The Last Witness (Badge of Honor 11)

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Chad leaned over and pointed out Matt’s window as the Lear turned off the taxiway. Matt, who was listening to his voice-mail messages, looked. He saw that they were approaching a pair of airplanes being serviced by ground crew at the fixed-base operator. The closest was a slick white jet with a paint scheme that featured a pair of bright red gambling dice on its tail fin. The aircraft stood out, shining in the gray gloom.

“There’s the casino’s Citation that was in Key West,” Chad said.

They then saw a black man in a dark suit and black bow tie appear in the open doorway. He quickly pulled on a dark overcoat as he looked around the tarmac, then found a black Range Rover waiting nearby. He carried a pink-accented black suitcase down the stair steps and, somewhat strutting, tugged the luggage toward the luxury SUV. He looked visibly annoyed at having to walk around piles of gray snow slush.

“Well, that’s not Nick Antonov,” Payne said, deleting a voice-mail message, then hanging up his phone.

“That looks like Badde,” Chad said.

Matt looked again. “You’re right. It is the distinguished councilman.”

What is that bastard up to?

He looked at Chad. “Did you see him in Key West?”

Chad shook his head.

Matt held his cell phone up to the window and took a photograph of the aircraft. As he did, an attractive young cocoa-skinned woman hopped out from the driver’s seat of the SUV. Badde gave her a quick hug and pecked her cheek as she barely slowed before going around and getting in the front passenger seat.

“And there’s his lovely paramour,” Payne said.

Amanda automatically looked out the window, said, “You’re bad,” and then unbuckled her seat belt and began stuffing the journal into her bag.

After a minute, Payne said, “You know, even if you didn’t see him there, you would have heard about it. He likes to make his presence known.”

“You’re right about that, Matt. I’m glad he didn’t find me.”

“Well, when in doubt, go to the guru.”

“What?” Chad said, then watched Matt hit a speed dial key on his phone.

“Hey, Marshal,” Kerry Rapier answered on the second ring. “You home yet?”

“Just landed. Quick question, Kerry. What’s the best website to track aircraft?”

“Depends. What’s the tail number?”

Matt looked out the window. “N6556TR.”

“Hold one.”

After a moment, Kerry said, “Yeah, this guy’s tried to block it.”

“Block what?”

“Block the ability to track the aircraft. Bigwig corporate types do it to protect themselves, or so they say. I like to first try the general websites, see if someone’s trying to hide.”

“You’re a bottomless well of info. How do you know all this stuff?”

“I worked for a while with our Aviation Unit at Northeast Airport. Those chopper pilots are full of tricks.”

“You said ‘tried to block.’”

“Yeah. Hold another sec. I have access to the FAA’s stuff. . . . Okay, here it is. The log shows it’s a Cessna Citation Ten twin-turbofan that just landed fifteen minutes ago on runway twenty-four at PNE. And, bingo, here’s why it was blocked. It’s registered to Lucky Stars LLP here in Philly.”

“Right,” Payne said. “We knew it was the casino’s.”