Heat

Chapter 23

The four men arrived separately in Seattle: two at Seattle-Tacoma International airport on different flights from different destinations. The third arrived by Greyhound bus a little after nine in the evening, and inside an hour had stolen an anonymous van and changed its license plates with those of a Toyota Corolla parked nearby. He then picked up the two men at Seattle-Tacoma airport.

After midnight, the fourth man landed a light airplane, a fixed-gear Cessna 182, at Tacoma Narrows, a small, general-aviation airport on one of the many islands in the area. He taxied to a remote end of the tie-down area and cut the engine. Immediately, the van pulled up to the airplane, and its contents were quickly transferred to the vehicle. Two of the men refilled the airplane’s fuel tanks from jerry cans stowed in the luggage compartment. Not a word was spoken. The men got into the van and drove toward Seattle.

The four men were named, for the occasion, Black, Gray, Brown and White. Black, who had piloted the Cessna, held a flashlight to a map of the city and gave monosyllabic instructions to Brown, who drove, while Gray and White quietly slipped into boiler suits in the back of the van. It was nearly 2 A.M. when the van arrived at its destination.

“Around the block at twenty-five miles an hour,” Black said. As they turned the first corner, a police car passed them going in the opposite direction.

Brown stiffened at the wheel, but Black put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right; in fact it’s good. Better now than in half an hour.” He began climbing into a boiler suit. “Stop there and change,” he said, pointing to the curb. When Brown had donned his suit, he drove back toward their destination.

Black pointed to the parking lot of a printing company across the street, and Brown pulled into a parking place. Two small canvas duffles were handed forward from the rear of the van, and the occupants got out. Wordlessly, the four men crossed the street and walked at a moderate pace down the sidewalk along a high hedge, each carrying an identical canvas bag. Black was counting paces under his breath.

He raised a hand, and his companions stopped. Gray and White plunged their arms into the hedge and parted it, while Black and Brown stepped through; then Gray and White followed them. The hedge closed behind them.

Quickly now, Black led them to the rear door of the building. Each man unzipped his canvas bag and removed a pistol with a silencer affixed. Black produced a key, unlocked the door, and the four men stepped inside, then their leader went to a security keypad just inside the door and tapped in a four-digit code. A soft beep sounded. Black turned to his companions and shone his flashlight on his wristwatch. He held up three fingers, for three minutes. His companions nodded, and on a hand signal from Black they spread out into the building.

Black found room number one, sat cross-legged on the floor under the central table and laid his pistol on the floor beside him. He took a small packet from his canvas bag and taped it to the table pedestal, making sure to leave a six-inch length of aerial wire exposed. He went back into the hallway and to the rear door, where he was joined by his three companions. He took another packet from his bag and taped it to the rear door. Glancing at his wristwatch, he tapped a number into a keypad on the unit, then looked at the others and nodded.

Black opened the rear door. To his astonishment he was staring down the barrel of a .38 caliber pistol.

“Freeze! All of you!” The uniformed man cried.

Black did not hesitate; he swung his canvas bag at the man’s weapon and felt a round blow past his head. He fired one shot into the middle of the man’s face, then stepped over his body and waved the others to follow.

“Jesus Christ,” White said.

“Shut up,” Black barked. “Nothing has changed.” He looked carefully through the parted hedge, up and down the street. It was deserted, but he saw a light come on in a house across the street. “Don’t run, walk,” Black growled at the others. They made their way toward the van, and Black heard a door open and voices. “Walk!” he said again.

They reached the van and got in. Brown started the engine, and Black put a hand on his shoulder. “Twenty-five miles an hour, no more,” he said. He switched on his flashlight and started to give instructions again. From the distance came the sound of a police siren.

“Jesus Christ!” Brown shouted, then floored the accelerator.

“Slow down!” Black yelled. “Twenty-five; no more!”

“People came out of that house,” Brown said. “They had to get a look at the van.”

At that moment a huge explosion erupted behind them, and the interior of the van was lit with a fiery light. The two men in the rear of the van cheered.

“Shut up,” Black said to them. “We can’t return the van to where you stole it,” he said to Brown. “We go to Plan B. Right at the next intersection; we’ll stay off the big streets and go through neighborhoods to the Plan B rendezvous. We’ve got a local contact waiting there for us, just in case. Now left at the corner. And slow down!” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the two men in back. “Listen to me carefully. If a cop car gets on our tail, we won’t run. Brown will slow down; you kick open the back doors and pour everything into their windshield.”

“We’ve already killed one cop,” Brown said.

“That was a security guard, and anyway, we’ve already bought the death penalty if they get us, so another cop or two won’t matter.”

Brown set his jaw and drove.

“Two rights, now.” In a moment they were approaching a school. “Turn in here; drive around back.” As they came around the corner of the building the van’s headlights picked up a Lincoln Town Car parked near a dumpster. “That’s our ride,” Black said. “Make sure everything is out of the van. Everybody still wearing gloves?”

Affirmative noises came from all three men.

Black got out and rapped on the driver’s window of the Lincoln, and as it came down he found himself looking into the face of a plump, pretty blonde woman. “Hit your trunk release,” he said. He turned to his companions. “I want all three of you in the trunk.”

“What?” Brown asked, incredulous.

“They’re looking for four men in a van, not a woman and a man in a Lincoln. Don’t worry, it’s a big trunk.”

The three men got out of their boiler suits and arranged themselves in the trunk; Black tossed his suit into the trunk along with his bag, tucked his pistol into his waistband and closed the lid. He got into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “I’ll give you directions.”

The woman turned toward him. “Did everything go all right?”

“Shut up and look straight ahead,” Black said. “Have you forgotten your instructions?”

The woman snapped her head around. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s move it, then! Don’t turn your lights on yet; drive to the corner of the building and stop.”

The woman obeyed, sitting quietly while he looked up and down the street.

“All right, turn right out of the parking lot; twenty-five miles an hour, no more.”

The woman followed his instructions. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. “I was about to leave.”

“I’m not going to tell you again to shut up,” Black said. “If you speak again, I’ll throw you out of the car. Do you have your story straight if we’re stopped? Nod your head.”

She nodded.

He finally seemed to have gotten through to her. He began to concentrate on giving her directions.

Half an hour later they crossed a bridge to the island and immediately turned left at a sign for the airport. “Stop here,” he said. He opened the glove compartment and pressed the trunk release button, then got out of the car. His three companions were extricating themselves from their cramped positions and stretching their limbs. One of them took their equipment from the trunk.

“Hey, we made it!” White said, seeing the airport sign. “Good going, Chief Casey!”

Casey opened his mouth to yell at the man; then he saw the woman. She had gotten out of the car and was standing at the rear bumper, looking at them. “Partain,” he said, “you are one stupid son of a bitch.” He pulled the pistol from his belt and raked the woman across the head with the silencer. She went down with no more than a sigh.

“What did you do that for?” Gray asked.

“I did it because she was stupid enough to see all of our faces, and because Partain, here, stupid as he is, told her my name! Now get that bitch into the front seat of the car.”

“What are we going to do with her?” Partain asked.

“What do you think?” Casey said. “Get behind the wheel. You two guys wait here.” He got into the backseat. “Drive back down to the bridge and stop just before you get to it.”

Partain did as he was told. Casey got out and pulled the limp woman into the driver’s position. He turned the steering wheel to the right, put on the emergency brake and put the transmission in drive. He moved the woman’s right leg until her foot rested on the accelerator, pressing lightly on the petal. The car revved slightly and strained against the parking brake. He turned to Partain. “Come here.”

Partain walked over. “Yeah?”

“Release the parking brake,” Casey said.

Partain scratched his head, stepped forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled the control that released the brake. The car jerked forward and began to move toward the side of the road.

As it passed, Casey slammed the driver’s door. The car left the road, gaining speed, and started down the slope of the bridge approach, knocking down small pine trees as it went. At the bottom of the incline the car went over a small cliff and flew through the air toward the narrows. There was a loud splash and white foam spread across the black water.

Casey stood and watched as the waters quieted. Then the Lincoln popped to the surface, or nearly so. The roof could be seen as the car drifted away from the bridge with the current.

“It’s not going to sink!” Partain cried.

“It’s going to sink,” Casey said. “If not here, then down a little ways. The farther from the bridge, the better.” As he watched, bubbles spilled from the cabin, and the car slowly sank from sight. “There,” he said. “They won’t find her for a while.”

The two men trudged back up the hill and joined their two companions. It was a few minutes’ walk to the airport. They skirted the building where the night attendant was and boarded the Cessna, tossing their bags into the luggage compartment with the empty jerry cans. Casey worked his way through the checklist deliberately; he could not allow himself to rush. The engine started quickly, and Casey taxied onto the runway, turning upwind. He pushed the throttle all the way forward; the airplane started its roll, and in a moment, they were airborne.

As they climbed away from the field the lights of Seattle appeared in the distance. Near the center of the city, Casey could see a large fire burning.

“Wow, look at that,” Partain said from the backseat. “We must have ignited a gas main.”

Casey stayed under a thousand feet until they were clear of the Seattle Terminal Control Area, then he began his climb and pointed the Cessna east, toward Idaho. All that remained for him to do on arrival was to remove the taped-on, fake registration number from the side of the airplane and reapply the original numbers.

That, and beat the shit out of Partain, he mused.