“That’s what we say.”
“That’s my point. There’s a reason you say it.’”
I couldn’t argue with that, and though he wasn’t answering my question, he also wasn’t exiting the room. For me, that confirmed that he wanted to continue the conversation.
So I followed up with a less intrusive question, one I thought I already knew the answer to, but which would lay the groundwork for what I really wanted to ask. “Abel,” I said, “why do you need human agents to carry out the abductions?”
“Your predecessor figured that one out pretty quickly.”
“Too many wildcards outside these walls,” I said. “Anything can go wrong at any time, and it’s not worth taking that chance.”
“That’s right.”
With that confirmed, I thought I could move on to the topic I really wanted to explore. I had come to believe that the alien’s primary concern—what kept him from interacting with humans any more than he needed to—was not that humans might discover him, but that his own kind might discover him. He feared them, and that was the chief motivation behind his hands-off approach. And the longer I worked for the alien, the more I was convinced that this was his real concern. After all, it seemed that Abel had enough technological tricks up his sleeve to evade human detection fairly easily. He could point any investigation in another direction by creating phony, digital footprints—fake evidence.
But just before I was about to ask about this, I decided not to. I don’t know why. Maybe it was my instinct suddenly telling me that I had to keep some cards to myself. But whatever it was that led to that decision, I’d later be thankful for it. Because, as it turned out, there would a far better time to bring this up.
And then, as if Abel knew that I had zeroed in on his real fear, he said, “Time to return the target.” And he turned away and headed out of the living room, bringing the conversation to an end.
*
I put my overnight bag in the car, which I now kept in the garage, then went back into the house. I went online and checked the 5 for traffic, scanning all the way down to San Diego to see if the rush hour had abated. It hadn’t.
So I turned on the TV and began to flip through the channels until I landed on the KTLA morning show; it was running a report about Ben’s disappearance. The report was just a rehashing of old facts. It had been months since Ben had vanished, so his disappearance had dropped off of everyone’s radar screen—except mine. And Ben’s wife’s and Mason’s. That was for sure.
Diane, Ben’s wife, had reported him missing in the wee hours of the morning after Abel had murdered him. But I didn’t see the report appear in any of the police blotters until forty-eight hours later. When it hit the blotters, the local news ran with it, and ran with it hard. It made for a good mystery on two levels. First, Ben had vanished without a trace. And second, reporters had found the same thing I’d found when looking into Ben’s past—that the last ten years of the man’s life had been spent in relative anonymity.
And soon, information about the case itself started to trickle out—information that added to the mystery and made it more intriguing. I first saw these “facts” on the police blotters. Detectives had dug up evidence that Ben had met with a Russian businessman in Malaysia, that he’d flown to Moscow twice, and that he’d also traveled to New York and Dallas for unspecified and secretive meetings. There was also evidence that linked Ben to a mysterious hedge fund, incorporated offshore.
I was sure that all of these “facts,” these digital footprints, were misinformation. Misinformation planted by Abel. As a matter of fact, it was the way this case had unfolded that had led me to conclude that Abel had the means to redirect any investigation.
When reporters got hold of some of these facts, they spun a story, connecting Ben’s work with this mysterious hedge fund to his sudden disappearance. Their theories ranged from Ben taking the fall for a big investment gone horribly wrong to Ben double-crossing a Russian investor.
But eventually the story faded, and that faded version was what I was watching now on KTLA. The story was part of a continuing series on KTLA’s late morning show, a series where a reporter revisited old, unsolved police cases. But the series never revealed any new information about those cases. Still, I somehow thought that maybe there’d be something new. Not that I wanted there to be. For why would I want KTLA, or the police, any closer to solving the case?
Guilt. That was why.
The clip ended, and it left me thinking about Mason and the promise I’d made to myself months ago—to make sure the kid and his mom knew about the money in the safe. To make up for my sin. Mason was smart and had a great future ahead of him—if he was surviving this tragic setback. The tragic setback that I’d caused.
I considered offering to tutor him again. Wouldn’t that lead to a natural way to let Mason and his mom know about the safe?
*
The drive down to San Diego went by fast. I had timed it perfectly.
I pulled into Del Mar, a small coastal enclave a few miles north of San Diego proper, and home to Wendy Bester, my next target. She lived in the heart of a wealthy hillside neighborhood that overlooked Del Mar’s quaint town center and the Pacific Ocean. But she didn’t live in one of the expensive houses on that hillside; she lived in a small guesthouse behind one of those houses.
I drove up to Lunela Drive, her street. From the Google satellite image, I knew that the guesthouse was located at the back of the property, far from the main house, and that a small cluster of trees and bushes shielded it from the main house. I was sure this was for privacy purposes—to separate landlord from tenant—and I would use it to my advantage.
I would kidnap the target right outside her home.
The main hurdle would be getting to the back of the property without being seen. A long driveway went from the street, past the main house, to the guesthouse in the back. But to determine if I could use the driveway without being spotted by Rose David—the elderly woman who lived in the main house—I first had to take a closer look at the property.
So I parked a couple of blocks ways, then walked back to Lunela Drive, acting as if I was a tourist taking in Del Mar’s hillside views of the Pacific Ocean, taking pictures of the sweeping vistas with my cell phone. It was a ruse I liked far better, and felt far more comfortable with, than playing doctor.
When I got to Rose David’s property, I slowed down to study it. I decided that the best way to make it to the back of the property without being seen was to go along the south side of the house, the side without the driveway, because it had fewer first-floor windows. So if I stuck very close to the house and ducked under those windows, no one in the house would see me. And I didn’t have to worry about neighbors, because Leyland cypress trees stood in tall, neat rows, like guards on perpetual duty, creating what amounted to a wall around the property.
But to get to the south side of the house, I would first need to make it across the front lawn without being seen. I would be totally exposed for that stretch, which was roughly twenty-five yards. Again, neighbors weren’t a problem; I would be shielded to the north and south by those cypress trees, and the house across the street was much farther down the hillside, as were all the houses on the opposite side of Lunela Drive.
The only risk of being spotted during those twenty-five yards came from Rose David herself. There was a large bay window at the front of the house through which she could survey the front lawn. Because of her age—she was eighty—I doubted she’d be lurking near that window, or any other windows, but it was still a possibility.
I had also checked to see if she had family that might be nearby and could potentially be visiting during the abduction. But it turned out that her only child, a son, lived and worked in San Francisco, and I’d checked to confirm that he wasn’t visiting.
After looking over the property, I decided that I would risk the trip across the lawn. I was confident that I could pull it off because I was going to have an accomplice: th
e cover of night.
Then I turned my attention to where to park my car during the abduction. I was uneasy about parking it in front of the house. It would sit there during the operation, and it might raise a red flag, especially because there were no other cars on the street. Rose’s neighbors parked their cars in their driveways.
I supposed that if one of Rose’s neighbors drove by and saw my car parked on the street, they’d think Rose had a visitor, which I was fine with. But if Rose herself spotted my car, she’d wonder what it was doing parked in front of her house.
However, I needed my car stationed at the edge of Rose’s lawn because I’d be returning from the guesthouse with Wendy Bester in my arms.
So far, I didn’t have a solution to this problem.
There was also the matter of video surveillance cameras. Though I’d done a thorough Internet search to confirm that no home security firm listed Rose David as a client, that wasn’t ironclad proof that she didn’t have cameras set up. I perused the property, but didn’t see any.
I then walked back to my car and drove down the serpentine hillside streets to the town center. Here, unlike the deserted streets above, there were plenty of locals and tourists. They were shopping, taking in the sights, and eating in the many restaurants.
I found a parking spot, pulled in, and opened my new MacBook Air. Not only had I decided to use a VPN when researching targets on the Internet, I’d also decided to buy a new computer every few weeks and dump the old one. Of course, I was buying the exact same model so that Jenny, Jake, and Hannah wouldn’t notice how fast I was going through computers.
I connected to the Internet using a Mobi hotspot, one that I’d paid for in cash, then checked out the satellite maps of the hillside again. Now that I’d walked the neighborhood, I wanted to see if I’d missed a place where I could park my car so it wouldn’t raise a red flag. I came up empty.
I closed my laptop, then got out of my car and looked for a place to grab some lunch. I ended up at a small café called the Sun and Moon, where I ordered a coffee and sandwich. While I ate, I ran through my plan again, but I didn’t have any breakthroughs about where to park the car.
After lunch, I had a few hours to kill before the target would return home from work. I strolled along the streets until I came to a small, beautiful park that faced the ocean. There, I found an empty bench and made myself at home.
I stared out at the blue Pacific. The ocean was calm and the sun glinted off the water. After about ten minutes or so, that same calmness settled over me, too. I was feeling relaxed. More so than I’d felt for a long, long time. My family was doing well and the job was going fine.
And the money was piling up.
I breathed in the salty air, and my gaze slowly followed the blue-green ocean out to the horizon. I was enjoying the scenery, far different from the Valley’s long ribbons of light, and thinking about the target. Wendy Bester managed a small art gallery in La Jolla, which was a ritzy beachfront town a dozen miles south of Del Mar. On weekdays, the art gallery closed at seven, so she’d be pulling up to her guesthouse at around seven-thirty—
Right then, I had a breakthrough. I solved the problem of where to park my car. Just like that, the solution was crystal clear.
I’d use her car.
I’d find a long-term parking lot where I would park my own car, then I’d walk up to Lunela Drive, and under the cover of night I’d stealthily make my way to the guesthouse and wait in the shadows for Wendy to return from the art gallery. She’d drive up the driveway, to the back of the property, get out of her car, and I’d tranquilize her as she stepped up to the guesthouse. Then I’d carry her back to her own car and whisk her away. And if Rose noticed Wendy’s car pulling into the driveway and then pulling out shortly afterward, so what? It might seem a bit weird, but certainly not call-the-police weird.
After transferring Wendy to my car—I wouldn’t want to get pulled over in hers—I’d leave her car in the parking lot while I drove to LA. To pull this off, I needed to find a parking lot without an attendant, so I wouldn’t have to conceal Sleeping Beauty as I drove onto the lot and out in different cars.
Were there other problems I needed to work out with this scenario? I decided that there probably were, but I wasn’t picking up on them for now.
I went back to my car and opened my laptop to search for a parking lot. But before I even began, I realized I couldn’t park in a lot in Del Mar. I didn’t want to risk someone recognizing Wendy’s car. I’d have to park farther away, then take a cab back to Del Mar before walking up to Lunela.
After googling parking lots, I found one near a cluster of large hotels just north of San Diego, off the 5. It was about thirty minutes away.
I drove over there to see if it fit the bill.
The lot turned out to be a five-story parking structure, and as advertised, it was automated; there was no attendant. It required a ticket for entry and exit, and you paid the parking fee at a credit card kiosk before exiting.
I pulled into the structure and drove up to the fourth level, where there were fewer than a dozen cars parked. I checked for video surveillance cameras. There weren’t any. Then I staked out a parking space that couldn’t be seen from the stairwell or from the outer perimeter of the parking structure.
I parked, walked over to one of the nearby hotels, five blocks away, and took a cab back to the Del Mar town center. I had a few more hours to go before my next move, and I spent them checking out the little shops. When day turned into evening, I walked back to the oceanfront and took in the gorgeous sunset. They sky went from a blazing reddish orange, to purple, to a deep, rich blue.
In the luminous twilight, I headed up to Lunela. I wanted to be lying in wait before Wendy got back from work.
But the time I hit Lunela, night had fallen. Again, the street was deserted. No cars and no people. I walked casually toward Rose David’s house.
When I got to the front of Rose David’s property, I saw that first-floor lights were on, as were a couple of second-floor lights. But I didn’t see anyone on the other side of the bay window.
I stepped onto the lawn and scooted toward the south side of the house, checking the second-floor windows as I went. And then my plan suddenly went awry—
Rose David was staring out the bay window.
Panic surged through me, and I froze.
But then—and the only possible explanation for this was that I was actually changing—I adapted. I did my job. I came up with a new plan on the spot.
I’d hide in plain sight.
I smiled at Rose David, though I wasn’t sure she could see my face from this distance, and I headed to the front door and rang the doorbell.
It took Rose more than a minute to get to the door, and when she opened it, I was presented with a slightly built woman, her white hair done neatly up in a bun. She wore a wide smile, and the wrinkles on her face made her look every bit her age. But she had aged gracefully—those wrinkles were smiling too, as if she always saw the bright side of life.
“Hello,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking to rent a place in Del Mar, and one of your neighbors mentioned that you rented out your guesthouse.”
“That’s right. But I’m sorry. I’ve already got a tenant.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” I laughed. “I mean too bad for me.”
She laughed with me. “I wish I could suggest another rental property in the hills, but there aren’t many. Most of the rentals are down by the beach.”
“Yeah. I know. I checked a lot of them out, but I like the seclusion up here.”
“So do we,” she said, and chuckled. She was charming.
“Is there any chance that your tenant might be moving out in the next few months?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. She’s pretty stable.”
“Okay…” I said, and shook my head, feigning disappointment. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“No bother. I hope you find a p
lace.”
“Thank you.” I turned to leave, and as I slowly walked away, I listened for the door to close behind me.
As soon as I heard it click shut, I sprinted over to the driveway and ran down it toward the guesthouse. I knew I could get to the guesthouse before Rose had gotten anywhere near a window, judging by how long it had taken her to get to the front door.
Less than a minute later, I was standing next to the guesthouse. And just like the satellite images had revealed, it was isolated from the main house.
But not as isolated as I’d thought.
The north side, where the driveway ended, was completely shielded from the main house. But the front of the guesthouse, which faced the main house, wasn’t. On the satellite image, it had looked like the cluster of trees and bushes between the houses was thicker.
This meant it was time to refine my plan once again. I couldn’t tranquilize Wendy in front of the guesthouse without taking a chance on Rose spotting the whole nasty affair. I had to tranquilize Wendy as soon as she got out of her car.
So the next step was to find a spot where I could station myself. And, like a big game hunter waiting for his prey, it had to be a spot where Wendy wouldn’t see me as she pulled in. But it also had to be a spot that was close enough to her to allow me to fire the tranquilizer pellet without missing her.
There weren’t any trees, hedges, or shrubs along the driveway behind which I could hide. I considered hiding behind the back corner of the guesthouse, but then what? When Wendy stepped out of her car and I stepped out from behind the house, she’d spot me.
I had roughly fifteen minutes to come up with a better plan. I scanned the terrain a few times before I reluctantly accepted that I couldn’t tranquilize Wendy as soon as she got out of her car. Under the circumstances, the best plan was to hide in the cluster of trees and bushes in front of the guesthouse. From there, not only would I be able to track Wendy as she made her way from her car to her front door, but after she passed by me, I’d also be able to surreptitiously creep out from my hiding spot, without being seen, until I was right behind her.
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