Page 60 of The 9th Man

Two hours of careful probing found nothing.

It was a little after 2:00A.M.when they finished.

“So we have it all,” she said. “Unless he had other off-site hiding places.”

“Which we’ll never find. Let’s pack up and get ready to hit the road. First, though, lemme touch base with Marcia.”

He dialed her number.

She answered on the first ring. “Do you have something for me?”

“On that email address, nothing yet. Whoever created it knew their business. It’s fairly untraceable. But I haven’t given up.”

“Keep at it. One more thing, if you’re game.”

“Hit me.”

“A helicopter tail number. I need to know who it belongs to, origin, destination, all that.”

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

“I’ll text you a photo.”

He hung up and found the other cell phone in his pocket. “And we have this. When Talley shot Persik, it dropped to the floor. I managed to snag it without him seeing.”

“You continue to impress me, Daniels.”

“Hold off on singing my praises. It’s password-protected. I need to get it to Marcia.”

“And that tail number. The helo from the air base?”

“Someone surely flew it back to its point of origin. Assuming Talley ain’t flying commercial, and assuming he was keen on reporting back to his boss, maybe he took a private jet out of the same place. It’s a long shot, but with any luck we can narrow down the mystery boss’s home base.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, but it’d give us more than we have at the moment. What now?”

“We’re out of leads, until we hear back from West Virginia.”

His phone rang. Marcia.

Damn. Was she listening to him?

He answered. “You miss me already?”

“As much as the day is long. I have info on that tail number. Like I said, easy peasy. Poorly protected databases, and all that. That particular bird is a lease from Francorchamps Heliport outside Verviers. It belongs to a company called Zolder Exclusive Flights. They cater to luxury clientele, most of them uber-wealthy F1 Grand Prix fanatics. You want me to do a sneak ’n’ peek into their network?”

“Hold on.” To Jillian, he whispered, “How far to Verviers?”

“Ninety minutes, give or take.”

He said to Marcia, “Leave it to us. We’ve got targets on our backs. Best we stay on the move.”

26

Starlings Island, Chesapeake Bay

ROWLAND LISTENED AS THE REPORT WAS MADE.

“What do you mean they’re gone,” he said into the phone.

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