Blue Gold (NUMA Files 2)

“Baja Tortillas.”

“Yes. He wanted a Mexican to hold the actual ownership for the plant. He said it would be easier that way. It would be a turnkey operation. He supplied the plant specifications and brought in a construction crew. His clients would require access to the plant after it was built, but they would not interfere in the operation. They said Enrico could keep half the profits, and the plant would be his free and clear after five years.”

“Did you ever wonder why anyone would be so generous with what must have been a considerable investment?”

“I am paid substantially because I don’t ask questions like that.”

“Seems your friends wanted a cover operation,” Zavala said.

“That certainly crossed my mind. The Japanese ran into all sorts of flak when they tried to build a salt-producing plant along the coast. A bunch of whale huggers made a big stink with the Mexican government. I assumed the man’s clients saw what had happened with the Japanese and didn’t want to go through the same headaches.”

“Who was this broker?”

“His name was Jones. Oh yes, that’s his real name,” Hanley added when he saw the skeptical glances. “He’s a matchmaker who specializes in buying and selling businesses.”

“Who was he representing?”

“He never told me.”

Austin leaned forward onto Hanley’s desk. “Don’t jerk us around, Mr. Hanley. You’re a careful man. You would have had your private detective poke into this guy.”

Hanley shrugged. “Why deny it? The clients tried to hide their identity behind a web of corporate paper.”

“You said tried. Who are they?”

“I only got as far as an outfit called the Mulholland Group. It’s a closed corporation with ties to companies involved in large-scale hydraulic projects.”

“What else?”

“That’s all I know.” Hanley checked his Cartier wristwatch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with a real client.”

“We want the broker’s address and phone number.”

“It won’t do you any good. He died a few weeks ago. His car went off a mountain road.”

Austin had been gazing through the floor-to-ceiling window behind Hanley at a helicopter going back and forth across the harbor. It was moving closer with each pass. At the mention of unusual death, he brought his full attention back to Hanley.

“We’d like whatever information you have on him anyway. And your whole file as well.”

Hanley frowned. He thought he was through with this annoying pair. “I can’t give you the original. I’ll have it copied. It might take a couple of hours.”

“That would be fine. We’ll be back for it in two hours.”

Hanley’s frown deepened. Then he smiled again, rose from his desk, and showed them to the door.

Back in the elevator, Austin said, “We’ll call Hiram Yaeger. Hanley’s bound to censor the stuff he gives us, so we might want to conduct our own investigation into this Mulholland Group.” Hiram Yaeger was NUMA’s computer whiz. The tenth-floor computer complex he called Max was plugged into a vast database of oceanic knowledge from every source in the world. Max routinely hacked into outside databases.

They stepped out of the building lobby into the Southern California sun. As Zavala walked to the curb to hail a cab there was a loud whup-whup sound from directly overhead. A green helicopter hovered over the street, about a hundred feet from the glass face of the building. Like the other pedestrians they stared at the aircraft with curiosity. Then recognition flashed in Austin’s mind.

He grabbed Zavala’s arm. “We’ve got to go back.”

Zavala glanced at the helicopter and bolted for the revolving door behind Austin.

They dashed into an open elevator and punched the button for the lawyer’s floor. Halfway up there was a dull thud, and the elevator’s sides rattled in the shaft. Austin hit the stop button for the floor below Hanley’s office. They ran past startled office workers and raced up the stairway to the next level.

Acrid black smoke filled the stairwell. Austin felt the door to the law-office floor. Unable to detect heat that would indicate a fierce blaze on the other side, he opened the door a crack. More smoke poured out. They opened the door wide enough to pass through, got down on their hands and knees, and crawled through the choking fumes into the receptionist’s area. The sprinkler system had been set off, and they were drenched under a cooling spray. The receptionist lay on the rug next to her desk.

“What about Hanley?” Joe shouted. Smoke was billowing from the office door.