Sirens called from the north. He looked south. No sign of cops coming from there, just as Cantell had planned.
He leaned his weight into the chainsaw. The power pole popped and splintered. Then it teetered and fell.
Overhead, wires sparked and flashed. Salvo had failed to remember he was bringing down a few thousand volts with the pole. A half dozen wires now sparked and jumped on the ground. He dropped the saw and took off south across the bridge. Car horns sounded. He took them as applause for a job well done.
He sprinted across the highway, jumped down an embankment, lost his footing, and rolled to the bottom. He got to his feet and took off running.
Some hero had left his car and was coming after him. “Hey, asshole, hold up!” the man shouted.
Salvo reached for his knife. He stitched his way through a thicket of aspens and found himself in a yard next to a tool shed. He ducked around the side, silently begging his pursuer to give it up.
But the hero came crashing through the aspens a moment later, and Matt, who’d grown up in Sparks, Nevada, in a neighborhood where survival required a degree in viciousness, timed the blow perfectly. He swung around the corner of the shed just as the hero arrived, delivering the hilt of the knife to the man’s forehead.
The guy dropped like a rock.
“Nice try,” he told the hero.
He then looked around to get his bearings, wondering how long Lorraine and McGuiness would wait for him.
38
As Walt’s Cherokee approached a string of taillights, his mobile rang. Seeing the caller ID, he answered it.
“What’d you find out?” he asked Myra.
“He’s at the airport,” she said. “I used the tracking thing. Best I can tell, he’s there, or right around there.”
“That’s not good,” he said. “She was seen getting into his car with a suitcase. If he’s seen as having aided her flight . . . Myra, he’s in trouble.”
Brandon looked out the side window, pretending not to hear.
“I’m on my way there,” she announced.
“He’s still not picking up?”
“No.”
“Can you text him?”
“Me? I have no idea how to do that. And I’m in my car.”
She was about to cry.
“I’ll call Pete. Hopefully, he can find him and put a cork in this.”
She thanked him and hung up.
A flash of brake lights. He flipped on the light rack and took the empty middle lane, reserved for vehicles turning either direction.
Walt quickly called Pete, head of operations at the airport, and filled him in on Kevin’s situation. Pete said he’d head down to the terminal and take a look around.
“I’ll call over to Sun Valley Air as well,” Pete said.
“Appreciate the help.”
“Back to you shortly.”
As they passed the entrance to the Rainbow Bend subdivision, Walt got a better look at the chaos up the road: a long line of taillights ahead of him, no headlights coming at him. A patrol car off the road—Ketchum police, maybe. A second later, he could make out the truck blocking the road.
“Are those logs?” Brandon asked.
Drivers were out of their cars. A few had gathered around the wrecked patrol car.
Walt and Brandon hurried to the patrol car. Brandon moved the onlookers aside. Walt wrenched open the door and determined the driver was dazed but otherwise seemingly okay.
He looked around, focusing first on the spilled logs, then the power pole lying across the bike-path bridge, the downed wires still spitting sparks.
He handed Brandon the keys to the Cherokee. “Get the power pole cleared first. No civilian traffic is to use the bike bridge, but get me a couple of our guys across if you can.”
“Got it,” Brandon said. “You?”
“Stay on comm,” Walt said, running for the bridge.
39
With the jet door shut, Summer encouraged Kevin forward. W“Come on, I want to show you,” she said. She squeezed past him, making sure to rub up against him, not wanting his interest to lag. “Seats eight. All eight can sleep flat. Each seat has its own TV, and there’s the big TV on the wall.” She pointed. Light shined weakly through the oval windows.
She handed him a cold beer. There were two microwave ovens, a built-in coffeemaker, a stainless-steel sink. A fire extinguisher was clamped to the wall. Beyond the kitchen, a folding door gave way to a padded seat over a toilet. It faced an emergency exit door. Just over the toilet was a partially open roller panel that accessed a sizable storage area.
Kevin drank some beer, impressed and overwhelmed.
A rechargeable flashlight hung next to the toilet. There was a first-aid kit on the wall.
“All the comforts of home,” he said.
“That’s the idea. Including a satellite telephone.” She pointed to her father’s seat.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I love this thing. I never tell my father. I don’t want him knowing what I like and don’t like because sometimes I feel like anything I mention liking means he has to buy or get it for me. Believe it or not, I don’t love that. It’s love/hate with this plane. He’s so into it, it actually bugs me. But I love flying it.”
“TMI,” he said, “too much information.”
“Whatever . . .”
“It’s very cool,” he said.
“You should feel it take off. Oh my God, it’s so totally random! Like a rocket or something. My dad . . . he puts his head back, you know? During takeoff. Shuts his eyes, and it’s like he’s getting off or something.” She blushed and giggled again. “Forget I said that,” she spit out quickly.
But Kevin couldn’t forget it, and he thought she probably knew it. The more he thought about it, the more she seemed to be acting, and he wondered what that was all about.
“So, you ready?” she asked.
“Depends what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t try to sound cool. Guys do that all the time, and I’m telling you it’s a complete turnoff, okay? Just be you. You’re cute; live with it. But don’t try to sound like James Bond or something, because you’re not.”
She squeezed past him again and headed toward the cockpit.
“What is it with you and your father?” he asked, trying to strike back. He didn’t like being lectured to.
The question stopped her. She didn’t turn around to face him. “I explained that,” she said. “It’s just father-daughter stuff.”
“And your taking off like this? Running away, coming here when you shouldn’t? That’s just you getting back at him?”
“What are you, my shrink?”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Well, lose it. You’re a buzz kill.”
“I don’t think you should go.”
“No one asked you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish you’d stay. Why don’t you just tell him whatever it is you want to tell him? Then we could hang out some more.”
Her face brightened, but her look was patronizing. “That’s so sweet,” she said.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice deeper and her eyes darker.
“Because of the tennis guy you told me about?” he said.
“Men’s finals are tomorrow, Sunday. He’s playing. I’m going to be there.”
“But then he’s gone, right? To some other tournament? What’s with that? Are you going to follow him? You think he’s down with that? You’re seventeen. They’d arrest him.”
“So, what, you’re suddenly my father? Lose it, would you?”
“If you stay, you get props from Dad, right? Coulda run off but didn’t? He’s got to appreciate that.”
“He doesn’t appreciate anything about me. Believe it and leave it. I’m serious. I’m going down to L.A. and don’t want to be talked out of it. So just let me, would you please?”
> “The thing is,” he said, “and we know this better than anyone else, it’s a lot harder when they’re gone, no matter how much of a pain in the ass they are when they’re around.”
“Do you want to see the cockpit or have an Oprah moment?”
He followed her to the front of the jet, and she stepped aside to allow him to pass. He hesitated.
“Go on. It’s why you came along, isn’t it?”
He thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“To sit in that seat.”
He remained standing.
“I understand wanting to blow him off,” he said. “I’ve asked my mother, like, a thousand times to move. Everything here reminds me of him. I can’t stand living in the valley anymore. I’m done. How my mom does it, I have no idea. She’s like trying to hold on to something that isn’t there. She is so lost.”
He slipped into the pilot’s seat. He could hear her breathing.
“You could come with me,” she said.
“That would go over big.”
He sat there. She said nothing.
“We can turn on some music,” she said. “See those battery switches? Flip the second one.”
“I need the key, right? Are you sure this is cool?”
“There is no key. Not for this part.”
“No way.”
“Way. The key’s for the door.”
“You’re bullshitting me!”
“No key, no shit.”
He double-checked her instructions and then pushed the buttons as told. Lights came on in the cabin, and she turned them off. Then she pulled down all the window blinds.
The dash had come alive, the number of lights and instruments overwhelming.
“Have you ever flown it?” he asked.
“I’ve steered it a couple of times, sure. My dad can land it. He took instruction and stuff. He’s a complete safety freak. There’s a case in the closet,” she said, “with an extra radio, a portable GPS, charts, flashlight. Extra everything—that’s my dad. He’ll probably wish he had an extra daughter by this time tomorrow.”
Kevin’s phone chirped, signaling a text message. He slipped the phone out of his front pocket.
Kev? Walt is looking for you. Where are you?
I’m coming to the airport. Mom
He stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
“Gotta go!” he said. How the hell does she know I’m here?
Someone must have seen his car.
“No way! We just got here.”
“I’ve got to go,” he repeated.
40
Cantell, McGuiness, and Salvo entered Sun Valley Aviation wearing flight uniforms. They approached the reception counter with an air of confidence, their caps pulled low.
ON DUTY: REBA KLINE read the plaque.
Cantell placed a small key on the counter, along with a pen and some paperwork.
“I’d like to settle charges for Lear tango-alpha-niner-five-niner.”
“Absolutely,” Reba said. She worked the computer, found the account, and printed out a statement for him to review.
Cantell paid her eleven hundred seventy-five dollars in cash.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Cash is king,” she said. “We just don’t see a lot of it here.”
She printed out a receipt.
“Where’s William this evening?” she asked the pilot. “Wasn’t that his name?”
“William the Conqueror?” the man teased. Salvo and McGuiness laughed with him. “He’s picking up the flight in the morning. We’re the maintenance crew.”
“There’s that pesky little requirement of TBO,” said McGuiness. TBO was an aviation term for time between overhauls. McGuiness had spun that into time between drinks. Reba Kline got the joke and laughed with him.
“There is that,” she said.
Cantell scribbled a physician-style signature on the paperwork.
“Did you happen to cater?” she asked, already checking a card file.
McGuiness produced a tin of Altoids. “This is our food service,” he said, winning another laugh from her.
“We’re bringing it down to Boise for a DVD issue,” Salvo said. “Can’t have the DVD malfunctioning.”
Cantell shot Salvo a look.
“We’ve got some good electronics guys here,” Reba said.
Cantell smiled at her weakly. “Boss wants it done in Boise.”
“I hear that,” she said.
“Should be back around nine A.M. tomorrow,” McGuiness added.
“So, we’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said. “Safe skies, gentlemen.”
Cantell checked his appearance in a mirror behind her that had been frosted to look like clouds.
Reba Kline experienced a slight tinge of unease as the three men left and headed for the Lear.
It wasn’t the pilot’s vanity—Lord knows, pilots are full of themselves. It wasn’t him paying cash, not exactly, though maybe that was part of it.
She’d gotten plenty of dirty looks in her time, but she’d come to accept the egos of flyboys. So the little guy had made a point of undressing her with his eyes, big deal. What pissed off and confused her was the wake of debris they left behind. Bark chips, sawdust, dried mud: it was like they’d been climbing trees or cutting firewood minutes before coming in here.
What was with that?
She turned back to the keyboard and closed out the sale.
41
Walt clambered over the logs, already on the radio trying to identify possible high-stakes, south valley robbery targets.
The first thing that came to mind was the cache of arms and vehicles housed at the National Guard Armory. Every kind of weapon, half a dozen Hummers, the theft could be catastrophic. There were other prizes locally as well: art collections, famous and wealthy kidnapping targets. When he looked at the valley from that point of view, he was all the more aware of how vulnerable it was to an organized attack like this one. The thought drove him over the final log all that much faster.
It was then, through the obnoxious beeping of car horns, that he heard someone falling and cursing behind him, someone following him over the logs. He turned, prepared to give Brandon an earful.
Fiona stared back at him, holding her black dress well above her knees. She released the dress’s hem, and it fell.
“I told you,” she said.
You can’t be here,” Walt said from the driver’s seat of a Toyota Prius he had commandeered. Thankfully, the driver hadn’t put up a fight.
“But I am, so live with it.”
“You’re a civilian. I’m dropping you off in town.”
“No, you’re not. I was the one who figured this out. You obviously need me.”
He smirked, resenting that she could win this from him.
“I also happen to be a woman,” she said, “which is something that has apparently escaped your attention. If you take custody of this runaway, then you’re going to need a woman as part of your team.”
“How can you possibly know—?” He cut himself off, answering himself. “Myra.”
“No, it wasn’t Myra,” she said. “I may have run into Chuck Webb, but I’m not saying I did.”
“I can’t deal with Kevin or the girl . . . not now.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You followed me.”
“You really are a brilliant investigator.”
“Why would you follow me?” he said.
“You ask too many questions.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m conflicted,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Some detective you are.”
42
Kevin scrambled down out of the pilot’s seat. He pushed her back into the body of the plane.
“What?” she said.
“Three guys heading this way.”
“No,” she said. “To a different plane. Chill, dude.”
“I swea
r.”
She eased into the cockpit and sneaked a peek.
“Not us,” she whispered but not convincingly. “First, it’s not William or Jack. Second, we don’t have three crew with us.”
But as they drew closer, she stepped back alongside Kevin.
“I don’t get it. They are not our crew.”
“I don’t think that really matters at the moment. What the hell do we do?”
“The power’s still on!” she said, diving forward and crawling on her knees to toggle the switches.
A loud electronic clunk came from the cabin door as it began to open.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Kevin said. “My mother’s going to kill me!”
Summer hurried him up the aisle and into the storage area over the toilet. She slid the partition shut behind her but not all the way, her eye to the crack.
Both jammed into the small space; his heart was beating too hard and too fast.
The cabin door came fully open.
Summer pressed her index finger to her lips, as she whispered at him, “I don’t know these guys. It can’t be anything much. Prep for tomorrow’s flight maybe. Who knows?”
She returned her attention to the passenger area.
As the three men came on board, they barely said a word to one another, which struck Kevin as odd. He could hear noises up in the cockpit. They were doing stuff.
Lights came on, the air system hissed.
When he finally heard the mumble of a voice, it was someone reading.
Summer’s hair tickled his face. “That’s the checklist!” she said. “I think they’re starting it up.”
“What? They can’t do that!”
“Shut up and let me think.” For the first time, she looked as scared as he felt.
Cantell read off the checklist just as he and McGuiness had practiced dozens of times. McGuiness had nine months of training invested in the next twenty minutes of flight, and though he ran through the run-up with authority his anxiety permeated the cockpit.
Cantell’s responsibilities were limited to the radios and GPS navigation. He set the proper frequencies, double-checked the destination he’d keyed into the GPS, and held his index finger over the transponder switch.
Killer Summer (Walt Fleming) Page 14