Night Watch--A Novel Page 5

  Griffin looked at her, then at Lynch. “You two are tough enough to take when I have to deal with you separately. How did you come to team up on this?”

  Lynch scratched the back of his head. “You know, I’m still trying to figure that out myself. I think I was shanghaied.”

  “Uh-huh. And what if I tell you that our lab is already on a weekslong backlog?”

  Lynch crossed his arms and smiled. “I’d say you should expect a call. Soon.”

  Griffin cursed. “The last time you said that, I got an extremely unpleasant phone call from the Deputy Director of the Justice Department.”

  “Good. Then you already have some history together. You’ll have something to talk about.”

  Griffin sighed and took the jacket. “Fine. But even if I bump this to the front of the line, it’s not something that can be done in an hour.”

  “When?” Kendra persisted.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Or I’ll have the lab guys call you.” Griffin glared at Lynch. “Don’t bother to sic your patrons on me. It’s the best I can do.”

  Lynch nodded. “Understood.”

  Griffin turned to Kendra. “Listen … I’ll put in a call to Santa Monica PD. I’ll make sure they keep us in the loop on their investigation.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “I can imagine what this guy means to you, Kendra. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He turned and disappeared through the double doors that led into the lab.

  Lynch shook his head. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve practically made a career of disliking that man. Then he goes and pulls a stunt like that.”

  “You mean being decent.”

  “Yeah, the nerve of that guy, huh.”

  “Yeah, some nerve.” Kendra smiled and turned to walk back down the hallway.

  He fell into step with her. “What now?”

  “I guess we wait.”

  “Like hell. I know you better than that, Kendra. You’re not going to twiddle your thumbs while you wait for the lab to do its thing.”

  “No, I mean … You’ve done what I asked you to do.”

  He sighed. “And now you’re done with me? How cruel.”

  “I figured you have better things to do than traipsing along with me on a case that may not be a case.”

  He stepped close to her. “Haven’t you noticed I enjoy traipsing with you? It’s always an experience. It’s the most fun I’ve had in the past couple of years.”

  “You have a strange idea of fun.”

  He flashed that million-dollar smile at her again. Was he trying to be irresistible, or did it just come naturally to him? He was trying, she decided, though he didn’t have to try very hard.

  “I mean it,” he said. “Where do we start?”

  “I’m going to the mountains. Big Bear.”

  “Why?”

  “I could tell from Waldridge’s shoes and tires that he’d been in snow recently. They were frosted with rock salt. That doesn’t leave much of Southern California left. And he had a tag on his suitcase labeled L35.”

  Lynch nodded. “Big Bear City Airport.”

  “You knew that off the top of your head? I had to Google it on my phone when we were driving here.”

  He shrugged. “I get around.”

  “Anyway, I figure I’ll drive up there and ask some questions.”

  “Now?”

  “Like you said, thumb-twiddling isn’t my style.”

  “I don’t like the idea of driving. It’s getting dark, and the roads are icy and slick up there. I think it would be better if—”

  “Ha! You’re just afraid of getting that Ferrari dinged up. No problem. Take me home, and I’ll get my—”

  “I was just going to say, why drive, when we can fly? Especially, if we’re going to the airport anyway.”

  “It’s a little late to try and arrange a charter.”

  “Who said anything about a charter?”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Don’t tell me you have your own plane?”

  “No, I’ve done very well for myself, but those things are tens of millions of dollars and I wouldn’t use it enough to make it worth my while.” He motioned for her to follow him toward the elevators. “I’ll borrow one from a friend.”

  She snorted. “But who’s going to fly it? You?”

  “Yes. Unless you’d like to take a whack at it. But I’m afraid my friend would insist that your CE-525-license rating be up to date.”

  “Seriously? You can actually fly a plane?”

  “I guess you’re about to find out.” He pulled out his phone as they walked. “I just need to make a quick call. It’s always nicer to have the jet warmed up and waiting when we get there.”

  She just stared at him. “Warmed up and—?”

  He spoke into the phone. “Greetings, Giancarlo. It’s Adam. I have a favor to ask…”

  * * *

  KENDRA SPENT THE TWENTY-MINUTE drive to Montgomery Field Airport in a state of disbelief that abated only slightly when Lynch drove through a group of small hangars toward a small, low-winged jet with a rear T-tail. A high-pitched whine emanated from the plane’s engines.

  Lynch parked a few yards away. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Kendra pointed toward the plane. “You didn’t say it was a jet.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s a Cessna Citation Jet. This one’s configured for eight passengers, so the two of us should be very comfortable.” He opened his car door. “Shall we?”

  She followed him out of his car and across the tarmac to the plane, where Lynch shook hands with a ground mechanic. They boarded the few short steps into the cabin. Kendra ducked into the doorway and froze.

  “Is everything all right?” Lynch asked.

  She surveyed the main compartment, which was over twenty feet long. With plush leather chairs, a large coffee table, and a sectional sofa, it was decorated more like a sumptuous living room than a corporate jet.

  She shook her head in amazement. “This is nicer than my condo.”

  “My friend hates to fly. This takes the sting out of it for him.”

  “I guess it would.”

  He moved toward the cockpit. “My seat is up here. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll find the bar stocked with some of the nicest wines you’ll ever taste. I recommend the ’89 Grand Puy Lacoste.”

  “Give me a break. Don’t pile all this fine living on me at once. Is there room in the cockpit for me?”

  Lynch shrugged. “There’s a copilot seat, but I guarantee you it’s a lot less comfortable than that sofa.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll ride shotgun.”

  They settled in the tiny cockpit and buckled up. Lynch slipped on the headset and after a brief exchange with the tower, he conducted the instrument check. He then piloted the jet onto a runway and took off into the night sky.

  Lynch glanced at her and smiled. “You’re very quiet. You look like you’ve never ridden in a private plane before.”

  “No, and certainly not piloted by someone I know. But you seem to know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks.” He grimaced. “I guess that’s why you wanted to sit up front, so that you could see for yourself. I’m glad I passed the test.”

  “I’m not qualified to judge your ability. I was just interested in the entire process.” She smiled. “And you can never tell when you might be able to use something you watch being done.”

  He chuckled. “Please, tell me you won’t attempt to fly this Cessna without a little more instruction than a visual.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it … maybe. When did you find the time to get a pilot’s license?”

  He shrugged. “I started flying about seven years ago, when I was still on the FBI payroll. I figured it would be a handy skill to acquire. It’s actually come in more handy since I left. I’m now rated on several planes and helicopters. When I’m in a tight spot, it’s always nic
e to have extremely fast transportation options.”

  “I guess that makes sense. But not everybody has a friend with a private jet at his disposal. Who is this man?”

  “Giancarlo? Just a guy I helped out once.”

  “Helped out how?”

  Lynch paused to check his altitude. “I was sent to find him in Budapest a few years ago. Our government got some intel that he was plotting some terrorist activity against U.S. targets, and they wanted him taken out.”

  She went still. “They wanted you to kill him?”

  “No, they just wanted me to find out where he was.” He looked at her quizzically. “Who do you think I am?”

  It was a question that she had been trying to solve for all the time that she had known him. She knew how clever he was, she knew he had a genius for manipulation and an experience in black ops that was both dangerous and impressive. She just didn’t know how and in what depth he used those skills. And it wasn’t something she would ever ask him. “Do I really need to say it?”

  “Hmm. Well, they had other people standing by for that. Anyway, I found out we were working with some faulty information. He was being set up. I helped him out of a potentially lethal situation. In the end, I helped clear him and broker a deal with the State Department that brought him here. He’s been a grateful friend ever since.”

  “His gratitude includes the use of this plane?”

  “As long as I bring it back in one piece and gas it up when I’m finished.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yes, I try not to abuse his generosity, but there are times it’s incredibly convenient. Like tonight.” He shot her a sly glance. “When it enables me to impress a woman who is exceptionally difficult to impress.”

  “Who said I was impressed? I’m merely interested in a new experience.”

  “New experiences,” he murmured. “I’ll have to remember that’s the way to lure you.”

  “And I wouldn’t really worry about abusing your friend’s generosity.” She looked away from him. “Sometimes the debt is so great that you’re willing to put up with anything, do whatever is possible or not possible, just to pay a little toward it.”

  “I don’t think we’re still talking about Giancarlo,” he said quietly.

  “Sure we are.” She smiled with an effort. “I was just reminding you of something that a master manipulator like you should always keep in mind. I’m surprised that you’re treading so softly where your friend is concerned.”

  “The emphasis and key word is friend.” He grinned. “That concept can sometimes mess everything up when you’re trying to rule the world.” He checked a flight map on his tablet computer. “So what do you expect to find in Big Bear?”

  She was glad that he had shifted the subject to one that made her feel less vulnerable. “I have no idea. But I know Waldridge was in the area, probably earlier in the day yesterday. He wasn’t pleased when I figured out he’d been there, so that’s pretty much all the reason I need to check the place out. We’ll see what turns up.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Only another few minutes.” He glanced at the snow blowing across the windshield. “You’re not dressed for this weather. Look in the closet just outside the cockpit. I think you’ll find something to wear.”

  Big Bear City Airport Big Bear Lake, California

  Fifteen minutes later, Kendra stepped off the plane wearing a Mackage moto jacket, all leather and zippers. She looked down at the snug-fitting garment. “The snow won’t be kind to this leather, you know.”

  “I don’t care. I’m positive that jacket has never looked better.” Lynch smiled and followed her down to the tarmac. He was wearing a long wool coat he’d grabbed from the same closet. They stopped and looked around the small airport. It was quiet and dark. There were no other planes in operation, and the place was obviously working with a skeleton crew. He motioned toward a brightly lit building at the end of a row of hangars. “That’s the administrator’s office. We’ll start there.”

  They walked toward the building and glanced through the glass door to see a dimly lit office of three desks. The room’s only occupant was a young man peering intently at a laptop. Kendra tried the door. Locked. Lynch rapped on the glass, and the man stood up and came to the door.

  He unlocked it and pushed it open. “May I help you?”

  Kendra’s eyes flicked to the name plaque on his desk. “You can if your name is Matt Paulsen.”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

  “Good. I was told you could help us.” She pulled out her phone and showed him a photo of Waldridge. “Did you see this man arriving here in the last couple days?”

  He squinted at the phone. “I’m not sure. I don’t see everyone who comes through here. You might ask some of the ground crew. There’s no way to know for certain—”

  “He was probably on a charter,” she interrupted. “He might have transferred from LAX or another international airport. He has an English accent, and he would have been pulling a brown-and-black rollerboard—”

  “Wait.” He studied the photo for another moment. “I do think he was here.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “I remember the accent. Kind of upper-crust. It was the night before last. Somebody met his plane.”

  “A limo?” Lynch asked.

  “No. It was another English guy, and they seemed like they were friends. The guy picked him up in an SUV.”

  “What color?” Kendra asked.

  “It was dark. Maybe green.”

  She turned to Lynch. “Sounds like the same car Waldridge was driving. His rental car was a dark green Explorer.”

  Lynch leaned closer to Paulsen. “What can you tell us about the plane that brought him here?”

  The young man hesitated.

  “Not sure? You’ll probably need to check your files.” Lynch pushed past him and strode confidently into his office. “Come on, Kendra. We’ll wait inside, out of the cold.”

  Paulsen frowned uncertainly as he watched Kendra enter the office. “Uh … I’m not sure I can talk to you about this. I mean, do you have some kind of warrant?”

  Lynch took a step forward, instant dominance and aggression. He must be getting impatient. He was usually much more diplomatic. Kendra raised a hand to stop him. She reached into her pocket and produced Detective Shea’s card. “We’re working with the Santa Monica Police Department on an investigation. If you have any concerns, please call this number. But we need this information immediately, so if you want to call now, we’ll wait.”

  Paulsen looked at the card for a long moment, giving Kendra time to wonder how Shea would react if he actually decided to phone. Paulsen finally waved the card away. “It’s okay.” He moved to the front desk and jiggled the trackpad of a laptop to wake it up. “It’s all part of the public FAA record. We log all the flights here. It wasn’t from any of the charter companies that usually service the airport.” He studied the screen. “Hmm.”

  “What?” Lynch asked.

  “It’s a tail number. I cut and pasted it into the FAA registration database, but it’s not coming up as a valid entry.”

  “Like it doesn’t exist?” Kendra asked slowly.

  “Exactly like that.” Paulsen tried it again, this time making sure that he had inserted all of the characters. The monitor flashed: NUMBER NOT VALID.

  “Could it have been changed?” Kendra asked.

  Lynch shook his head. “Even if it had, this registry would still show us every plane that had ever carried this number.” He turned to Paulsen. “Are you sure this is correct?”

  He shrugged. “There’s always the possibility of a mistake, but I doubt that. We check and double-check these things. Homeland Security pretty much demands it. No, I’m sure that’s the number on the plane that brought him here.”

  Lynch turned toward a bank of three monitors mounted high on the office wall. Each camera showed a night-vision image of another part of the tiny airport. “What are chances of one of th
ese capturing the plane’s arrival?”

  “Not great. Those cameras are more for loss prevention. They might have caught your guys coming or going in the car, though.”

  Lynch and Kendra exchanged a glance.

  Kendra studied the monitors. “How long do your recordings stick?”

  “They sit on a hard drive for seven days.”

  “Good,” Lynch said. “Take us forty-eight hours back.” Lynch fired it more like an order than a request, but he correctly predicted it would be the surest way to get Paulsen to immediately comply.

  “Okay.” Paulsen leaned over a computer desk beneath the monitor bank and used a trackpad to move back the surveillance camera’s timeline. He stepped back and looked at the screen. “There. Too bad it wasn’t during the day, but the night-vision camera helps a bit.”

  Kendra studied the image, which at the moment only showed the familiar SUV. “That’s definitely the vehicle that Waldridge was driving,” she said. “Right down to the scrapes on the right-wheel hubs. As if someone had ground them against a tall curb.” She pointed as two men stepped into the frame. “That’s Waldridge.”

  “How about the other guy?” Lynch asked.

  Kendra studied his pudgy features, bushy eyebrows, and unkempt white hair. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.” She turned to Paulsen. “Is this the man you were talking about? The one who also spoke with a British accent?”

  “Yep. That’s him.”

  Waldridge loaded his rollerboard suitcase into the hatchback, then climbed into the passenger seat as the white-haired man took his place behind the wheel. After another few moments, the SUV turned around and disappeared through an opening between the hangars.

  “I’d like a photo printout of those two men,” Lynch said.

  Paulsen smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid we’re not set up for that.”

  Lynch pulled out his phone. “No problem. If you’ll rewind it, I’ll snap a photo right off the monitor.”

  As Paulsen and Lynch worked on their crude frame grab, Kendra took the opportunity to take a closer look at the man. His suit, with its narrow cut, high arms, and sculpted shoulders, was likely British, as were the leather Cheaney shoes. She couldn’t get a read on his spectacles though they were consistent with many European frames she’d seen. His wild hair probably hadn’t been cut in three months or more.