Swimming to Catalina

63

Stone sat on one of two leather-upholstered bench seats, between Tommy and Zip, while Ippolito and Sturmack occupied the opposite bench. It was remarkable how quiet it was inside the machine, he thought. The rotors were a distant thump.

“Where to, Mr. Ippolito?” the pilot asked over his shoulder.

“Ensenada,” Ippolito answered. “Maximum speed.”

“I’ll have to call ATC for a clearance,” the pilot said.

“Fuck the clearance; you get down low over the water and you get us to Ensenada fast. What’s our ETA?”

“That will take just a minute, sir.”

Sturmack spoke up. “Oney, what are you doing? Why do you want to go to Ensenada?”

“Because Tijuana is too obvious.” He picked up a cell phone fixed to a bulkhead and punched in a number. “This is Mr. Ippolito,” he said. “I want the G-5 off the ground immediately; file for Ensenada, full fuel, you got that?”

There was some sort of reply from the other end.

“Thirty minutes is too long, make it fifteen. I’ll meet the airplane there.” He hung up.

“Oney,” Sturmack said, “I don’t get it; why are we headed for Mexico?”

“Come on, David, you’re not that stupid. Do you think Barrington is dumb enough just to walk into my office with no backup? He didn’t kill Billy O’Hara, he’s not the type. O’Hara has spilled everything, and I’d give you odds my office is swarming with cops right this minute.”

Stone smiled. “Good guess,” he said.

“What about my wife?” Sturmack asked. “I can’t just leave her.”

Ippolito handed him the phone. “Call her and tell her to get the next plane to Panama; we’ll only be in Ensenada long enough to change aircraft.”

Sturmack began dialing.

Stone looked out the window. They were crossing the coast now, at about a thousand feet, he reckoned.

“Charlie,” Ippolito yelled, “get this thing down on the water, do you hear me? The cops have choppers too, you know.”

The helicopter began a rapid descent. Stone watched the masts at Marina Del Rey flash by.

Sturmack handed the phone back to Ippolito. “I can’t believe we’re just running,” he said. “I’m seventy years old; I don’t want to live in Panama.”

“We’ll be headed south from there,” Ippolito said. “You can pick your country; I’ll send you wherever you want to go in the G-5. Besides, it may not be over; we may be able to come back when the lawyers get a grip on this.”

Stone spoke up. “No, it’s over, Oney; within twenty-four hours they’ll have it all. There’ll be nothing left but a shell.”

“I’ll get to you in a minute,” Ippolito said. He dialed another number. “Hello, this is Onofrio Ippolito; let me speak to Martin Barone.” He listened for a minute, then disconnected. “Was Marty at his office?” he asked Sturmack.

“Yes, I was with him before I came to your office.”

“Then the cops have got him; they’re answering the phone there.”

“That’ll be the FBI,” Stone said, “along with the IRS. They’ve not only got Barone, they’ve got all his computers. Oh, and don’t bother to call Albacore; it’s the same there and at the bank. There is no longer any safe harbor for you, Oney.”

Ippolito glared at Stone for a moment, then turned to the pilot. “Charlie, you got that ETA for Ensenada?”

“One hour and forty-one minutes, sir,” the pilot said.

“How far offshore are we?”

“About five miles.”

“How fast you going?”

“A hundred and thirty-five knots.”

“At what speed is it safe to open the door back here?”

“I’d have to hover for that, sir.”

Ippolito looked at Stone again. “Hover, Charlie,” he said.

Rick and Dino piled into the police helicopter, and the machine rose into the air. The noise was deafening. Rick put on a headset and handed one to Dino.

“Where to, Lieutenant?” the pilot asked.

“South by southwest; we’re looking for a large executive helicopter, black in color.”

“That sounds like the Safe Harbor Bank chopper,” the pilot said, picking up speed. “I know a lot of the local choppers by sight, and that’s the only black one I can think of.”

“That’s the one,” Rick said. “Can I hear your radios on this thing?”

“Yes sir.”

“You listen for reports of that chopper; we’ve got everything we can muster in the air, looking for it.”

“Yes sir.”

“Pilot, if you were running for the border now, how would you do it?”

“I’d get out over the water and stay low, under the radar, sir.”

“Do it.”

It was clear to Stone that he was not going to make it to Ensenada, let alone to Panama. The helicopter was slowing rapidly. Stone reached into an inside pocket for his handkerchief and mopped his brow. When he replaced the handkerchief his hand came out holding both Mont Blanc pens.

Ippolito looked at Tommy and Zip. “When this thing is hovering, open the door, shoot Barrington and throw him out. And don’t make a mess in the helicopter, you got me?”

Both men nodded.

Stone had two shots to fire, and there were four men in the helicopter with him. Sturmack was still looking ill and didn’t seem much of a threat; Ippolito probably wasn’t armed. Tommy and Zip certainly were. He could go for the pilot, but that would just take everybody with him; he didn’t want to go at all.

They were hovering now. Zip reached out and slid back the door of the helicopter, and when he sat back, there was a gun in his hand.

Go for the weapons, Stone thought. He quickly raised both hands under the chins of the two goons and squeezed both pens. There was a very loud noise and blood and brains were suddenly everywhere. Stone reached over and took the gun from Zip’s dead hand.

David Sturmack’s face changed from ill to horrified. He began clawing at his chest as if he wanted to dig out his heart.

Ippolito looked at him with disgust. “I should have known you weren’t up to this, David,” he said, then he grabbed Sturmack by the shoulder and pushed him out of the helicopter.

Stone watched him fall the fifty feet into the water, and that was a mistake. Suddenly Ippolito was all over him. The man was solidly built, and he was motivated. Stone was taking punches to the head from Ippolito’s right, while his left had hold of the barrel of the automatic in Stone’s right hand.

Stone fought back with his left, landed a couple of punches, but was taking more than he was giving. He took a hard fist to the temple, and his vision went blurry, then he was on the floor of the helicopter, on top of the corpses of Tommy and Zip, and Ippolito was on top of him, flailing away. Stone managed to turn on his left side, bringing Ippolito down to his level and limiting the power of his punches.

Then Ippolito gave up throwing punches and used his right to help his left hand deal with the gun. He grabbed hold of it with both hands and yanked, and it went off with a roar.

Stone saw the back of the pilot’s head explode.

The helicopter began to rotate, at first slowly, then faster and faster.

Stone couldn’t tell whether it was going up or down, until it hit the water with a crash. With the rear door open, the machine had no chance to float. Stone forgot about Ippolito and started trying to get out. The gun left his hand; he didn’t know if Ippolito had it or if it was going to the bottom.

Stone broke the surface. He seemed always to be doing that, he thought. How many good suits had he ruined? The black helicopter was gone now, but somehow it was still making noise; the air was filled with the sound of the rotor.

Then, as Stone watched, Ippolito broke the surface some six feet in front of him. He looked very angry, and he was holding Zip’s automatic, which, Stone reckoned, still had another twelve or fourteen rounds in the clip. Stone ducked under the water.

His eyes were open, and he saw something good: the water just next to Ippolito exploded, and the pistol that had been in the banker’s hand was sinking fast.

Stone surfaced. Above and in front of him was an LAPD helicopter; Rick Grant was sitting in its open door, his feet on the strut below him and a shotgun in his hands. The shotgun was pointed at Ippolito, who was angrily treading water.

Then Stone saw Dino, holding a bunch of life jackets, jump out of the police helicopter. He came up sputtering. “You owe me one Armani suit!” he yelled, handing Stone a life jacket and tossing one to Ippolito.

Stone grabbed him and kissed him on the forehead.

“Get off me!” Dino screamed. “The suit will be enough!”

Other helicopters arrived, and other people were in the water, dealing with Ippolito. Rick’s helicopter had its struts in the water now.

Stone and Dino started swimming for the chopper.