Reckless Abandon

37

THE THREE OF them sat in Lance’s car, half a block from the building. They had been waiting for half an hour.

“Why do we think they’re coming out soon?” Holly asked.

“Because they’re not going to keep him in a place that’s no longer safe from you,” Lance replied. “They’ll get him out as soon as they can arrange another location.”

Another half an hour passed, then a dark van turned into the block and stopped in front of the building. There was a radio antenna on top. A moment later, Trini and the four FBI agents came out of the building, two of them carrying suitcases.

“You were right, Lance,” Stone said. “They’re moving him.”

Lance spoke to his driver. “Follow the van, but stay well back.”

The van pulled away, went around the block, and turned down Second Avenue. Traffic was fairly heavy. They followed it down Second Avenue to Sixty-sixth Street, where it turned right and drove west, continuing through Central Park.

“Looks like they’re moving him to the West Side,” Stone said. “I wonder why they still have him in New York? Why didn’t they send him to Minneapolis or Seattle or someplace no one would think to look for him?”

“Because somebody as exotic-looking as Trini would stand out like a sore thumb in a white-bread city,” Lance replied. “They’d send him to the Southwest. Except they haven’t, of course.”

The van left the park and continued west to Eleventh Avenue, then turned downtown.

“Maybe Chelsea?” Stone said.

“Maybe not,” Lance replied. “Let’s wait and see.”

As the van approached Forty-second Street it moved to the left lane.

“They’re headed for the Holland Tunnel,” Stone said.

The van turned left, then right and went into the tunnel.

“Stay well back,” Lance reiterated.

The van left the tunnel and got onto Route 3 West.

“This is starting to seem familiar,” Stone said.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“It’s the route I take to Teterboro Airport.”

“Ahhh,” Lance said. “Maybe they’re really moving him.”

The van turned north on Route 17.

“Yep,” Stone said.

A few miles along, the van turned right at the airport sign.

“Okay, which FBO?” Lance asked.

“The big ones are Atlantic, Millionaire, First, and Signature,” Stone said. “They’re all on the west side of the field.”

“They’re turning into Millionaire,” Lance said.

“Better stop here. They’ll check IDs at the gate. Driver, continue on to Atlantic Aviation.”

“Why?” Lance asked.

“Because I can get us onto the field there,” Stone said. He got out his NYPD badge and his Teterboro ID card, and in a moment they were being buzzed through the gate to the ramp. “Turn off your lights, turn right, and drive slowly south until you get to the Millionaire ramp.”

They drove on for a hundred yards.

“Stop,” Lance said, pointing. “Only one airplane ready for takeoff.” He dug a pair of small binoculars out of the glove compartment and trained them on the airplane. “Can’t see the registration number.”

“Just wait,” Stone said. “The airplane will turn right as it leaves the ramp, and you’ll be able to see it.”

The door to the jet closed, and it began to taxi. As Stone had predicted, it turned right.

“Got it,” Lance said, jotting down the number. “Don’t move the car, just let them taxi right past us.” He got out his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial number. “This is Echo 4141,” he said. “I need the current flight plan for the following aircraft registration number.” He read out the tail number. “It will be activated at Teterboro, New Jersey, momentarily. I need the destination and any stops in between.” He put a hand over the phone. “They’re logging on the FAA’s Air Traffic Control computer now,” he said to the backseat. “Yes? Thank you. I’d like a trace on the aircraft in case it changes destinations, and I’d like to know what time it is projected to land. Right.” He hung up. “Their destination is Santa Fe, New Mexico,” he said.

“I wonder why Santa Fe?” Holly asked.

“Trini will blend in with the large Hispanic population there. It sounds like a final destination, too. If they were going to put him on a commercial flight, they’d go to Albuquerque. Santa Fe has few commercial flights, and none late at night.”

“Can you get someone to cover the arrival and follow them to their destination?” Stone asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t stretch my authority that far, since I’m based in New York. I’m not even sure we have anybody on the ground in Santa Fe. Maybe Albuquerque, though.”

They watched as the jet took off and turned to the southwest.

“We may as well go home,” Lance said.

“Did they give you an ETA for Santa Fe?” Stone asked.

“They’ve flight-planned for four hours and ten minutes,” Lance replied.

Stone looked at his watch.

“It’s two hours earlier in Santa Fe. You know somebody out there?” Holly asked.

“I used to, but it’s been a long time,” Stone said.

“It’s worth a try,” Holly said.

“What the hell, I’ll try,” Stone said, getting out his cell phone. “I did some work once with a lawyer out there. If he remembers me, maybe he’ll help.” He dialed information. “A number in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for the residence of Ed Eagle,” he said. “Please connect me.” While the number rang, he turned to Holly. “You really want to chase him down?”

“More than anything.”

“Hello,” a deep voice said at the other end of the phone.

“Ed?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Ed, this is Stone Barrington, in New York. We did a little work together a few years back.”

“Of course, Stone. How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you. I hope you are, as well.”

“I can’t complain. Business is brisk and life is sweet.”

“Well, you can’t ask for more than that. Ed, I need something done in Santa Fe, and I hope you can help me.”

“I will if I can. What do you need?”

“I need a private detective, or just somebody smart, to meet a private jet that’s going to be landing in Santa Fe in about four hours. There are three to five men aboard, and I want them followed to their destination.”

“I think I know a fellow who can handle that,” Eagle said. “Anything else he should know?”

“One of them is wanted in Florida on a fugitive warrant. The others are FBI agents, and they’ll probably be met by an FBI car.”

“A fugitive traveling with FBI agents?”

“It’s complicated. I’ll explain it when I get there.”

“You’re coming out, then?”

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning in my own airplane; probably be there in time for dinner. Can you recommend a hotel?”

“How many are you?”

“Myself and a lady cop.”

“Can you share a room?”

“You betcha.”

“Then I insist you stay with me. Call me at your fuel stop and give me an ETA, and I’ll meet you.”

“Thank you, Ed. If the destination of these parties is not local, then I’ll need to know that. It might cause a change of plan.”

“I’ll call you by eight tomorrow morning, your time, and give you my man’s report on their destination.”

“Thank you, Ed. I’ll speak to you then.” He hung up and turned to Holly. “Okay, we’re going to Santa Fe.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t fly commercial?”

“I don’t fly commercial, except overseas.”