'We checked. She scored those on her own, an old connection. We found the guy through his parole officer.'
'What's your guess, then?' Rodgers asked.
'You mean a unified theory?' McCaskey asked.
'As unified as you can be over an open line,' Rodgers said.
'Mike, I wish I knew. Someone in the senator's office wanted the first victim dead. Then they killed some random tourist to make it look like the first murder was not related to the big man or his party. Our reporter friend was in it for perks and as a patsy, if necessary. If I said anything beyond that, I would be making pretty big assumptions.'
'Make them,' Rodgers said as he ran along Harbor Drive. The wide road bordered the bay. The convention center was just ahead. In the distance he heard the unmistakable bass thumping of an incoming helicopter.
'Mike, what is homicide or abduction always about? Power. Revenge.
Jealousy. Money,' McCaskey said. 'At the Bureau we used to assign a team to each of those and follow it back to a source.'
'I don't have a team,' Rodgers said. 'Hell, when this is over, I may not even have a job.'
'I know.'
'Darrell a hunch. Give me something.'
McCaskey sighed. 'We're talking about a politician who is already wealthy, who has never had a scandal attached to his marriage, who has the respect of his colleagues. If he is behind it, I am guessing it is for power.'
'And the admiral?'
'You know him better than I do, Mike,' McCaskey replied. 'But think about it. He has had control over intelligence. That is real power.
He knows what it tastes like.'
The sounds of the chopper and his own hard breathing made it difficult for Rodgers to hear. Since McCaskey had access to the national news and the FBI pipeline, Rodgers asked him to call at once if he heard anything about a ransom demand. Barring that, Rodgers said he would call as soon as he had a lead or even a new idea. The general vowed he would get one if he had to dangle Eric Stone from the open hatch of the Apache.
Which is not the worst idea you have had today, he told himself.
Assuming he could find the bastard. Stone had vanished within moments of the report.
Rodgers could hear the higher-pitched whir of the police helicopters moving along the San Diega Freeway. Two hovered above Lindbergh Field in case the limousine had gone there, and two more from the Harbor Patrol were moving out to sea. Perhaps the kidnappers intended to fly Admiral Link from the area. There were sirens on the Pacific Coast Highway, which paralleled Harbor Drive. Convention security personnel were running here and there, shouting into walkie-talkies and trying to keep order around the convention center itself. They were apparently being told to keep people in the area. Having another four or five thousand attendees in the streets would only complicate rescue efforts.
Rodgers reached the eastern entrance of the convention center as the Marine helicopter landed. He showed one of the security guards his USF ID as well as his Op-Center ID. He was allowed inside. A wide, sunlit, concrete- heavy gallery circled the massive convention area. It was thick with refreshment stands, media booths, and USF vendors.
People were standing around, just as they were in the hotel lobby, trying to pick up information and voicing theories as to who might be behind this. 'Damn foreigners' was the expression Rodgers seemed to hear most.
It would be ironic if that were the case. International enemies of the USF Party were something Mike Rodgers had not even considered. Or someone seeking revenge for William Wilson, perhaps?
No, Rodgers decided. Something like this would have been planned for some time. The abductors would have had to know Link's schedule, been able to get to the limousine driver and take him out, and had a hideout or escape route ready. The kidnappers would have made dry runs.
Rodgers started up the concrete stairs that led to the top of the convention center. He was tired, but years of training with Striker had kept him in top physical condition. The door to the roof was a fire exit. It was unlocked. Rodgers stepped out. The chopper was about fifty yards away. Rodgers waved to the pilot, who acknowledged with
