Page 138 of One Minute Out

But before he says anything, my sat phone buzzes in my pocket.

Instantly I’m terrified something is wrong. I grab it and answer, knowing it’s Talyssa. “What’s happened?”

In contrast to her last call, this time there is a buoyancy in her voice that I’ve never heard. “I’ve got something!”

FORTY-ONE

I can tell by Talyssa’s breathless tone that she has somehow found the big break we need, the one I wasn’t able to provide by skulking around Venice, taking pictures of billionaire pervs and dodging bullets.

“What is it?”

“The psychologist Roxana told you about on La Primarosa is Dr. Claudia Riesling. I found her through an account in Antigua attached to one of the accounts Meyer dug into. Her name wasn’t on the account information, but a personal bank account of hers had received monthly transfers from a shell corporation I tied to the Consortium.”

I’m beyond impressed. I wonder how many idiots’ faces I’d have to bash in to get the same information.

“Where does she live?”

“She has a house in Pacific Palisades, California, and another in the south of France.”

“Great. We just have to find out where she is now.”

“No, we don’t,” Talyssa says.

“We don’t?”

“No, because we know where she is going to be tomorrow and the day after.”

“Where?”

“She booked a room at a luxury hotel in the San Fernando Valley for two nights.”

I think about this for a second. “That’s not far from her home.”

“An hour or so. I had a hunch her hotel stay was work-related, especially right after this trip to pick the women up. I looked at property records around it, ran a scan of ownership of anyplace that seemed large enough to be considered a ranch, and then I looked through the ones set up by corporations and trusts and such.”

“Jesus,” I say. “How long did that take?”

She says, “Maarten and I did it in a half hour. Anyway, there are a few large ranches nearby, and one of them is owned by one of the one hundred sixty-eight shell corps I’ve identified as being part of the Consortium. It’s a sixty-acre property north of Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley. Looking at Riesling’s credit card purchases, she stays at this nearby hotel every other month, usually for two to five nights at a time.”

I wonder if that’s how many times they bring trafficking victims in from abroad.

I don’t have a computer in front of me, because I’m basically a prisoner on this aircraft, so I can’t look up the property. But I get all the information I can from Talyssa and I borrow a pen and pad from Sharon and write it down.

I then say, “You’ve done incredible work. Now, I need you to be very careful. Get out of there and watch your back; this Meyer guy might see an opportunity and take it.”

Talyssa replies, “Maarten and I have an understanding, Harry. He won’t be any trouble.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering what she’s been doing without me there to guide her. But whatever it is, I can’t complain about the results.

“Okay,” I say. “Find someplace to hide out. I’ll call you when I know more.”

“Are you joking? I’m not going to stay over here and hide out.”

“I don’t need you over here in the middle of—”

“I’ll call you when I get to California.” And with that the line goes dead.

I look over to Hightower, and I realize he’s been listening in on the conversation. Before I can speak, he says, “Let’s make a call to the boss.”

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