The Plan

Chapter 56.

THE GHOST WAS DRESSED IN A SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA Gas Company uniform. Over his right shoulder, he carried a canvas bag with a silenced Ruger Mark II and two 10-shot.22-caliber clips. He was wearing latex gloves and a b lue baseball cap. He found the alarm on the side of th e v alley apartment house and jumped it with alligator clips.

After he had deactivated the alarm box of apartment 4-C, he climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door. He slipped a lock pick into the door and opened it. The doo r c aught at the end of a chain, safety-locked from inside.

He listened, heard nothing, so he put his shoulder to the door and pushed hard. The safety chain popped off the door and landed halfway across the living room.

The Ghost closed the door behind him and began a careful survey of the apartment, checking to confirm it was empty. The dresser top paid a pictorial tribute to Ryan Bolt. One photo was taken at the studio; in it he was smiling, sitting in the front seat of an electric golf cart. Nameplate read THE MERCENARY. A few pictures were taken at industry banquets-Ryan and formally attired table mates with their chairs pulled together flashing manufactured smiles. The Ghost found a back door in the kitchen, whic h e xplained how the chain could be set on the inside. He checked the closet for men's clothing, checked the bathroom, but found no evidence that anybody was living with her. He discovered a small alcove off the kitchen from which he could watch the rear door. He pulled the Ruger.22-caliber automatic out of his bag and worked the slide, putting a round in the chamber. He made sure the silencer was screwed on tight. Then he settled back to wait.

The key turned in the lock at seven-thirty.

Elizabeth Applegate moved into her kitchen carrying a bag of groceries. The Ghost put the cold steel of the automatic behind her ear.

"Set down the bag and put your hands over your head.'…? Who?"

He pressed harder with the barrel. "Do what I said."

Elizabeth set down the groceries and tried to turn around to see who was behind her, so he grabbed her roughly, threw her onto the floor, then landed hard on top of her. Before she could say anything or scream, he shoved a dishrag in her mouth and secured her hands behind her with plastic strip cuffs he'd brought with him. He rolled her over and she found herself looking into the cold, blue eyes and round face of a red-haired man who she thought looked a little like Jerry Colonna without the mustache.

"Okay, Elizabeth, I don't want to hurt you, but I will if that's the way you want it. Your only chance of surviving me is to do exactly what I tell you. You understand?"

She nodded, her eyes blank with desperation. He smiled at her, then pulled her to her feet and pushed her, on numb legs, into the bathroom, where he closed the door and undid the cuffs around her wrists.

"Take off all your clothes," he commanded.

The Ghost had learned that stripping a subject before an interrogation made getting information easier. You eliminated resistance and introduced a sexual threat for both men and women.

She started unbuttoning her loose-fitting print dress, then let it fall to the floor. She was in her bra and panties.

"Let's go. All of it. I'm losing patience." With a shaking hand, Elizabeth undid her bra and removed her panties and stood naked in front of him.

"Isn't that better? Look at you," he said, smiling.

He grabbed her roughly and retied her hands with the plastic cuffs. "Now get into the tub." She moved backward and stepped into the tub.

"Lie down, Elizabeth, on your back."

She was about to vomit. Fear had turned her stomach to acid and she started to gag. The Ghost had been waiting for it. It almost always happened. He yanked the gag out of her mouth as she threw up on herself.

Then he forced her to lie in her own stomach fluid. She was lost in terror. "Don't kill me," she rasped at him through a throat burning with aspirated vomit. "That depends how good a girl you decide to be." "I'll be good."

"Wonderful. I'm here to find out about Ryan Bolt." "Who?" she said, not even knowing why she said it. He struck her across the mouth with the gun. She screamed as she felt her lip split open. Her mouth fille d w ith blood.

"What did you say?" he asked softly.

"Okay, okay, don't… don't…" And she started gagging on the blood flowing in her mouth.

"Where does Ryan do his banking? I went out to his condo on the beach; there's no financial records there. I need to know what charge cards he has… who pays his bills… stuff like that," he said.

"Uh… Who pays his bills?"

"That's right. Simple little answer to that question gets you home free, Elizabeth."

"Uh… uh, Jerry… uh, Jerry, uh…" She was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Slow down, take a breath. Jerry who?"

"Jerry Upshaw, his agent. They had like a business managing service where they'd do the bills and stuff for an extra five percent."

"So, where's this guy's office?"

"He's in a private building called The Mayflower on Vine. Jerry dropped Ryan as a client. But he's still doing his bills until Ryan gets back in town." She was looking at the redheaded man hopefully. "Can I get out now?"

"Hell yes. We're through, and Elizabeth, I want to thank you for your splendid cooperation. It's really been a huge help."

She struggled to get up. He waited until she was in a crouch and then fired the Ruger. The silenced automatic jumped in his hand. The bullet hit Elizabeth in the forehead. The back of her head exploded; and her brains flew up onto the tile splash. She reeled backward and hit the wall just under the shower head, then slid down and finally came to rest in her own vomit and blood.

The Ghost unscrewed the silencer and did a quick survey of the apartment to make sure he'd left nothing behind. He left by the front door, got into his car parked a few blocks away, and drove into the summer night.

Upshaw's office was on the first floor of The Mayflower building at Mayflower and Vine. The Ghost found the alarm in an outdoor utility box. Ridiculous, he thought. The alarm didn't even have a police dialer on it. He disarmed it and found a back window, worked it open with a screwdriver, and shinnied in. The computer he was looking for was in an office marked CLIENT ACCOUNTING. He turned it on and punched in "Bolt." Magically, there on the screen was Ryan's financial history. He moved quickly through the data bank until he found Ryan's credit card accounts. He started to scan them and then saw something that turned his mood black. Ryan had used his AmEx card in San Diego. He'd withdrawn ten thousand dollars.

"Damn," the Ghost said. With that much cash, Ryan wouldn't leave a paper trail. He scanned the computer for Ryan's airline mileage card numbers and wrote them down. Then he shut off the computer and left the way he came in, closing the window and resetting the alarm.

Back at his small hotel in Hollywood, he went to the phone book and looked up airlines in the Yellow Pages. One by one, he would check them all.

The flight from San Diego landed at Phoenix International Airport. Ryan walked down the ramp without crutches. Lucinda was at his side. Kaz and Cole greeted them at the gate, and as they shook hands, the ex-fed and the ex-IR were amazed that Ryan could walk at all. Both Ryan and Lucinda were the color of walnut. They made a spectacular couple. With Lucinda's long black hair and Ryan's white-blond, they were turning heads in the airport as they moved down the corridor to the airline counter.

"I wouldn't' ve believed it if I wasn't seeing it," Kaz said, looking down at Ryan's left leg as he walked with only a slight limp.

"I'm not gonna be making any sharp cuts over the middle, but I'm not bad if I move straight ahead."

Ryan and Lucinda had packed only carry-on luggage, just one change of clothes and their toilet articles. They'd left the boat at a Mexican marina and paid the dockmaster to watch it for a month.

Kaz had the airline schedules in his hand.

"We take a two o'clock United flight to Atlanta and then connect with the El Al transatlantic direct to Tel Aviv," he said as they moved up to the United Airlines desk, where Ryan paid for all the tickets with cash. The ticket agent found Ryan's name in her computer and automatically credited his mileage account without mentioning it. An hour later, they were boarding the first leg of the flight.

"United Airlines," a man's voice said over the phone. "You guys are screwing me on my MileagePlus. I fly on your airline and you don't give me credit?" the Ghost said. This was the fourth airline he'd called.

"Couldyou give me your name sir and your MileagePlus number? I'll get your account on the screen."

"Ryan Bolt," he said and then gave the number he got from Jerry Upshaw's office. He waited as he heard the computer keys clicking over the phone.

"Well, sir, I have your account here. This is odd… We just credited your account with forty thousand miles."

"That's impossible." The Ghost grabbed for a pen on the nightstand.

"No, sir… Four tickets from Phoenix to Atlanta and then continuing on from Atlanta to Tel Aviv on El Al Flight 2356. Is this Mr. Bolt? Where are you calling from?" The man was starting to get suspicious.

"My mistake." The Ghost hung up abruptly.

Then he called El Al Airlines. "You have a flight from Atlanta to Tel Aviv?"

"Yes, sir, Flight 2356, leaving at seven P. M. arriving at eleven A. M." a man informed him.

"Can you get me out of LAX so that I can meet that flight in Israel?"

Computer keys clicked.

"Yes, sir. Flight 3476 leaves LAX at four this afternoon and arrives in Tel Aviv at nine A. M. That would be two hours ahead of the Atlanta flight. Do you want me to book you?"

"Yes, please. The name is Harold Meeks."

The Ghost packed his small suitcase, then called a cab. Before he left, he placed a call to Mickey Alo on the scrambled line.

"I just found out they're going to Israel."

"Really?" The mobster had left the dining room table to take the call. He still had his monogrammed napkin in his hand.

"Why would they be going to Tel Aviv?" the Ghost asked.

"Don't know."

"There are four of them traveling together. Do you have any idea who's with them?"

"Just get it done. I thought you were the best. What's taking so long?"

"Mr. Alo, it's much easier for me to take care of it in Israel. I have contacts over there. People die unexpectedly in that country all the time. Don't worry, it's better this way."

After he hung up, he dialed a man named Akmad Jam Jarrar in Paris. Akmad wasn't in, so he left a message in his hotel voice mail that said, "I need to get the old crew together. Meet me immediately in Tel Aviv, the Hotel American. Same terms as always. The Ghost."