Page 91 of In Too Deep

The guy spat, then said, “Why not? Now I know I won’t drown.”

Reacher pressed down on the lever again. The bowl filled. The guy struggled, but less violently than before. When the water subsided he said something. Two words. Reacher didn’t recognize the language but their meaning was clear. Reacher took a handful of the guy’s hair, pulled him up into a kneeling position, then drove his knee into the guy’s temple. The side of the guy’s head smashed into the wall and he slumped down into the gap alongside the toilet bowl. Reacher dragged his body into the middle of the floor to make it easier to search him. He checked everywhere, right down to the heels of his shoes. He found a wallet with some paper money and four credit cards. An Australian passport, half full of stamps, which he guessed was a forgery. Some keys. And that was it. Nothing useful, which wasn’t unexpected. Reacher checked the briefcase. Then the backpack. Neither was helpful. Finally he took the phone out of his pocket. He held it in front of the guy’s face so that it unlocked, then read the conversation that unfurled on the screen. It started with a photograph of the backpack on the carousel, along with four digits. The combination for the bag’s lock, Reacher guessed. It must have been sent by Vidic, although no name was displayed. Next was the guy’s reply. An address. It was for the aircraft hangar at the executive airport that Wallwork had previously given as the location of thesuspicious gold. Vidic had replied with a whole string of letters and numbers and symbols. A password, Reacher guessed. He memorized it, then dropped the phone and smashed it with his heel. He took the memory stick and slipped it into his pocket. Then he propped the guy’s computer against the base of the wall to form a triangle with the floor and snapped it in half with the side of his foot.

When Reacher came out of the bathroom Knight had moved to the side to make it look like she was waiting for someone to finish inthe men’s room. A guy in a wheelchair was in line. He saw the guyin the suit lying on the floor and said, “What the…?”

Reacher said, “Call 911. He was looking at kiddie porn on his computer. Wanted me to join in.”

The guy wheeled away, fast. Reacher used Knight’s quarter to relock the door from the outside then beckoned her over. He borrowed her phone and called Devine.

Devine’s tone was no warmer than before. She opened with, “What?”

Reacher said, “Vidic is in Fort Lauderdale. Probably heading to a hangar at the executive airport.” He gave her the address. “And send some guys to the regular airport as well. Vidic’s contact is in the accessible bathroom at the end of the bridge leading to the parking garage. He slipped. Hit his head. He won’t be awake for a while.”

Chapter34

The executive airport complex iseasy to find your way around if you’ve been there before. It’s less straightforward for first timers because the buildings all look basically the same. They’re lined up along one side of the runway and their individual signs are small and use the same font and colors due to some local regulation.

Vidic used the fact to his advantage. He gave his cabdriver the address for the building next to the one he wanted and as the guy crept along looking for street numbers, Vidic checked the parked cars and trucks for anyone keeping watch on the place. He only spotted one he was suspicious of. A panel van with a business name stenciled on the side: Crabtree and Watson Landscape Contractors. He googled and found a website with the same name, but it felt a little generic to him. More like a placeholder than a real resource. He was happy about that. Assembling 720 gold bars in one place was the kind of thing that drew attention. That was to be expected. A couple ofagents keeping an eye open was fine. A heavier presence would have been more worrying.

Vidic stood in the shadows of the next hangar in line and waited for a suitable vehicle to come by. It was hot and humid outside of the cab’s air-conditioning and his shirt was soon sticking to his back. A UPS van trundled into sight after a couple of minutes. He broke cover and kept pace with it, using its bulk to shield him from the landscaping van, and made it to the right hangar unseen.

The building was divided into two sections. The left-hand part was smaller. About an eighth of the overall floorspace. It was a combined reception and waiting area. There was a desk immediately inside the door where all the check-in and destination paperwork was taken care of. Beyond that were three discreet seating areas, each with eight chairs, so that passengers could be grouped together by flight. And at the back there was a self-serve bar with coffee, tea, andsnacks.

Vidic smiled at the woman who was on duty at the desk and handed her a driver’s license. He said, “Hi. John Austin. I’m here to check on a freight consignment.”

The woman checked the ID, looked up a record on her computer, then got to her feet. She passed the license back, took a bunch of keys from a drawer, and said, “Follow me, please.”

She led the way through a door in the right-hand wall into the hangar itself. A large scale was set up for weighing cargo, and behind that a plane was standing with its engine cowling removed for maintenance. The section Vidic was interested in was behind the plane, along the far wall. There was a line of mesh cages for securing freight that was awaiting transport or collection. Eight, altogether. Three were empty. He scanned the others as he approached. He identified the one that must be his. The one with thirty woodencrates, seven inches deep by five inches wide by six inches tall. Small, but heavy. Vidic knew they would weigh more than fifty pounds each.

The woman unlocked the padlock holding the cage door closed and said, “Take your time. Lock it when you’re done.”

Vidic waited until the woman had left the hangar and crossed to a toolbox on wheels near the front of the plane. He took a screwdriver and went back to the cage. He opened the door and used the screwdriver to lever the lid off the nearest crate. He brushed back the packing straw and couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

Gold. Universal. Indestructible. Eternal. Twenty-four bars per box. Seventy-eight thousand dollars per bar at current rates. Now all he had to do was move it before the untrustworthy bastards he’d sold the Cone Dynamics report to decided to double-cross him and take their assets back. He took one of the bars from the crate, replaced the lid, worked the lock, and went back to the reception area. He said to the woman, “Is Mr. McLeod available?”

She said, “He’s around somewhere. Outside, checking on one of the planes, probably. Take a seat. I’ll find him for you.”

—

Andrew McLeod wasa short, squat man in his thirties who still hadn’t learned that as the manager of the operation he was supposed to delegate. He appeared in the hangar doorway five minutes later. He was wearing coveralls rolled down to the waist with the sleeves hanging loose and a white shirt with a tie poked through between two buttons.

Vidic followed him to the cargo area so that they could talk in private. He nodded toward the cage full of crates and said, “I need all those gone inside of thirty minutes.”

McLeod said, “No can do. Sorry. They weigh, what? Sixteenhundred pounds? Can’t add them to another load, and I don’t have a spare plane to take them on their own.”

“Are you sure?” Vidic pulled the gold bar out of his pocket.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s a new Porsche, then yes.”

McLeod was silent for a moment, then said, “Any passengers?”

Vidic said, “Three.”

“How much do you all weigh?”

“Two hundred. One thirty, maybe. And around three hundred.”

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