Red Right Hand

19.

THE CHARTER JET touched down in Palo Alto a little after nine a.m., jarring Hendricks awake when the landing gear connected with the tarmac.

Pale sunlight poured through the cabin’s windows. Hendricks yawned and stretched, plush leather creaking beneath him. His limbs were stiff and sore but he was happy for the rest. Cameron, who sat facing him in a beige leather recliner of her own, looked as if she’d fared less well. Her face was pale. Her eyes were bloodshot, the flesh around them dark-smudged. She pecked idly at her laptop-which was plugged into the outlet beside her and tapped into the aircraft’s Wi-Fi-as she’d been doing before Hendricks dozed off hours ago.

When Hendricks had returned to Cameron’s car after his meeting with Thompson, she’d cocked her head and said, “You don’t look happy.”

“The person waiting for me wasn’t who I was expecting.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much from your tone when you walked in. Then the line cut out, and I got worried. I had half a mind to come in after you.”

“It didn’t cut out. I hung up on you.”

“Why?”

Hendricks’s mind conjured an image of Lester’s mangled corpse cast aside like shreds of orange rind once Engelmann had extracted the information he’d desired. “We were discussing things I didn’t want you overhearing. Things it isn’t safe for you to know.”

An awkward silence stretched between them. “So what happens now?” Cameron asked eventually. “I drop you somewhere, and we go our separate ways?”

He shook his head. “The situation’s changed. You said you grew up in the Bay Area?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know it well?”

“Are you kidding? My parents worked like a hundred hours a week, and I was a good kid, so they were more than willing to leave me to my own devices. I spent more time in the city than I did at home.”

“Congratulations, then. You’re officially my tour guide.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me. We’re going to San Francisco.”

Hendricks had called in a favor and got them on a private jet out of Philly-a sleek, luxurious Citation X+ with room for twelve and twin Rolls-Royce Allison engines so powerful that its top speed bumped up against the sound barrier. Cessna claimed it was the fastest civilian aircraft in the world, and unlike most charter jets, it could travel coast to coast without refueling. It cost just shy of twenty-three million dollars, not counting fuel and upkeep. A single cross-country flight ran twenty-five grand.

Hendricks knew all that because the guy who owned the plane-a former client named Morales-had made sure to tell him. It was clear Hendricks’s request had put him out. Hendricks hated cashing in so big a chip, but time was of the essence, and the TSA was on high alert, which made traveling-while-criminal a bad idea. Plus, commercial flights to the Bay Area were grounded. The only reason the tiny Palo Alto Airport-which boasted a single runway, and warned pilots on approach to watch out for jackrabbits-was open to private travelers was its proximity to Silicon Valley. The tech lobby had pressured Congress to ensure their top executives could get in and out, and Congress had in turn pressured the FAA.

The flight from Philly had taken five hours-two with the time change. The Cessna had raced the breaking dawn across the country, flying toward darkness pricked with stars, the sky bloodred behind it the whole way. Hendricks had dozed off long before daylight overtook them. Cameron, apparently, hadn’t.

“I thought I told you to get some sleep,” he said.

“I tried. My brain wouldn’t let me. I don’t know how you do it.”

“What, sleep?”

“Yeah. After everything that happened yesterday. Knowing what we’re walking into.”

“We’re not walking into anything-I am. You’re going to hang back and support me from afar, like we discussed.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the coverage,” she said. “It’s getting ugly out there. Someone set fire to a mosque in Dearborn, Michigan. A Sikh cabbie in Los Angeles was dragged from his car and beaten. And the Feds raided some poor guy’s apartment in Alameda an hour ago on what turned out to be a false lead called in by a pissed-off neighbor.”

“Any follow-up attacks?”

“Not yet, and I’ve seen no further mention of the old guy from the video.”

“How about the mess we left in Port Jefferson?”

“Nothing new, although the paper speculated it was a gangland killing.”

Not too far off, Hendricks thought, and at least that line of questioning kept interest away from Cameron. “Anything else I ought to know?”

“I downloaded some apps to your phone because the preinstalled ones sucked. Maps, GPS, video chat-the BART app too, while I was at it.”

“Bart?”

“Bay Area Rapid Transit.”

“You think I’m gonna catch a lot of buses while I’m in town?”

Cameron reddened. “It’s more than buses. The app keeps track of trains, cable cars, ferries…although I guess not so much that last one lately.”

“Water traffic’s still shut down, huh?”

“Yeah. Sounds like the search has been slow-going. They’ve been bringing food and water out to the smaller vessels to tide them over until they can be cleared. Anyway, I figured the app might come in handy for a guy who doesn’t know the town. Chance favors the prepared mind, as my mom would say.”

“Thanks,” he said.

The aircraft taxied to a stop. Silence descended upon the cabin as the engines wound down. Then the cockpit door opened, and the pilot stepped out. “Welcome to sunny Palo Alto,” he said, his tone teetering between bored and irritated. “Enjoy your stay.”

The air was cool, the airport quiet. Small private aircraft were parked in rows, two- and four-seaters mostly, single-engine prop planes belonging to rich hobbyists. Most of the airport’s outbuildings were shuttered and dark. Palo Alto was situated on the southwestern tip of San Francisco Bay, where the water peters off to wetlands. The airport was bordered by a salt marsh to the north and east, and a municipal golf course to the south and west. Through the morning haze, Hendricks could just make out the gentle rise of the mountains across the bay.

A man in an orange vest and coveralls pointed them toward a nondescript gate in the chain-link fence that surrounded the airport. From this side, at least, it was unlocked.

When they reached the parking lot, Hendricks frowned. It contained maybe a dozen cars.

“What’s wrong?” Cameron asked.

“We need a ride.”

“And?”

“This is a short-term lot. If any of these went missing, they’d be reported by day’s end. Besides, without proper tools, boosting one could take a while, and we’re liable to be seen.”

“I’m guessing Uber’s not an option.”

Hendricks shook his head. “In my line of work, it doesn’t pay to leave a trail.”

Cameron poked at her phone a moment. Then her face brightened. “I have an idea.”

She led him southwest on Embarcadero Road, four lanes bracketed by sidewalks and lined with trees. To their right, as they walked, was the golf course. To their left, an office park. The golf course was empty. Most of the businesses were closed.

After a quarter mile or so, they reached a shuttered auto-rental agency. Cameron circled it, glancing at her phone from time to time. Then she sat down in the shadow of a live oak and took her laptop from its bag.

Hendricks eyed the building with suspicion. Surveillance cameras monitored the parking lot. Sensors protected the windows and doors. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, kid, but I can tell you that it’s not a good idea.”

“Shh.”

“Rental places track their inventory pretty closely-”

“I said be quiet.”

“-and this place is wired for security, which means-”

“For Christ’s sake,” Cameron snapped, “would you shut up and let me work?”

Hendricks fell silent.

Three minutes later, the overhead door on the far side of the building rattled open.

“Cameron,” he said warily, “what did you do?”

“You said we needed a ride no one would miss. This place is closed until Monday, and their after-hours return slot drops the keys into the garage. If we swipe a car before it’s checked back in, they’ll just assume it hasn’t been returned yet.”

“What about the security system?”

“Please. I shut it off before I triggered the door. If they were serious about security, they would have locked down their wireless network. They’re practically begging to be hacked.”

“And the cameras?”

“Currently experiencing technical difficulties. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole day’s feed was compromised.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Hendricks said, smiling.

“Isn’t it?” Cameron replied. “Now, how about we go pick out some wheels?”