Private Beijing

Chapter 82

They sat in the Nissan Rogue a couple of hundred yards north of Tate and his team, who were in the process of being arrested. Justine was despondent to think that the man who’d caused them so much harm would go free, and when she looked at Sci she saw he shared her feelings.

Mo-bot was busy in the back, tapping away on her laptop, while further along Port Road, the police took custody of Tate and his team.

“I know how they did it,” Mo-bot said, turning her laptop so Justine and Sci could see. She zoomed in on one of the screens in the operations room at Federal Plaza. “This is from the camera I placed in the ops room. The resolution is terrible because I’m really zoomed in, but look what the dashcam of Tate’s vehicle picks up when they stop at this intersection on Route Nine.”

Justine peered at the screen but just saw the silver Escalade in a line of traffic.

“I don’t see anything,” she admitted.

“I got it,” Sci said.

“Look at the gap between the lines of vehicles to the left of the Escalade,” Mo-bot suggested as she rewound the video.

She pressed play and Justine kept her eyes fixed on the shadowy space between two blurry lines of traffic. And then she saw it: a ghost figure moving between the two streams of vehicles, crouching and furtive, running quickly from one line to the other.

“He switched vehicles,” Mo-bot said. “They must have had another one shadowing them.”

“Or a number of them,” Sci suggested.

“And the cops on speed dial to ensure there was a big scene, so Tate and his people couldn’t pick up another trail,” Mo-bot added.

“You think Angel made the flight?” Justine asked.

Mo-bot shook her head. “I don’t think they’d risk it. If they knew they were being watched, they’ll know we know about the flight and would be likely to stop it.”

“Back to the embassy?” Justine suggested.

Mo-bot considered the idea. “I don’t think so. They won’t want to do this again. Besides, we’re weakened. Tate is down and we’re blind. This is the best time to get him out. I think there’s another flight.”

“From where?” Sci asked.

“It won’t be from here. Not with all this heat around,” Mo-bot remarked, gesturing at the police presence up ahead. “Go back toward the Expressway.”

She returned to her laptop and got to work.

Justine pulled a U-turn and glanced in her rear-view mirror to see Tate and his team being forced into the back of police vehicles while the Chinese diplomats were released.

Mo-bot worked furiously as Justine drove toward the Expressway. They could see the southbound lanes starting to slow as the airport traffic backed up with travelers trying to make rush-hour flights. The northbound carriageway looked pretty clear, so if they had to go to JFK or LaGuardia they would have a reasonable run until they hit the city.

“Turn around again,” Mo-bot instructed. “Call Carver. Tell him to stop flight PY 984, leaving from Linden Airport.”

Sci took out his phone while Justine did exactly as instructed and turned south.

“There are three private jets leaving for China this evening. Two from JFK and one from LaGuardia. Both airports are on the other side of the river, which puts them at least two hours away at this time of day, but this fourth plane is heading for Seattle. No big deal except in the past six months it’s made fifteen Seattle-to-Beijing flights and back. And Linden Airport is only twenty minutes from here.” She typed another command and her eyes widened. “The aircraft is owned by Golden Journeys Aviation, which in turn is owned by Liu Investments. This is the one.”

“Secretary Carver,” Sci said. “Seymour Kloppenberg, sir... No, sir... Your friends ran into trouble. They were picked up by airport police. It seems the man we want pulled a switch and is leaving from Linden Airport. Flight PY 984. Our resident computer nerd wants you to stop it... Yes, sir.”

Mo-bot was glaring when Sci hung up.

“Computer nerd?” Her tone was frosty.

“I didn’t want to use any names.”

“You used your own,” she noted.

“I didn’t want to put you at risk,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“You just wanted to tell the Secretary of Defense I’m a nerd.” Mo-bot grunted her displeasure but said no more.

Justine took less-travelled back roads south and was soon on Edgar Road, cutting through the small town of Linden. The rush-hour traffic slowed to a crawl as they passed the stores and malls that lined both side of their route. The parking lots were filling up with vehicles and people crowded into stores. Justine found every minute they had to wait sheer torture.

Finally, they turned left onto the airport approach road.

“There!” Mo-bot announced, pointing.

Justine pulled over and the three of them got out to see a green Jeep Cherokee parked beside a Gulfstream jet. Three police vehicles surrounded the aircraft and Angel was being held down on the hood of one of them by two very large officers. He was about one hundred yards away, sufficiently close to register Justine, Sci, and Mo-bot watching him through the chain-link fence.

He frowned when his eyes met Justine’s, but she didn’t feel triumphant, just satisfied there was a chance Lewis’s killer would now face justice. There was a roar as a small commercial jet came in to land.

As its wheels touched the runway, Angel broke free of his captors and tried to make a run for it. One of the cops pulled his Taser and shot the big man in the back. He went down, convulsing. The other officer walked over, removed the barbs and handcuffed him.

“Well, I’m glad I got to see it,” Sci remarked with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“You did more than see it,” Justine replied. “This wouldn’t have happened without the two of you.”

“I think she’s right,” he observed.

“We just did what any good citizens would have done,” Mo-bot replied, and Justine got the distinct impression the two of them were mocking her.

“Well, if you can’t take a compliment,” she countered.

“That was a compliment?” Sci asked.

Exasperated, Justine turned away and headed for the Nissan.

“Did you know that was a compliment?” Sci asked Mo-bot.

“Quit it, Kloppenberg,” Mo-bot told him. “She’s taking it to heart. Come on, Justine, we were just fooling around. We love you, kid.”

“I know,” she replied, turning back with a big smile on her face.

“She suckered us,” Mo-bot said to Sci.

“This is why I don’t trust profilers,” he replied. “They know too much about how we all tick. Get out of my head, Justine Smith.”

“Come on,” she said. “Stop goofing around. I know you’re excited at a job well done, but Jack’s still out there facing who knows what. Let’s get back to the city.”

Mo-bot and Sci dropped the double act immediately. They got into the Nissan and Justine drove them back to Manhattan.