Wrecker

by Mark Parragh

  It’s a beautiful day over on the 101.

  Yeah, but you’re going to be glad that fog’s there when you get where you’re going.

  They were headed back to the hospital at Fallon Landing, though their approach would be quite different this time. In the trunk of the car was a police model automatic license plate reader with a high-resolution camera and a cellular radio, all powered by a high-endurance battery originally developed for Navy sonobuoys. It was the sort of thing Crane would have asked for in one of his ridiculous shopping lists. Josh felt like James Bond just having it in the trunk.

  Possession of the license plate reader by civilians was already legally iffy. But there was no doubt about the plan to infiltrate the Fallon Landing grounds and install the system in a tree overlooking the approach road so it could log traffic coming and going from the hospital.

  No, that’s just illegal as hell. Crane never gets arrested because he’s Crane. That doesn’t apply to you.

  It had been Perry Holland’s idea. While Finney and Berdoza immersed themselves in a swamp of holding companies and blind partnerships, Josh and the rest of the team had been trying to learn more about Alexander Tate’s medical status. They’d been stonewalled at every turn. Between HIPAA regulations and simple obscurity, they’d wasted a couple days now asking questions and getting no answers. They didn’t even know who Alexander’s doctor was.

  “Whoever’s in charge of his treatment has to be at the hospital, right?” Perry had said finally. “I mean, once in a while, anyway. They have to check on him, right? And there’s only one road into the hospital. Whoever we’re looking for, sooner or later, they’re going to drive down that road.”

  Josh had considered the idea and decided he liked it. The next question was, who was going to plant the camera? Josh had decided he couldn’t ask anyone else to do it, so he’d go himself. When he announced that, Tim had first tried to talk him out of it, and then insisted on coming along. Josh had let himself be convinced. He was glad of the company, if nothing else.

  “Next left,” said Tim, navigating with his iPhone. “About a quarter mile up.”

  Josh slowed and spotted the turnoff. He turned onto a gravel road and followed it for a hundred yards or so until it ended in a small parking area and a trailhead. The only other car was a Subaru with Oregon plates. Josh pulled in beside it.

  “All right, let’s do this,” he said.

  Yeah, that didn’t sound at all lame.

  The camera was in a backpack. Tim offered to carry it, but he would already be using a handheld GPS unit to guide them to the spot they’d chosen for the camera. Josh shrugged on the pack, and they set off.

  The trail led down to the cliffs overlooking Point Reyes, and then along them for a couple miles. But it also ran along the edge of the Fallon Landing property for more than half a mile.

  Josh and Tim made their way down the trail. The fog grew thicker as they went lower and closer to the sea. They walked in silence, seeing no sign of any other hikers. Tim carried his GPS unit in one hand, checking the screen from time to time. Back in Palo Alto, they had worked out a course that would get them to their destination quickly while keeping them under cover of woods as much as possible. Every yard of their trip was pre-planned and loaded into the GPS.

  They rounded a gentle curve in the trail, walked another few yards, and the GPS beeped as they reached the first waypoint. They stopped, looked back up the trail once more to make sure they were unobserved, and then cut off the trail and into the brush. About twenty yards from the trail, they came to a woven wire fence covered in vines. Josh cleared the foliage away, and Tim cut through the fence with a pair of wire cutters. They carefully slipped through and bent the fence back.

  Okay, you’re definitely breaking the law now. You personally.

  Beyond the fence, they moved through a stand of trees that wound along a ridgeline and gave them cover for a while.

  “Thanks for coming, by the way,” Josh said to Tim as they walked. “You didn’t have to. I appreciate it.”

  “My job’s keeping you out of trouble,” Tim answered.

  “Within limits. I mean, if I said I was going to rob a bank, would you come with me?”

  “I’d stop you.”

  “Right. But for this, you came along. So thank you.”

  The GPS beeped again. They’d reached their next waypoint. Josh turned and peered out of the trees, across a slope covered in tan grass. In the distance, he could see another mass of trees looming out of the mist.

  “That way, straight line,” said Tim. “Walk fast, but don’t run. We’re hikers who got lost. We wouldn’t be running.”

  Josh took a deep breath. He knew the hospital had security patrols. He’d seen them driving around in their electric carts on their last visit. Those would be quiet. There was nothing to do but risk it and hope they weren’t seen.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and they strode out into the open.

  They moved quickly across the open ground, and Josh was surprised to find himself enjoying this. He’d been nervous in the car, thinking about it. But now that he was committed, it was actually exciting. He wondered if this was how John Crane felt in the field.

  Then they reached the trees and were hidden again. Josh laughed.

  Yeah, tell Crane how you’re just like him now because you walked across a field.

  They made good time down a slope, crossed another open patch without incident, and soon found themselves nearing the road. So far, he had to admit, this had been easy.

  “Fifty yards this way,” Tim said softly, following his GPS toward the final waypoint.

  They’d chosen a spot where the road curved around a wooded hillside. They would find a tree to conceal the camera and radio. It would be up where someone would be less likely to notice it, and it would have a clear angle onto the road so it could pick up license numbers easily.

  They spent about ten minutes walking the slope above the road, studying trees, until Josh found one he thought would work. There was a branch positioned just right to take the camera in a spot where it would be hard to see, but would still have a clear shot of the road. If a car passed doing normal speed for this road, its plate would be readable for several seconds.

  Josh shrugged off the backpack, and Tim hauled himself up into the tree until he was seated astride the branch facing the trunk.

  Yep, that’s why you brought him along. He was probably playing football in high school, while you were—

  “Yeah, this’ll work,” Tim announced. “Drill, please?”

  Josh sorted through the pack and passed up the small battery-operated drill. Tim started drilling holes for the camera’s swivel bracket.

  When Tim was ready, Josh handed up the bracket and then sat down at the base of the trunk as Tim worked. It was peaceful, the mist in the trees giving the birds’ cries a distant, mournful quality.

  Peaceful, but lonely.

  What are those birds doing?

  They’re looking for someone to be with.

  “I’m ready,” said Tim.

  Josh stood up and handed the camera up into the tree. “Okay, give me a reference point.”

  They’d taped a five-milliwatt green laser onto the housing to aim the camera. Tim fitted the camera into the mount and switched it on. A green dot appeared on the asphalt.

  Josh walked down to the road and considered the dot’s placement. “Higher, I think. Little to the left.”

  The dot slid up the road.

  “Better. How’re things with Emily, by the way?”

  “Huh? Oh. Okay, I guess. Her mother’s in town. They’re going totally over the top with wedding planning.”

  “You should bring her out to the house sometime,” said Josh. “I’d like to meet her. We can grill some steaks or something. Bring her mother, if you want.”

  Great. You sound pathetic. I’m a poor lonely rich boy. Won’t you be my friend?

  He could hear the awkwardness in Tim’s voice. “Uh, okay.
I’ll speak to her about it.” Then he hissed, “Down, down. Get off the road!”

  As Tim was speaking, Josh heard the soft whirr of electric motors and snatches of a voice. He sprinted across the road and dove into the underbrush. He rolled onto his side in the fetal position and tried to keep as still as possible. He could see Tim in the tree across the road and above him. Tim’s body was pressed against the trunk. Unless they were looking in the trees …

  Jesus Christ, the laser!

  But no, Tim had had the presence of mind to switch it off. The electric cart rolled past the point where the laser would have been right in the driver’s eyes, and then slid by him. Two hospital security men in their black pants and white polo shirts rode inside. One was saying something, but Josh only caught a stray word as they passed. A few moments later, it disappeared around the curve, headed for the hospital.

  Josh let out a breath.

  As he was standing up, Tim dropped down from the branch with the tools and the laser, and packed them back into the backpack. Josh took out his phone and checked the app João had written to receive data from the camera. It was online. Everything was working. Now all they needed was some cars to drive by so the camera could scan the license numbers and send them back to the war room.

  “We good?” Tim whispered.

  Josh nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They headed back the way they had come, following Tim’s GPS through the woods. Josh was breathing more heavily now. It didn’t seem like fun anymore.

  “I am definitely going to need a drink after this,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Tim agreed. “Maybe a couple.”

  Chapter 20

  The next day, Crane and Luis sat in the Versa at the airstrip, listening to Luis’ tape deck. Luis’ tastes were too sugary for Crane’s liking, but it was his car, his music. Bahia Tortugas was back to its usual sun and cloudless skies, and the breeze came through the open window hot and dry. Crane felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck.

  The song ended, and a new one began. “Ah!” said Luis. “This is Belinda. Listen, listen!”

  Luis had apparently decided it was his responsibility to bring Crane up to speed on Mexican pop. “She’s fantastic! The video for this, with the leopard on the beach! Unh! Super hot!” He pounded the steering wheel a couple times for emphasis.

  Crane noticed the faint drone of airplane engines rising through the music. He checked his watch. It was almost three. Whoever Jessie Diamond was, she was right on time.

  Crane had checked in from the landline in the motel’s office the night before, but the connection was terrible, and Josh was in a rush about something. Crane gathered that the cartels were running their own illicit telecom networks, which explained why they were kidnapping technical people like Scott. Josh had run across some Texan businessman who knew all about it. And someone named Jessie Diamond was coming down. The rest they would figure out once she got here.

  Crane got out of the car and stretched. The approaching plane was a boxy cargo hauler with twin engines and a braced overhead wing. As it descended, Crane recognized it as a Short 330. The fuselage was square, with a loading ramp that dropped down in the rear. The wing, the diagonal bracing struts, and the twin vertical rudders were just as flat. Apart from the nose, there was hardly a curved line to be found on it. It was cheap, bulky, and slow, but it worked well enough for short-distance cargo runs. The military version was the C-23 Sherpa, and Crane had spent a fair amount of time jumping out of one during his training. Pilots affectionately called it “the shed.”

  This one was white with blue trim and didn’t carry any company identifiers. It looked like the cargo hold had been modified too. Crane wondered what she was carrying. Then the plane touched down, twin propellers kicking up dust, and taxied in.

  Crane walked toward it as it pulled off the runway into the service area and killed its engines. A few moments later, the side door opened and the pilot stepped out. Jessie Diamond wore black cargo pants tucked into her boots, a sand-colored tank top, and mirrored aviator shades. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a French braid, and topped off with a beaten olive-colored baseball cap.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Crane,” she said, as if she knew him.

  “Welcome to Bahia Tortugas,” Crane replied. She was about his height, somewhere in her late twenties, fit and toned. Her eyes were gray and alert. An old, fading scar ran down her left bicep. There was something familiar about her, actually, but Crane couldn’t place her.

  “Glad to be here,” she said.

  “Need help with anything?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Got it. Give me a second. Got some toys for you in there.”

  She climbed back into the plane. Crane knew he’d seen her before. He was still trying to figure out where when the plane’s rear ramp lowered, and Jessie drove out in a Ford Raptor pickup. As the ramp closed, she got out of the truck with a pair of Baja California Sur license plates and a screwdriver.

  “That’s your stuff in back,” she said, kneeling in front of the truck. “I don’t know how much Josh has told you.” She started screwing one of the plates onto the front bumper.

  “Not a lot, actually.”

  “Okay. Is there a decent bar in this town? We should spend some time sorting out what we’re going to do.”

  “As it happens,” said Crane, “there is a pretty good bar that looks out over the water and makes damn fine fish tacos.”

  “Works for me.”

  Crane walked over to Luis and sent him back to town. As he returned, Jessie was loading a Heckler and Koch VP9. She slipped the pistol into a holster built into a cargo pocket on her thigh, and then practiced quick drawing it a couple times. When she was satisfied, she slid the gun back into place and smiled sweetly at him.

  “Ready to go?”

  On the way back into town, Crane looked over the interior of the truck. It was armored as well, though not as seriously as Tate’s Escalade. He was starting to wonder if everyone drove armored vehicles around here. The engine had been upgraded to handle the additional weight. That was definitely the older V8 under the hood.

  And where the hell did he know Jessie Diamond from?

  He was positive now that he’d seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t place her. Finally, he gave up and just asked her. “I’m sorry, this is cheesy, but have we met before?”

  She smiled. “Smooth line.”

  “No, I’m serious. I know I’ve seen you somewhere before, and I can’t figure it out.”

  “Prague,” she said. “I brought you your Audi. The one you wrecked. And then set on fire.”

  That was it, he realized. She’d been dressed as a chauffeur and her hair had been short, but she was the woman who’d met him at the airport.

  “Wait, you work for Josh? I thought you worked for some guy in Texas.”

  “Sawyer Cottrell. He’s a client. So’s Josh. But I run my own outfit. Diamond Transport.”

  She pulled a business card from the visor and handed it to Crane. It had her name, the company name, and a series of e-mail addresses and telephone numbers. Beneath her name was the slogan “When it absolutely has to be there. Or anywhere but there.”

  “So how much do you know about what I do?” Crane asked.

  “Eh, I know where you go and what kind of stuff you need. Beyond that, not a lot. I know Josh was excited as hell when he found you. Which way up here?”

  “Uh, right.”

  Crane pocketed the business card. So that was how Josh got weapons and various other illicit gadgets wherever Crane happened to need them. He glanced back up at Jessie and decided he was impressed.

  They drove to La Playa and sat on the patio. Crane had Hector bring a bottle of tequila along with some salt and limes, and they started trading life stories.

  Jessie Diamond turned out to be the child of sovereign citizen survivalists who had raised her pretty much off the grid in the Pacific Northwest. They made their money smuggling pot from British Columbi
a, and they hung around with gunrunners, cypherpunks, militia types, and a whole range of characters from whom Jessie had learned all kinds of useful skills.

  She’d clearly inherited her parents’ disdain for authority, but she also didn’t seem to have much use for the anarchic counterculture she’d been raised in. Crane sensed a distance about her as she talked about the people in her past and her experiences. He got the sense that she felt like a kind of outside observer in the world.

  At the same time, she was friendly, outgoing, interested in him. As it grew dark and the bar started to fill, she did a good job of drawing out details about his life. Sometime during the second bottle of tequila, while the locals were dancing to the juke box, he realized he was telling her about his mother and the accident when he was eight.

  “So how do you and your father get along?” she asked, licking her hand between her fingers and thumb and sprinkling salt over it.

  “It’s always been kind of complicated,” he said.

  She licked the salt from her hand and knocked back a shot of tequila. “I’ll bet,” she said finally. “He had to raise you on his own, and you were always there to remind him of her. And she hurt him so badly. He had to keep it all bottled up inside because it’s not like he could dump it on an innocent little boy.”

  She grabbed a lime wedge and sucked on it. Crane was still unpacking what she’d said.

  “I knew people like that,” she said, in a voice weighted with hard memories. “Broken people. Real life beat them up until they retreated into fantasy, playing make-believe revolutionary. You should call your father, John. I bet you two don’t talk much.”

  “Not much,” Crane admitted, and reached for the tequila.

  By the time the bar began to empty out, they were both pleasantly drunk, and Crane realized he still didn’t know exactly what Jessie was here to do.

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked as they left the bar and walked into the breezy night air.