When she heard his voice she said, “Thank God. I tried calling you before, but it wouldn’t go through. Lots to fill you in on.”
“Don’t tell me—someone else is dead,” he said in a joking tone.
“How the hell did you know that?”
Sean’s face fell. “What? I wasn’t being serious. Who is it?”
“Carla Dukes. Dobkin came by the inn a little while after I got back and told me.”
“In the middle of the night? Why would he do that?” Sean said suspiciously.
“I’m not sure. Maybe he thinks he still owes us for covering for his guys with Murdock. Whatever the case, she’s dead and they have no leads. The FBI is handling it.”
Sean sipped his coffee and bit off a chunk of his sandwich. There had been no food service on either flight. He wasn’t sure when he had eaten last but it had been a while. The grease and fatty calories felt spectacular going down. “Did you tell Dobkin about what we saw last night?”
“What, are you drunk? Of course I didn’t. Not without talking to you first.”
Sean frowned. “I don’t want to get hit with an obstruction charge, but I’m also not ready to commit us to anything.”
“So we say nothing for now?”
“Right. Nothing.”
“If Dukes was killed because she talked to the guy you’re following, things might get really hairy really fast.”
“But if I can crack who he’s with, we might just take a giant leap forward.”
“You also might end up getting yourself killed. ”
“I’ll be careful. You watch out for yourself and Megan.”
“How are you going to follow him once you get into D.C.?”
Sean glanced across at a gift shop located a little down the concourse from his gate. “I think I see an answer. I’ll call you when I run this guy to his base.”
He clicked off, checked to make sure the fellow was still sitting and working on his laptop, and walked quickly to the gift shop. It took him a couple of minutes but he finally saw what he needed.
A toy fireman’s hat. And a small bottle of glue. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed an empty stall, opened the box, and pried the piece of gold plastic off the front of the hat. He opened the glue, pulled out his private investigator’s credentials and, using the glue, he attached the
plastic piece inside a leaf of his ID. He slipped it back in his pocket, discarded the box, the hat, and the glue in the trash can, washed his hands and face, and stepped back out.
The flight to Dulles Airport was on a Canadian Regional twin-engine jet operated by United Express. Sean got on ahead of the man he was following. He settled in the back in an aisle seat and opened a newspaper someone had left in the seat pocket. He alternated between reading the paper and eyeing his target as the man took off his jacket, folded it quite deliberately, placed it in the overhead bin, and sat down. He had his phone out and was talking to someone, but there was no way for Sean to hear any part of the conversation. When the jet door closed and the flight attendants made their announcements about electronic devices, the man turned off his phone. A minute later the jet pushed back and the man gripped his armrest as they began to taxi to the runway.
Nervous flyer, thought Sean.
They lifted off into the airspace over New York City. They turned south, accelerating on the climb out, and once they hit their cruising altitude the onboard computer punched the throttles forward and they were soon soaring along at nearly 550 miles per hour.
Thirty minutes later they began their descent into Dulles through quite a bit of cloud cover. They raced along, fighting a decent headwind and changing altitudes. Sean watched the man’s right hand tighten on the armrest with every little interruption of the relatively smooth flight path.
The guy would never have cut it in the Secret Service, thought Sean.
They landed and taxied to the gate. The passengers deplaned and headed to the main terminal. They had come in through Terminal B, so they didn’t need to use the people movers that transported passengers to and from the more distant terminals.
Sean followed the guy down moving walkways and up and down escalators until they came out into the main terminal. When the guy headed to the baggage claim Sean knew what to expect next. The guy had had no baggage. He must be meeting his driver.
And so here comes the dicey part.
As they approached the baggage area, the limo drivers were lined up holding white placards with names written on them. Sean tensed when the man he was following pointed at one of the drivers. Sean eyed the sign the burly driver held.