“If you can get them on another person, that's best. Otherwise, leave them in a vehicle if it looks like it's one of theirs- say, one that's got electronic equipment or in some other way gives you the idea it's something they'll use again. If they take you someplace that looks like it's a permanent staging area, not a motel room, for example, then leave a spot. In short, leave them anywhere you think will be critical for us to know about… when the time comes.
“Notice, ”Burden added, pointing at the spots with the tweezers, “that there are light and dark moles. They send different signals. Leave one kind on vehicles, the other kind on people. That way we'll know what we're looking at. Since you won't be able to see the difference in the dark, you can put one kind on each hand so you can keep them straight.”
“How many of them are there? ”Titus asked.
“Only eight, unfortunately.”
“They've got to be expensive.”
“You're looking at fifty-three thousand dollars’worth of blotches. And they're worth every dime of it.”
“Then that's all you want him to do? ”Rita interjected. “Just leave these things… around.”
“That and, of course, get what he can out of the conversation. ”He looked at Rita. “This is essential, ”he said. “The information is invaluable.”
“So is he, ”she said evenly, and she looked as if for an extra dime she would have given Burden a piece of her mind, too, but she held her tongue. Barely.
Burden didn't react or respond. “One of them will send a slightly different signal, ”he said to Titus, and probed through the blotches, selecting one of the lighter ones with a black dot in the center of it. “It's yours. We'll put it on your upper arm and get it out of your way. That'll leave you seven to leave behind.”
“Okay, then we'd better get started, ”Titus said, putting both arms on the table. “I want to see how the things work, and there's not that much time left.”
Chapter 27
Following Luquin's instructions, Titus steered his Range Rover through the gates of his property at exactly twelve-thirty and started down the winding half mile of private drive to Cielo Canyon Road. He had been told to make his way to Westlake Drive and then go south to the Toro Canyon intersection, where he would receive further instructions.
It didn't happen that way.
After he rounded the second steep bend of the descending drive, a man stepped out of the dark margin of the woods into the path of Titus's headlights and waved him down. When Titus stopped, the man came up quickly and opened his door.
“Please get out, Mr. Cain, ”he said in heavily accented English. Titus put the Rover in park and did as he was told, leaving the engine idling. The man got into the Rover and drove away without another word, leaving Titus standing in the middle of the paved road in the dark.
As the engine of his Rover receded and the buzzing sounds of lacewings filled the darkness, Titus heard the snap of a branch and turned around to see the black smear of another figure stepping out of the woods.
“Mr. Cain, ”the man said, approaching him. There was no flashlight. “Please put these on, ”the man said, and handed Titus a pair of goggles, which he slipped on. They had nightvision lenses, and the world became apple green with highlights of leached turquoise. He could now see that the man was wearing the same device. He was dressed in street clothes, his tight-fitting knit polo shirt revealing a trim stomach and muscular arms. The handgun at his waist was large.
They stepped off the road and into the woods, the man in front of him. They moved downhill through the cedar and underbrush, not hurrying but carefully picking their way through the dense cedar thickets, their dress loafers a distinct disadvantage on the rough terrain.
In just a few minutes they came to Cielo Canyon Road and stopped short in the edge of the woods. A car passed them as they stood only a few feet into the brush. Then another. The third car slowed, a Lincoln Navigator. It stopped, and Titus was hustled out of the woods and into the car, which started driving away before the doors were even closed.
He was in the seat behind the driver, with the man sitting next to him.
“The glasses, ”said the man sitting beside him, and Titus removed the goggles and handed them over.
Titus looked at the driver. The back of the head meant nothing to him. When he glanced at the man beside him, the guy was looking at him. Mexican.
A scanner attached to the dash in the front beeped and crackled, and a satellite map, crisp and clear, was mounted beside that. As if sensing Titus's interest, the driver leaned forward and turned off the monitor. Sighing heavily, Titus worked off a mole from the back of his left hand and stuck it to the front of the seat between his legs.
In just a few turns they pulled into a housing development and drove through the streets until they came to the back side of the development, where two houses were under construction.
“Get out, ”said the guy sitting next to him. They both got out, and the guy came around holding something in his arms. “Take off your clothes, ”he said.
Titus undressed, and when he was down to his shoes and underwear the guy said, “All of it. ”Titus kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and shed his underwear. Part of his instructions from Luquin had been to leave all identification behind. Apparently they were going to drive off and leave his clothes and shoes right where they were.
“You work out? ”the guy asked, handing Titus the clothes he had been holding. The driver in the Navigator snorted.
“Yeah, ”Titus said.
“Weights?”
“Yeah, ”Titus said. He put on the pants and buttoned them and then the shirt. From what he could see in the light from the opened door, it was some kind of service repairman's uniform, putty gray. After he buttoned up the shirt, the guy dropped a pair of shoes on the ground.
“Elevens?”
“Right. ”Titus bent down to put on the first shoe and lost his balance. Staggering, he reached out reflexively to the guy, who reacted the same, catching him with a beefy shoulder to keep him from falling. Quickly Titus righted himself and then finished putting on his shoes. He had managed to leave a mole from his right hand on the back side of the man's upper right arm.
When they got back into the SUV, the guy handed Titus a black hood.
“Put it on, ”the man said.
Titus slipped it over his head and immediately had to fight claustrophobia. It wasn't just the feel of the close-fitting cloth. It was all of it, the whole menacing unfamiliarity of it.
He tried to keep track of the turns, but it was impossible; besides, he suspected the driver was doubling back and retracing his course much of the time. After Titus had shed his clothes, the two men began talking in Spanish. They must've known that Titus couldn't understand them because they didn't seem to be cautious or stinting in their conversation. Then the car hit what must have been a stretch of highway, because the Navigator sped up to a sustained speed. The conversation stopped.
Titus lost track of time on the highway, and the monotony of the constant speed and the lack of conversation conspired to create a strange timelessness. Then suddenly the car began to decelerate quickly, and without pulling off to the side of the highway, it stopped.
The doors flew open and Titus was hustled out and shoved into another vehicle-another SUV, from the feel of it. Again he found himself in the backseat. Quickly, because he didn't know how long he would be in the car, he left another mole on the seat between his legs. The car turned off the highway and accelerated quickly, roaring over a paved but undulating road, maybe a county road.
Another turn. A gravel road that climbed. Switchbacks. Slowing. A stop.
The SUV's doors opened: the driver and only one other. Different men, he guessed. Somebody took him out
