TEDDY SET DOWN the Mustang at Santa Monica Airport as the sun was sinking into the Pacific, then taxied to the hangar, chocked the airplane, and transferred their bags to his car, parked in the hangar.
“So, where are we vacationing?” Sally asked, as they drove out of the hangar, leaving the airplane to be put away by a lineman with a tractor.
“Wait and see,” he said. He took the I-10, then the I-405 to Sunset Boulevard, then drove to Stone Canyon Road and turned left, passing the Bel-Air Hotel. A couple of minutes later they were at the gate to the Arrington.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Barnett,” the guard said, looking at his driver’s license. “They’re expecting you at the Barrington cottage. Do you know the way?”
“I do, thanks.” He drove up the hill and came to a stop in front of the house.
“Cottage?” Sally asked, looking at the house.
“That’s what very rich people call big houses,” Teddy said. A butler appeared, introduced himself, and got their things inside and upstairs.
“All the comforts of home,” Sally said, looking around their spacious room. “Who does this belong to?”
“Stone Barrington,” Teddy said. “We had dinner with him last night, remember?”
“Of course I do. Is there a pool?”
“A very nice one,” Teddy replied.
“Do I need a swimsuit?”
“Take a robe, just in case. Once there, you’re safe, except from me.”
Sally started peeling off clothes.
? ? ?
CARLOS AND JOE sat at a large computer monitor with a split screen. On one side was an Interpol photograph of Sergei Kasov; on the other, the FBI aging of his childhood photo.
“Pretty good software, huh?” Joe said. “Without the hair, he’s a ringer for the real guy.”
“Born Leningrad, thirty-nine years ago,” Carlos read from his sheet. “Educated in a private academy associated with the KGB, then on to their college. A full-fledged agent from the age of twenty-one until the breakup of the Soviet Union, then a freelancer.”
“Good training for a killer,” Joe replied. He typed the name into the Immigration & Naturalization database. “Entered the country at L.A. International a week ago,” he read. “He must have been staying with his brother.”
“There’s a team out there now, taking apart the trailer.”
“He must have gotten the gun from Dimitri. He could be driving one of his cars, too. Run Dimitri’s name through the DMV database and see if there’s a car missing from his collection.”
Joe did some typing. “Here we go—a two-year-old Prius. Lots of those in L.A. I’ll add the plates to the APB.”
“This guy’s not going to last long,” Carlos said. “We’ve got him bracketed, now.”
? ? ?
TEDDY AND SALLY had a good dinner in Stone’s study and drank some wine. “You sleepy?” she asked him.
“Not yet. You go on to bed, I’ll be up in a while.” He gave her time to get to sleep, then he went outside, got into the car, and drove out to Malibu. He drove slowly past his house, and a couple of doors down, he saw something he had never seen in his immediate neighborhood: a BMW motorcycle. He drove down to the Village, then turned around and drove back. The motorcycle was gone. He made a U-turn and went back to the restaurant where he and Sally had dined a few nights ago. He parked in their lot, then went into the restaurant and out onto their deck, from which there was access to the beach.
He walked down the beach toward his house. He walked past it, looking for unwanted company, but saw only one couple walking barefoot on the wet sand. Then he doubled back. He pressed a hidden switch under his deck, and a staircase came down. At the bottom he took off his shoes and climbed the stairs. He paused where his head was level with the deck, then stood, watching and listening for any sign of anybody at his property. He saw and heard nothing.
Satisfied, he went up the stairs and let himself in through the sliding door.
? ? ?
CARLOS E-MAILED THE PHOTO and sheet to Regan and Grover. “The picture will help with the APB. All we have to do now is wait for him to be picked up.”
52
THE LIVING ROOM was well lit by moonlight, and he stood in a corner shadow while he listened for any sign of movement in the house. He slowly closed the sliding door and waited for another couple of minutes.
Finally, he took a small flashlight from a kitchen drawer and stepped out of the living room into a hallway. He stopped and listened again, then proceeded with caution into the master bedroom, checking the closet. He pushed aside the clothes on the rack and opened the wall safe. He took out some cash, then slipped into a shoulder holster and stuck a small 9mm pistol into that, checking it first for a full magazine. He pumped a round into the chamber, then set the safety, then he chose a lightweight jacket and slipped it on to cover the weapon. He slipped on the loafers holding the two short knives, then stuck an extra couple of pistol magazines in a hip pocket. Teddy wasn’t sure why: he had never required more than two rounds to resolve a situation.
Thus fortified, he let himself out the sliding doors, set his other shoes inside, locked up, and went back down to the beach. Still watching the shadows for company, he made his way back to the restaurant and his car. The BMW motorcycle he had seen earlier was in the parking lot, near the road.
He had a good look at the machine, then went back inside the restaurant, stood near the door, and had a look around. It was a fairly busy night and he took time to check the occupants of each table, then turned his attention to the bar. His scan stopped on a leather jacket, worn by a thickly built bald man whose back was turned as he chatted to a woman on the stool beside him.
Teddy walked to the end of the bar and took a seat; the bartender recognized him and started toward him. Teddy held a finger to his lips, and the bartender nodded.
“Evening, sir. Can I get you something?” the bartender said softly.
“Macallan 12 on the rocks,” Teddy whispered, and the drink was brought. He checked the mirrors around the bar, but he could not see the man’s face; he’d just have to wait for him to turn around. He placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar in anticipation of his departure and waited. As he did, the woman holding the man’s attention said something to him, then got up and walked toward the ladies’ room.
Teddy stared at the back of the man’s head. Then, slowly the bald head turned toward Teddy and his eyes locked onto him. Both men held their gaze without flinching. Both knew immediately who they were looking at.
Teddy hoisted a foot and slipped a knife from his heel, then he got up and left the restaurant. He waited for the man to follow, but he did not. Teddy walked over to the motorcycle and quickly slashed both tires, then he got into his car and pulled out of the lot. As he did, he checked his rearview mirror and saw the man come out the front door, look around, then walk toward the motorcycle.
“Have fun with that,” Teddy said aloud as he drove away.
He got back to the Arrington and was soon in bed beside Sally, who was snoring lightly.
? ? ?
CARLOS AND JOE were working late when the call came in.
“Rivera,” he said.
“Detective, this is Dispatch. A patrol car just called in a location for the Prius you’re looking for.”
“Where is it?”
“In the parking lot of Malibu Village, outside the grocery store.”
“Tell them not to touch it but to observe from a distance until I get there,” Carlos replied. He hung up. “We’ve got the Prius,” he said to Rossi. “Let’s go.”
? ? ?
DAX BAXTER GOT out of the limo in his driveway and said good night to his screenwriter, Hal Palmer. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” he said. “Sorry about the abrupt return, but there’s something I’ve got to take care of here.”