The Sentry Part 25

Pike didn't know, but it was no longer important. Azzara gave him a target, and if Pike could see his target he could hit it.

Cole was printing Azzara's picture when his phone rang, and he told Pike the caller was Lucy Chenier. Cole took the phone outside onto his deck for the call, and Pike resumed watching the recording.

Pike watched at high speed, but the image still moved in slow motion because he thought about Azzara, and how he could find him. More joggers came and went, but most were female and the few men didn't appear to be likely candidates for experienced knife killers. Pike saw himself arrive, and leave, but no one else appeared on the street. Pike had skimmed through one hour and twenty minutes of the three-hour window when Cole returned from the deck, looking unhappy.

Pike paused the recording.

"What?"

"That was Lucy's investigator. The guy I told you about, Terry Babinette."

Pike waited, knowing from Cole's expression the news wasn't good.

"After the storm, the city put up websites so people could post the names of friends and family members who evacuated or were missing. All Terry had to work with were their names, so this isn't definitive, okay?"

"Say it."

"The names Drusilla Rayne and Wilson Smith are on a list of the dead. Drusilla Rayne was a forty-two-year-old Caucasian who died indigent at Charity Hospital three days before the storm. Wilson Smith was a seventy-six-year-old African-American male who died of a heart attack while being evacuated to Natchez, Mississippi. No known relatives for either. That's it."

Pike felt achy and numb. The man and the woman he knew as Wilson Smith and Dru Rayne had taken their names from the dead, and probably used the deceaseds' social security numbers to a.s.sume their ident.i.ties.

Pike didn't know what to say, and now Cole looked uncomfortable.

"You want to look at more video?"

"No point."

"What do you want to do?"

Pike glanced at the frozen screen, then stood.

"Azzara has them. I'm going to take a shower, then I'm going to find Azzara."

Pike left Cole at the computer and walked back to the guest room.

30.

Daniel Daniel said, "If our intel on the Mexican is accurate, I'll know their location before noon."

The Bolivian sounded more excited than Daniel had ever heard the man, which meant all all the Bolivians were excited. Daniel pictured them sitting around in their compounds, strokin' their stiffies, thinkin' they were finally gonna get their revenge. Nothing those nasty little f.u.c.kers liked better than vengeance, and now they would have it. Thanks to Daniel. the Bolivians were excited. Daniel pictured them sitting around in their compounds, strokin' their stiffies, thinkin' they were finally gonna get their revenge. Nothing those nasty little f.u.c.kers liked better than vengeance, and now they would have it. Thanks to Daniel.

"Stand by, sir-"

Daniel waited for the thunder of a departing Hawker business jet to fade before he continued. Those Hawkers were nice.

"Sorry, sir, I'm at the airport. Were we able to confirm the flight departed this morning?"

Yammer yammer.

"All right, yes, that's perfect. Do we have the aircraft registration number or its make and model?"

Yammer.

Cleo said, "Yammer."

Tobey said, "Yammer."

Daniel shushed them.

"Shh."

Daniel listened carefully while the Bolivian rattled out the latest intel from Mexico. The crush of information from Mexico and New Orleans during the past two days had been invaluable, but there would have been no information without Daniel, and the Bolivians knew it. Daniel had finally found the f.u.c.kers, and the dumb f.u.c.ks had tried to cut a deal instead of running, and now their deal was killing them.

"Yes, sir, I will keep you advised-absolutely."

Daniel wanted to get off the phone, but the Bolivian kept going, saying how pleased they all were with Daniel, his loyalty, his determination, yadayadayada.

"Thank you, sir. No, really-I appreciate your faith in me. Thank you."

Daniel killed the link.

"a.s.shole."

Cleo snickered. "What an a.s.sfart."

Tobey laughed. "Big gapin' a.s.sclown, clown."

Daniel squinted across the runway at the control tower, then up into a hazy white sky. He leaned back until he looked straight up, enjoying the morning sky, and this place, and this moment. Daniel had a.s.sa.s.sinated people at airports like this all over South and Central America. He had also kidnapped people, blown up airplanes, stolen cargo, and pretty much every other d.a.m.n thing a person could do.

"Been a long hunt, boys."

Tobey said, "Way too long."

Cleo said, "Too d.a.m.n long."

Santa Monica Airport was a single runway lined by hangars and businesses, along with a very nice viewing area where Daniel now sat. He would be able to see the jet land, and still have plenty of time to get into position. Daniel already knew where the inbound jet would park. A stretch limo, a candy-gold SS396, and a chopped-down Monte Carlo were waiting directly across the tarmac. A moron's idea of a welcoming committee, for sure, but the limo was a fat black roach that would lead him to the promised land.

Daniel checked his watch. If the Bolivian was right, the Mexican would touch down in less than an hour, then be on his way to their meeting.

"You guys ready to kill some people?"

Tobey said, "f.u.c.k yeah."

Cleo said, "Kill'm real good, good."

Daniel chuckled.

"Me, too, boys."

"Kill'm and eat'm?"

"Eat'm?"

"You boys are insane."

"'Sane?"

"'Sane?"

Daniel enjoyed the sun on his face and the pleasant company of their echoing voices.

31.

Elvis Cole Cole watched Pike drive away, then returned to his desk for the pictures of Dru and Wilson, who weren't really Dru Rayne or Wilson Smith. People change their names to hide, but hide from what, and who? Cole had been an investigator long enough to know people sometimes had good reasons to hide, but most of the time their reasons were bad. Cole had a bad feeling about these people, and the more he learned the worse his feeling grew.

The woman's picture was best. She was turned to her left as if she was speaking with Mendoza or Azzara, so she was facing the camera. Wilson was peering over the steering wheel, which gave a three-quarter view with part of his face blocked by the side view mirror.

Something about their expressions bothered him, but Cole couldn't decide why. After a few minutes, he put the pictures aside, and called Bree Sloan at the phone company to follow up on the cell numbers. Sometimes they called back right away. Sometimes he had to nag.

She said, "Are you a mind reader? I was just about to call."

"Good news?"

"No, you're going to hate it, but I still get the tickets, right?"

"Of course."

Cole got premium Dodgers tickets from a former client, and shared them with people who helped him. Especially people like Bree, who was a regional manager at a midsized local telecommunications provider. Seats in the exclusive Dodgers Dugout Club worked better than search warrants.

"You at your computer?"

"Staring at it. It isn't as s.e.xy as you."

Bree laughed. She had an excellent laugh.

"Man, you're something."

"Amazing, aren't I?"

"Okay, now stop that and listen. These three numbers you gave me-8272, 3563, and 3502?"

Cole glanced at his notes. These were the last four digits on the numbers for Wilson's shop, Wilson's cell phone, and Dru's cell.

"Uh-huh. I'm with you."

"8272 is a landline with ATT billed to Wilson's Takeout Foods. I'm going to send you the inbound and outbound records for the past forty-five days, okay? That's all they have."

"I understand."

Phone service providers usually kept call histories for only forty-five days, though they kept billing information longer. Cole had expected this when he examined the bills he found in Smith's file box.

"Now the bad news. 3563 and 3502 are prepaids out of a small provider based in Phoenix. You owe me big-time for these two-the guy I talked to over there was a monumental jacka.s.s."

"These are the cell numbers?"

"Yeah. The provider is a company called Electrotelepathy. They rent antenna s.p.a.ce from the larger companies like we do, but on a way smaller scale. They specialize in prepaid options. Keeps their infrastructure down."

"Did you get the histories?"

"I'm sending them in the email, but this is the part you aren't going to like. The numbers were activated only twelve days ago. There isn't much in the way of history."

Cole tipped back in the chair. Wilson and Dru used throwaways, which probably meant they changed numbers often. Fake names. Untraceable numbers. How much more perfect could it get?

"Was there a text history?"

"Electrotelepathy doesn't keep texts or emails. That isn't unusual. Some of the big companies don't, either. And before you ask-because I'm a mind reader, too, and I know you're going to ask me-these phones are not GPS-enabled. Electrotelepathy is a low-end company, so they sell a low-end product."

"How recent are the histories?"

"Through this morning. That's when I spoke with him. For the third third time." time."

"Okay, pal, thanks. I appreciate it."

"A Giants game, right?"

"The Giants."

Bree was a Dodgers fan, but her life partner, Estelle, was a Giants fan from San Francisco. Theirs was a mixed marriage.

"You're my hero, Elvis. Estelle will love it."

"Tell her she's the luckiest woman alive."

"I do. Every night."

"Go Blue."