Page 66 of Ground Truth

“Sure. But why?” Gaspar asked, already flashing backward through a time-lapse version of the main phases of the project.

“Because building a place like that requires special expertise. Special equipment. Big crews to do the work,” Flint mused, refining his plan as he watched.

The images on the screen morphed from the original vacant lush island vegetation and ran forward as the land was cleared, foundations were poured, substructure completed, and the outer walls constructed.

An immensely complicated decorative barrel tile roof was eventually installed atop the roof, which must have taken weeks to complete.

The walls were constructed, the roof installed, and the windows and doors were placed. From that point forward, a constant stream of workers moved around the mansion.

The images on the video were almost comical. Artisans of one sort or another moved rapidly from one task to the next as the sunrise and moonrise followed the passing of the days. Plumbing, electrical, floors, ceilings, cabinetry, surfaces.

The house seemed to grow to monstrous proportions until progress stopped abruptly.

“That brings us up to the present,” Gaspar said. “Looks like they’re working on various aspects of the interior. Applying thermal imaging, I can identify maybe two dozen workers on site right now.”

Flint asked, “When and how did they get to the jobsite?”

Gaspar zoomed out for a broader view and reversed the video slowly until the workers seemed to march backward into a luxury motor coach parked in one of the driveways. He traced the motor coach as it reversed to Atabei’s private airfield.

At the airfield, the workers backed off the coach and up the jet stairs to a private charter. A turboprop. The unmistakable T-shaped tail of a Bombardier Dash 8.

“Where did that flight originate? Can you find out?”

“Sure,” Gaspar replied, clacking his keyboard for another few seconds. “Looks like it flew into Atabei from a private airport in Miami.”

Flint nodded. “So the construction crew commutes from Miami every day?”

“Seems a little extravagant. And time consuming. But since there’s no hotel on Atabei and no temporary housing for workers on site, Hedinger might have no alternatives,” Scarlett said. “And I don’t like it. One way in, one way out. You’d be at Hedinger’s mercy if he discovered you. I’m pretty sure the man would kill you without a moment’s hesitation. His goons have already tried twice. Third time’s the charm.”

“Which is why I’ll have a solid escape plan before I do it,” Flint replied with a grin.

Drake was still frowning. “I should go. At least I know how to wield a hammer. You’re useless at construction work. I’ve seen you try.”

Before Flint could deliver a snappy comeback, Gaspar returned to the screen. “Okay. The construction workers seem to be staying at a Miami hotel near the private airport where the Dash 8 picks them up and drops them off.”

Flint said, “Can you get intel on all of them? We need to know names, background checks, areas of expertise. The whole Megillah. Goal is to find at least one reasonable candidate. Two would be better. I like choices.”

“You’ll never learn. You can barely function.” Scarlett narrowed her gaze and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “So you’re going into a dangerous situation, on your own, with no back up? You’re half loco.”

“Only half? That’s nicer than what you usually say about me,” Flint teased. “But if you’d like to come along, maybe we can find a construction gig for you, too.”

Before they had a chance to escalate the argument, Gaspar interrupted. “She’s right. You’re far from one hundred percent. You should wait until a couple of days after your concussion clears.”

“You’re acting like this is some sort of suicide mission,” Flint said with the kind of steely determination that brooked no argument. “It’s a witness interview. I could do it on one leg with my eyes closed.”

Gaspar said, “Who are you kidding? You can’t even stand on one leg without falling over.”

Flint stood up and posed like a flamingo with his palms together above his head to make the point. He wobbled, but he managed to stay upright.

“Hey, it’s your funeral.” Scarlett shrugged and gave up the effort. “You still need backup. Take Drake. Maybe he can keep you alive. We can extract you both when you’re ready to leave.”

Flint glanced at Drake. “You up for this?”

“No doubt. Already volunteered, didn’t I?”

“Okay, then. Let’s do this.” Flint sat down and glanced at his watch. “Two candidates. One plan. Everybody lives to tell about it.”

A quick nod from Drake, but his tone was hard when he replied, “Except Brand. I’m not willing to trade our lives for his. No matter what.”

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