Last Breath

53

The distance from Brentwood to the Santa Monica Municipal Airport was two miles, a trip that normally took about fifteen minutes in the congested streets. The police convoy made it in five, with Tanner in the lead, flashing the light bar of his squad car and blaring the siren.

He pulled into the airport parking lot just as the big Sikorsky helicopter was setting down on the helipad. The Sikorsky was one of four U.S. Navy SH-3H Sea Kings recently purchased by the Sheriff’s Department, three of which had been adapted for search and rescue operations. Most of the time, this meant carrying paramedics to remote locations, but occasionally it was a Sheriff’s SWAT team that took the ride.

Tonight was one of those times. A SWAT squad led by Deputy Garrett Pardon was already forming up. The Sikorsky, which had flown north from the department’s Aero Bureau station in Long Beach, would head to a county airfield east of downtown LA, which would serve as the rendezvous point.

Tanner wasn’t part of Pardon’s squad, but he figured Pardon wouldn’t object to another man on the job. And if he did, to hell with him. Tanner had come this far, and he wasn’t bugging out now.

He waved the LAPD detectives-Walsh and Cellini, and the two others whose names he hadn’t caught-out of their unmarked cars and led them across the asphalt to the chopper. The air crew hailed him when he climbed aboard.

“Hear we’re lookin’ for a bad guy,” the pilot yelled over the thrum of the motor.

Tanner nodded. “Near San Dimas. Got a cell site and that’s all.”

“Cell tower in that part of the county could cover a lot of territory.”

“That’s why we need to be airborne. For the bird’s-eye view.” And for speed, Tanner added silently. There was no faster way to cover the thirty-seven miles from the Westside to San Dimas than by air.

The chopper’s interior had been stripped down for medevac use, and the only seats were benches along the walls. Walsh and the others took their seats, and instantly the Sikorsky was under way, floating upward as the land diminished to a checkerboard of lights. Tanner saw that the Sea King was equipped with a video display screen that showed its current location, tracked via GPS, superimposed over a moving topological map. Heading and distance were displayed on the screen in digital readouts. There would be a FLIR display as well-Forward Looking Infrared, which picked up the heat signatures of vehicles and even persons, showing them on the video screen.

If Adam Nolan was there, they would spot him. And C.J. too-if she was alive.

Tanner shifted restlessly. The Sikorsky was flying fast, but maybe not fast enough.

He thought of the slick blond man in the lobby of the Newton station house, the guy who dressed like a young lawyer and conveyed a lawyer’s phony charm, and he wondered if the fucker was murdering C.J. right now, at this minute.

“Hang on, Killer,” he breathed, talking to her across the miles. “Cavalry’s coming.”