“Citizen’s arrest pursuant to California Penal Code,” Kaye said with a smile.
“The charge?”
“Kidnapping, multiple counts, for starters.”
“No kidding?” Barker leaned over to look more closely at Reid. “Hey, isn’t he…?”
“Yes, he is,” Kaye said. “I need you to hold him in close custody, no outside contact. Get in touch with your Deputy Stephenson. Tell him this is about the Nicole Ingram case, and several others. We’ve talked. He’ll get it.”
“I can do that.”
“Want me to carry him back for you?”
“Not necessary. We’ll handle it,” Barker said. “Where you headed now?”
A half-smile curled Kaye’s lip.
“It’s late, but I’m going out for Italian.”
DAY 25
Thursday Week 4
It was just after midnight when Kaye drove past the western Welcome to the Village of Chumash Oaks sign at a sedate 25 miles per hour. He turned north on DaVinci Lane.
About a half-mile south of the village he met a patrol unit heading south. He watched the rearview mirror anxiously. The patrol car didn’t go far before its brake lights lit up and it made a fast, shoulder-to-shoulder u-turn before the emergency lights lit up.
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, pulling over and hoping the patrol passed him by.
He’d kept Reid’s portable radio and heard the stop call.
“Central, CO-eight, traffic.”
“Go ahead.”
“DaVinci half-mile south of the Village. Possible match on the BOLO vehicle. Paper plate,” she read off the number, “start four this way.”
Spotlights lit up the truck and Kaye heard the dispatcher send backup before he switched the radio off and stuffed it under the seat.
“Driver,” he heard the officer’s voice over the unit’s loudspeaker, “step out with your hands up and face the front of your truck.”
The image of Auggie the first time he’d met her flashed through his mind, and for an instant he considered not complying and taking his chances. He wanted her back. Anybody who stood in his way was simply somebody to be removed.
But he knew he couldn’t remove anyone until he removed himself from the truck.
He followed the orders.
In the distance he saw another set of overheads coming fast from San Marcos Pass Road.
It was less than five seconds before the spotlights went off and he heard an approaching voice.
“Central, CO-eight. Code four. Not a match. Cancel backup.”
The approaching lights went dark.
“Detective Kaye, fancy meeting you here. You can put your hands down.”
Kaye turned toward the voice. Dressed in a Chumash Oaks PD uniform and holstering her pistol as she got closer was Elizabeth, the former Marine Captain he’d met at Black Scimitar.
“Good evening, Captain,” he said. “Wish I could say this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Yeah, well, sorry. But your truck’s a close match for one we’re looking for. You, though, are not.”
“Good to know.”
“What brings you to our fair city this time of night?”
“Looking for a friend.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Really none of your business, Officer,” he looked at the name plate on her shirt pocket, “Latham.”
An oncoming car slowed as it went by. It was the unit originally sent as backup, coming by just to make sure. Latham slightly raised her hand and flashed four fingers. The officer behind the wheel nodded, then looked Kaye over before continuing on.
“Another Black Scimitar hired gun?” Kaye asked.
“No,” Latham replied. “Regular PD.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“About a week,” Latham replied. “Tomorrow is actually my first day off. I think Adrian got tired of paying me what he pays me to answer the phone, so here I am.”
“You’re okay with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Met Lorenzo yet?” Kaye asked. “I think he goes by Renzo here in America.”
“Who’s that?” Latham asked, a little too quickly.
Kaye didn’t buy it, convinced she was telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.
“Have a nice evening, Officer Latham,” he said and turned back to the pickup.
“Kaye, hold on,” Latham said.
He turned back. “What?”
“Go home. You’re out of your jurisdiction and in way over your head. This will end badly for you.”
“I told you,” Kaye said, “I’m not working. I’m here to see a friend.”
“That’s not what I hear,” Latham said.
“Who’d you hear that from?”
Latham didn’t answer.
Kaye waited.
“You’ll never get in,” she said after a moment.
“Get in where?” Kaye asked.
Latham went quiet again for a moment, her lips pursed.
“Remember our conversation about Colonel Petrov?” she asked finally. “And you? About disobeying a direct order for the greater good?”
“I remember.”
“Well,” Latham said slowly, “I can help you.”
“By disobeying a direct order from Gagnon?” Kaye asked.
“No.”
“Lorenzo Maisano?”
“God, no.”
“So, who’s your…?” Kaye started to ask, then suddenly got it. Latham was a deep cover asset for somebody, probably the FBI, keeping track of Lorenzo Maisano’s business interests in the United States.
“I can help,” Latham repeated. “To a point. But you have to trust me.”
“What point is that?” Kaye asked.
“You can’t get to Maisano’s house by car without going through the hotel parking structure and out a private exit on the other side. Everything is secured and controlled.”
“And you can’t get into the parking garage without being a guest,” Kaye said, remembering being turned away.
“Or an employee, or Village cop.”
“Can I get to Maisano’s on foot?”
“You know what a ha-ha is?”
“A good laugh?”
“Not in this case. It’s a kind of wall built below grade instead of above, then the ground is contoured to create a barrier. It doesn’t obstruct the view, and in the old days it kept the sheep off the manor house lawn.”
“I assume you’re telling me that because Maisano’s house is surrounded by them, right, and not as a history lesson?”
“Correct,” Latham said. “I’m guessing close to fifteen feet. Pretty steep, even for someone with your capabilities. The satellite photos show a helipad.”
“You’ve seen satellite photos?” Kaye asked.
“Check the internet, Kaye,” she said, smiling slightly. “It’s amazing.”
“Have you been to the house?” Kaye asked.
“I’ve been here less than a week. I’m not high on anybody’s trust list just yet.”
“But you know what’s going on.”
“I wouldn’t be here if there weren’t rumors,” Latham replied.
“It’s more than rumors.”
“So, you want my help?”
“Of course,” Kaye replied.
“I have one question for you first,” Latham said. “Is Reid alive?”
“Of course he’s alive,” Kaye said. “He’s in county custody, close security.”
“Did he plant drugs in your truck?”
“He did. A kilo of heroin. I have it.”
“Good to know.”
She took two quick steps back, drew her pistol and pointed it at Kaye’s chest.
“Put your hands up and don’t move. You’re under arrest for possession of narcotics,” she said before reaching for the microphone clipped to her shirt. “Central, CO-eight. One in custody. Request assistance.”
Dumbfounded, Kaye stared at her.
>
“Relax, big guy,” she said without lowering the pistol. “This is the fastest, and maybe the only, way for us both to get into Maisano’s house and save your friend. So make it look good.”
***
The holding cell was small, maybe six by eight feet. A closet, really. Except for the stainless steel toilet and sink, the small square of wire reinforced plexiglass in the door and the thin, red vinyl mat on the bunk bolted to the floor, the entire space was that color of pale green favored by hospitals and jails everywhere.
Kaye was stretched out on the poor excuse for a mattress, his right shoulder beyond the edge of the too-narrow bunk.
Latham had booked him, and during the process the on-duty supervisor had informed him that his truck and the envelope of cash were being seized as ill-gotten gains.
Not a word was said by Latham about him being an LAPD detective, but he had the uncomfortable feeling everybody knew who he was.
In the Corps he’d learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, and he took advantage of that ability now.
The loud buzzing of the door lock disengaging brought him instantly awake and he saw Latham’s face through the plexiglass.
“Stand up and step away from the door,” Latham ordered.
He did, his calves bumping against the rim of the toilet.
The door swung open and Latham stepped through. Behind her, a taser in one hand, stood Officer Hawkins.
“Rise and shine, Mr. Kaye,” Latham said. “Time to go.”
“Go where?”
“The next station down the line for the justice train,” Latham replied. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Kaye complied and felt a riot cuff tighten around his wrists.
“Use regular cuffs, Officer Latham,” he heard Hawkins say.
“Can’t,” Latham said. “His wrists are too big.”
“What time is it?” Kaye asked.
“Zero seven hundred,” Latham said.
“Are we going to County?” Kaye asked.
“Shut-up, asshole,” Hawkins growled, prodding Kaye in the back. “This isn’t twenty questions. Just keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.”
Kaye was put in the back seat of a unit already parked in the sally port.
“I’ll drive,” Hawkins said.
“Oh,” Latham said, surprised. “Okay.”
When Hawkins got to DaVinci Lane he turned north instead of south toward San Marcos Pass Road.
“Aren’t we going to County?” Latham asked.
Hawkins glanced sideways at Latham but didn’t say anything.
Kaye kept silent, looking out the window as they drove through the Village. He was struck by how his impression had changed from his first visit, when he’d found it festive, beautiful and inspired. Now, early in the day and the streets and walkways almost deserted, it seemed somehow ominous and Kaye felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
At the traffic circle beneath the hotel ramparts Hawkins went right, down the hill toward the parking garage.
The gate went up as they approached and the sleepy guard waved half-heartedly as the unit passed by.
Inside, Hawkins drove ahead to the row farthest from the entrance, turned right, and headed for the far corner.
Kaye noticed that even though they’d entered at ground level, each of the support columns bore a brightly painted ‘2’ and a letter denoting the section.
There was a ramp heading down at the end of Section D. A metal gate barred the way and on the wall above the ramp was a sign.
NO GUEST PARKING
Hotel and Service Vehicles Only
Hawkins stopped at a keypad outside the gate, punched in a code and waited for the gate to rise before driving down the ramp. Then he simply ignored the lines painted on the concrete and steered the straightest possible course to a visible exit on the far side.
The columns now all bore the number ‘1’, but the level was almost empty. There was a small knot of vehicles parked near the elevators and another group parked along the wall not far from the exit.
As Hawkins approached the exit and slowed, Kaye sat up straight and stared. The first vehicle in the line was a silver Jetta with no plates.
A surge of adrenaline-fueled rage coursed through Kaye as he scanned the other vehicles. He couldn’t remember every car listed on the report Mitchell had forwarded, but he knew the dark green Jeep Cherokee, the blue Honda and a couple of the others.
His heart raced and his rage grew when he saw the vehicle parked last in the line.
Partly covered with a hastily tied blue tarp was Auggie McMaster’s Street Glide.
Seconds later Hawkins pulled up to another keypad, entered the code and drove out into the bright morning sun.
It wasn’t a direct drive. The road followed the rolling contours of the vineyards and Kaye frequently lost sight of the house. It dawned on him after the second sharp turn that the road had been built to slow approaching vehicles. After several minutes and several more turns the road crested a small rise and the house was directly ahead.
It was a spectacular modern interpretation of a traditional Italian farmhouse.
But it was the wall that got Kaye’s immediate attention, and it was no laughing matter. Tip-up concrete panels at least fifteen feet tall formed an escarpment, atop which sat the house, that gradually curved out of sight on both sides. Many of the panels were adorned with low relief sculptures depicting life in old Italy and Roman times.
Kaye’s first thought was that he could have climbed them. But when he looked at the top he saw downward curving steel barriers that protruded nearly five feet outward. Even he would have had a hard time with them.
The road went down the slope, straight to the wall and dead-ended.
Hawkins pulled up, stopped, and made a call on his cell phone.
“We’re here,” was all the cop said.
Seconds later the panel directly in front of the patrol car began to rise and Kaye realized it was a steel door, painted with a trompe l’oeil depiction of an ancient Roman bath.
Hawkins pulled into a sizable, well-lit, concrete-floored garage space. Several vehicles, ranging from four-wheelers to a Benz SLS AMG gullwing, were parked randomly.
Parked by the far wall, near the only opening out of the space Kaye could see, was a white Hayabusa.
“Stay in the car,” Hawkins ordered Latham as he got out.
Two men in suits approached and conferred with Hawkins. After a moment, Hawkins came around and opened Latham’s door.
“You can get out now,” he said. “But your gun belt and weapon stay in the car.”
“What?” Latham asked. “Why?”
“House rules,” Hawkins said, shrugging. “It’s your first visit. I had to do it, too.”
“When do I get it back?” Latham asked.
“When you leave,” Hawkins replied. “Look, relax. Mr. Maisano wants to meet you. These guys,” he looked over his shoulder at the suits, “are ours.”
Hawkins closed Latham’s door behind her, turned to the two guards, and nodded. They advanced toward the unit, each now cradling an Uzi machine pistol, and the stockier of the two leaned in and opened the back door.
“Out,” he ordered Kaye.
Kaye slid out and stood up.
“Step to the wall and put your nose against it.”
Kaye complied, looking around as he stepped forward. He saw only the one exit, the wide hallway next to the Hayabusa, and it didn’t go far before making a right turn.
The guard used an electronic wand to search Kaye.
“Elevator or stairs?” asked the second guard, taller and leaner.
“Stairs,” the first guard said. “I don’t fancy being in a confined space with this guy.”
“Roger that,” the second guard said.
“Okay, big guy,” the stocky guard said, poking Kaye in the back with the muzzle of his Uzi. “Lead the way, that hallway you were checking out. Funny stuff gets you dead. Got it?”
The two guards trailed Kaye by a respectful distance after entering the hallway and making the turn. Almost immediately there was a slight bend to the left and Kaye saw the bottom of a wide set of stairs.
“Stop,” the first guard ordered when Kaye reached the bottom of the stairs. “Nose against the wall.”
Kaye again assumed the position and heard what sounded like the second guard hustling up the stairs.
“Turn around,” the guard said. “Up you go, and play nice.” He smiled a shark smile.
Kaye turned around. The second guard was, indeed gone. He looked up the stairs. It was wide, six feet or so, and curved. The top was not in sight.
“Move,” the guard behind him ordered.
Kaye looked at the guard, looked up the stairs, and saw an opportunity. He took off, taking five steps at a time. On the way up he exerted all his strength against the riot cuff, breaking it.
“He’s loose!” the guard at the bottom shouted.
The guard at the top wasn’t ready. Kaye got to him before he could react, swatting the Uzi from his hands before grabbing him by the throat and spinning him around to use as a shield against the guard now rushing up the stairs.
For a brief moment, there was a stand-off.
Then Kaye heard a man’s voice behind him.
“Let him go, or your friend dies.”
Kaye glanced over his shoulder. Ten feet away, in an archway that opened to what looked like the house’s main living area, stood a young, heavyset man with jet black hair. His right hand was clasped around Auggie McMaster’s upper left arm and in his left he had a pistol jammed against her ribs.
“After all, I assume she’s why you’re here,” the man said.
“She is,” Kaye said, releasing his grip in the guard. “Her, Nicole Ingram and, what, about a dozen other young women?”
The guard Kaye had overwhelmed immediately retrieved his weapon and lifted it toward Kaye.
“Stand down,” the first guard said sharply from two steps down, then looked at the man holding Auggie. “Sorry, sir. He broke the riot cuff. I’ve never seen anybody do that.”
“That’s because you have never encountered a warrior like Benkei.”
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