people use plots the position of a vehicle on a map and shows it to the driver on a software-provided map displayed on a small screen located in the receiver. You key in your destination and the GPS either talks to you and tells you when to turn or shows you waypoints on the map.

But not the little tracker Harry had in his hand. It gathered positioning data and sent it to a remote receiver where it could be plotted in any number of different forms, including map references. You could purchase this service from several different vendors. It was used by employers to make sure drivers weren't off on some private frolic when using a company vehicle. It could locate a stolen car or track a load of freight across the country, making it easier to project delivery schedules. In Harry's case it would allow Liquida to track them right to the farm in Ohio, where he could stalk them at his leisure.

Harry glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. He walked over to the back of the semitrailer, lifted the tarp, and slid the battery underneath. Quickly he ran a loop with the bailing wire around the battery connecting it to the load under the tarp so the battery wouldn't slide around. Then he dropped the tiny tracker into one of the steel postholes along the rear of the truck bed. He heard the metallic click as the magnet attached. Harry used his fingers to push the thin power wire from the battery into the crack between two of the scarred wooden boards on the bed of the truck. Then he checked the antenna. Unless the driver was neurotic, there was now a tiny twig that no one should notice just sticking up out of the posthole.

Less than two minutes later, Harry was in the restaurant. Sarah was waiting for him, seated at a booth. He walked over. “Did you already order?”

“No. Thought I'd wait for you. Did you get the gas?”

“No. They want an arm and a leg,” said Harry. “Listen, why don't we go on to the next town? We can fill up there and get something to eat. The gas will probably be less.”

“What, you think you're going to save three cents a gallon? Besides, the waitress already brought me water,” said Sarah.

“Good.” Harry picked up the glass and downed the whole thing in a single gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Now I don't need to buy any. Let's go.”

“God, Uncle Harry, gimme a minute. Let me get my purse.”

Harry was guiding her by the arm.

“Anybody ever tell you you're a penny pincher?” she said.

“Yeah, matter of fact, most of the women I've dated. Probably why I never got married.”

“I can understand that,” said Sarah.

For the moment all Harry wanted to do was put distance between themselves and the tarp-covered trailer in the parking lot behind the restaurant. If they were lucky, the driver was headed to Mexico. Then Liquida could follow it home.

I
'm sorry to hear about your daughter's friend. I don't think I have to tell you that. I think you already know. You're in a great deal of trouble with this Liquida.” Joselyn looks at me over the rim of her wineglass as she sips a little Chardonnay. “What exactly did you do to make him so angry?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh, come on. You can tell me,” she says. “It's just the three of us sitting here and I'm willing to bet that Mr. Diggs already knows.”

“If I knew I would tell you. But I don't.”

“Why don't you tell me the truth?” she says. “Or else…”

“Or else what? You're going to get your crystal ball out, smack me in the head with it, and do another mind meld?” I say.

“If you like. We can do that.”

The three of us, Joselyn, Herman, and I, are seated in a dark corner of the lounge at the Brasserie in the Crowne Plaza Hotel on Century Boulevard, a stone's throw from LAX.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about the last time we met?” she says.

“You mean before you turned white and slid under the table?” I ask.

“Yes, before that.”

“As I recall, you wanted to know whether I talked in my sleep?” I say.

“And you said you didn't know. As I recall, because there were no witnesses.”

“Actually, it all depends.”

“On what?” she says.

“On the other thing we talked about.”

“Which was?”

“You may be clairvoyant but you have a bad memory,” I say. “The question was whether you wanted me for my mind or my body.”

Herman is fondling the beer bottle in front of him nervously, as if he's wandered into the middle of a conversation on birth control.

“I've had some time to think about this,” I tell her.

“Have you?” She looks at me over the glass, feline oval eyes and a sultry grin. “And what did you conclude?”

“That if you wanted me for my mind, I'd probably put us both to sleep. But if it was my body you were after, I doubt if I'd talk.”

“And why is that?”

“I don't think I'd get much sleep.”

“Yes, but you might talk,” she says. “It would depend on how I tied you to the bed.”

“Interesting hypothesis.”

“Perhaps we need to conduct an experiment,” she says.

“I take it you have a lab upstairs,” I say.

“I do.”

Herman clears his throat. “You guys wanna get a room, don't let me get in the way,” he says. “I'll just go out front, stand in the
fountain for a while. Maybe light up a cigar so's I can ask you how it was for both of you when the experiment's over.”

“Perhaps you should join us,” she says.

“No, thanks,” says Herman. “I draw the line at that.”

“You could take notes,” I tell him.

She laughs. “I think we've embarrassed him,” she says. “We were joking.”

“We were?” I give her a crestfallen look.

“Of course. I think so. Anyway, we have business to discuss,” she says.

“You mean that wasn't it? Glad to hear it.” Herman, for all of his earthiness, is a prude.

“I'm sorry about getting sick the last time,” she says. “You can imagine my shock when I saw Thorn's face in that photograph.”

“Now we're down to talking points,” I tell her. “What else do you know about Thorn?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you tell us anything more about him? Did he ever say anything that might have given away where he was from? Any associates of his you might have met?”

“You want information?” she says.

“If you can help us, yes,” I tell her.

“And do you mind if I ask, what are you offering in return?” she says.

“My body,” I tell her.

“We're back to that. No. I mean of value,” she says. “Do you have anything of value to offer in return?”

“That's pretty mercenary,” I tell her. “Besides, you probably don't have much on Thorn. Not that's current anyway. It's been what, ten years since you saw the man. Still, you might have something, some small item that might help us run him down.”

“And why would you want to find Thorn?” she says.

“He's the key to Liquida,” says Herman.

“I see. Thorn is in the picture with Jimmie Snyder. Jimmie is
killed by Liquida. And you know that because his fingerprint is found on your card in Jimmie's wallet. Is that right?”

“Thumbprint,” I tell her.

“Excuse me. His thumbprint. And of course the authorities know this because they have one of Liquida's matching prints from an earlier crime scene in Southern California. What was the name of that case again?” She looks at me. “You remember? Your partner was just about to say the name when you stopped him.”

“Tell you what,” I say. “You tell me everything you know about Thorn. And I'll tell you what I know about Liquida and the earlier case. How's that?”

“You know what I want?” Joselyn gives me an exasperated look. “I want your testimony concerning what happened at Coronado,” she says. “Both of you. All the information you have about the nuclear device and the Russian who was killed outside the base. Agree to go public with that and I will help you in any way I can with Thorn and Liquida. That's the price. Don't forget, I have some very good sources of information.”

“Can't do it,” I tell her.

“Why not?”

“I just can't.”

“Why, because you think the FBI, your friend Zeb Thorpe, might keep Liquida off your back?”

“What do you know about Thorpe?” I say.

“I know he headed up the investigation following the attack at Coronado. That he provided protection for you, your daughter, your partner, and Mr. Diggs here for the better part of three months. But it didn't have anything to do with Liquida. All he wanted was to keep you quiet. To keep you away from the press.”

Joselyn knows more than I thought.

“Then what makes you think that Thorpe's involved in any way with Liquida?”

“Give me a break,” she says. “Liquida killed Afundi. That's your earlier case. The one with Liquida's matching thumbprint.”

“Whoops,” says Herman.

“She's right,” I tell him. “She does have good sources.”

“So stop lying to me,” says Joselyn. “I know everything already. It's just that I'm not a percipient witness. Everything I have is secondhand, from reports and documents, and other sources,” she says. “I don't have copies, but I've been allowed to look at them. Problem is it's all hearsay. But you, you both saw it, the bomb and everything that happened. More than that, you can corroborate each other.”

“We saw a device,” I tell her. “Neither of us is an expert. We can't verify that it was nuclear.”

“What, does it have to go off before we know this? You talked to the Russian.”

“He didn't speak English,” I tell her.

“But his daughter did. And she told you it was nuclear. She knew it was. Her father was the guardian of that device. We know that. I've even heard him referred to as the ‘Guardian of Lies.' He was the expert, right from the horse's mouth.”

“Sounds like she knows everything already,” says Herman. “So the only question is whether we'll talk.”

I look at him. “What do you think?”

“Feds aren't giving us anything anyway,” he says. “Of course, they might try and throw us in the slammer.”

“Not after you go public,” says Joselyn. “They wouldn't dare. It would look like the biggest cover-up in history, which is exactly what it is.”

“Okay, but it depends on what you can give us in return. If the information you provide leads us to Thorn and Liquida, I'll talk. Otherwise no.” I look at Herman.

“That's good by me,” he says. “Let's hope your sources are better than Thorpe's. They don't seem to have squat on Liquida.” He looks at Joselyn. “Of course, if what you got is ten years old and cold as a witch's tit it probably ain't gonna help us much anyway.”

“Then we have an agreement?” she says.

“Agreed. But the information has to net Liquida,” I tell her. “If we bag Thorn in the process, great. But Liquida's the key. If the information we develop results in his arrest and conviction…”

“Or his death,” says Herman.

“Or his death, then we'll go public, in any forum, any way you want to do it.”

“Agreed. One other thing,” she says. “Some of my sources are confidential. Not all, just some. And on those I can't disclose their identity. Is that understood? I can assure you the information is golden.”

I look at Herman. He nods. “Agreed,” I tell her.

“Good. Then I have some information for you,” says Joselyn.

“Already?” I say. “Just like that. Damn it.” I look at Herman. “She probably would have given it to us anyway. Wouldn't you?” I put it to Joselyn.

“I don't know. You weren't looking terribly pathetic today. I'm not sure. But based on what I know, Thorn is very big on planes. Which I already knew. Apparently he's qualified to fly commercial aircraft, large jets. That I didn't know. According to my information, over the years he's purchased more than one plane from places called commercial boneyards. Out in the desert, here in California, Arizona, and New Mexico. I have a list of names and addresses for these.”

“I assume this is from one of your confidential sources?” I ask.

“No, as a matter of fact it came from Bart Snyder. I got an e-mail from him a few days ago.”

“Where did he get it?” I ask.

“I don't know. He just said he got it from unidentified sources.”

“And this is your golden information?” I look at her.

“I don't know. I guess we'll have to find out.”

“Maybe you could call him and find out who his sources are and whether they're reliable before we chase all over the Southwest?” I say.

“If you want, I can do that,” she says.

“Why didn't he copy us on this e-mail?” I ask.

“I don't know. You want me to ask him?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it's your demeanor,” she says.

“What's wrong with my demeanor?”

“You tend to put people on the defensive. Like right now, you're angry because you think you might have gotten this tidbit for nothing. You need to drain some of the lawyer juices.”

“Snyder is a lawyer. So are you,” I tell her.

“Yes, but I've had time to develop a soft side and shed the bristles.”

“That's true. You slid under the table like a slinky, in that clingy, soft sweaterdress. Certainly nobody could call that abrasive. That must be why he communicated with you. What else did he say? In the e-mail, I mean.”

“Now you sound jealous,” she says.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“I don't know,” she says. “Did you like the dress?”

“Very nice.”

“It's up in my luggage. I packed it in case I needed it again.”

“You wear it like a weapon, do you?”

“Only if I need to.” She's already searching the Web on her phone. “One of the boneyards is in Victorville, north of here. We could cover that one by car, and then book flights to Arizona and New Mexico if necessary. I have copies of the pictures of Thorn, the ones Snyder showed us. He scanned them into his computer and sent them attached to his e-mail. I printed them out.”

“I've got copies in my briefcase too. I got them when he was at the office,” I tell her.

“See, he didn't withhold everything from you,” says Joselyn.

“We could split up, but I don't think we ought to fly,” says Herman. “It'd be a long drive to Arizona and New Mexico, but we'll have to use the car.” He winks at me. We have already ditched the tracking device from my car, and Herman took care of the other
two, the one from his Chevy and the one from Sarah's VW. By now they are crisscrossing the country on the back of sixteen-wheelers, so Liquida must be getting dizzy.

“If you and I split up, we don't save that much time. If the place in Victorville turns out to be a dead end, whoever is headed to Arizona wouldn't be that far ahead,” I tell him.

“I could fly to Arizona,” says Joselyn. “Besides, why would we want to drive? It could take a week or ten days to cover all that ground.”

“And what if you do get lucky and run into Thorn by yourself at one of these places?” I ask.

From the look on her face, she hadn't thought about that.

Herman opens the flap of his jacket and shows her the butt of his pistol. “Bertha gets airsick,” he says. “And I'd rather not leave her behind.”

“I understand,” she says.