revenge operation on US soil – but it wasn’t as big a deal as it had seemed that morning. He was hoping that the Brit was guilty and that it was not too good to be true.
‘Okay,’ Hobart said, getting down to business and sounding more like his old self than he had for a long time. ‘Airports, car-hire companies, hotels, credit cards and cash machines. Let’s find out if he’s still in this country. And if he is, let’s haul him in.’
Hobart then thought about something that Phil had said to him which now impressed him with its approp riateness. ‘A long elevator ride underground,’ he said softly.
‘What was that, sir?’ his assistant asked.
‘Good work, Hendrickson. You’ve earned your weekend off.’
Hendrickson wanted to say something sarcastic but accepted the compliment with a smile. ‘Do you want me to get onto it now, sir?’
‘No. Give it to Gomez. You get on home.’
Hobart walked out of the office and back along the corridor to pick up his jacket and head home. He was feeling altogether better about things and the drive might not be so stressful after all. As he stepped into the office another thought gave him pause. He had planned to visit Skender in the morning to discuss a few things and wondered if he should warn him that there was an outside chance the person who had targeted Leka and Ardian might want revenge against him too. The possibility was a long shot since Skender had had nothing to do with the woman’s death but Hobart’s job was about covering every angle. On the other hand, he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of this Stratton guy bumping off Skender. But, much as he hated the Albanian, at the end of the day he had a job to do and if it meant keeping that piece of scum alive then so be it. He would get across to Skender’s office first thing in the morning.
As Hobart pulled his jacket on a couple more things suddenly niggled him. First, where had this Brit got the explosives from? He couldn’t have known he was going to avenge Sally Penton’s murder before he arrived in LA since he didn’t know the details of her death. That meant he’d got the explosives while in the US. Second, where had he got the information about Leka and Ardian since the cops hadn’t given it to him? If this Stratton guy was SIS he was well connected and the answers to both questions could well point in some intriguing directions. Stratton had to have a relationship with someone in US intelligence or the military. That could be interesting.
Hobart was in the doorway of his office when yet another thought stopped him in his tracks. If he was going to warn Skender he should do it sooner rather than later.
He went back to his desk, flicked through a Rolodex and dialled a number on his phone. A second later it picked up. ‘Is Skender there?’ Hobart said.
‘Who is this, please?’ a female voice asked.
‘Hobart. FBI.’
‘One minute, please.’
Hobart looked out of his window while he waited with the phone to his ear. The traffic had not abated in the slightest.
‘I’m afraid Mr Skender is busy at the moment,’ the female voice said.
‘Is that right,’ Hobart said and put the phone down. Everything about the Albanian annoyed Hobart at the best of times but having him ignore a call from the Bureau made the FBI man’s blood pressure rise.
He walked into the corridor, slamming the door of his office behind him. Five minutes later he was driving out of the car park, through the backstreets and towards Culver City. Traffic was heavy even on the smaller side streets but half an hour later Hobart arrived outside Skender’s new building. It was floodlit so that workers could carry on throughout the night. He walked past the sentry box, ignoring calls from the perplexed security guard to show him some ID, and strode across the marble concourse and in through the entrance.
Cano was in the lobby, talking with a couple of his apes, as Hobart walked in followed by the security guard.
‘Take me up to your boss,’ Hobart ordered Cano.
‘He just walked right on in, Mr Vleshek,’ the security guard whined. ‘Wouldn’t show me no ID or nothin’.’
‘Go back to your gate,’ Cano said to the security guard, his stare fixed contemptuously on Hobart. ‘Mr Skender expecting you?’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ Hobart said looking around the lobby as if Cano himself was of little importance. ‘Look, if he prefers he can come down to my office. Tonight, that is. And that’s not a request, it’s a demand.’
Cano smirked as if Hobart’s demand was meaningless.
‘Don’t fuck around with me, Vleshek. Your boss is the one with friends in high places. No one said anything about you and I don’t like you.’
Cano maintained his look of contempt as he pulled a phone from his pocket and punched in a number. The call was picked up after a few seconds. ‘Hobart’s here – in the lobby.’
There was a pause while he listened.
‘He’s acting pretty tough today,’ Cano answered. Then he said ‘Okay,’ taking the phone away from his ear and pointing towards an open elevator. Hobart walked towards it and stepped inside, followed by Cano who placed a key-card in a slot and hit the penthouse button. Seconds later they were ascending fast.
They stood in silence together for a few seconds. Then Hobart glanced at Cano. ‘How’s the eye?’ he asked.
Cano did not answer because he realised that Hobart had said it for no other reason than to poke fun at him.
Hobart knew that it was a childish comment but he enjoyed making it nonetheless. The fact was that these people had him over a barrel as long as his orders from on high were to treat them with kid gloves. He found it extremely frustrating.
The top-floor doors opened and Hobart followed Cano into the curved corridor, past the conference room behind its glass wall and on to a pair of large, elaborate doors. Cano pushed through them without knocking to reveal Skender wearing a white silk shirt open to his chest, white slacks and white leather loafers and seated in an armchair beside a large ornate oak desk as he perused a file. He took off a pair of reading glasses as he looked up and smiled as Hobart stopped in the centre of the room, facing him, Cano remaining by the doors.
‘Well, General Hobart. The only honest Fed on the West Coast. So what do you think of my new building?’
Hobart looked around the room, nodding as if impressed. Two of the walls displayed a pair of modern and no doubt expensive abstract paintings and what appeared to be pieces of ancient pottery on stands were dotted around among the mixture of modern and antique furnishings. The ceiling’s planes were angular, forming a point at one side of the room, the pinnacle of the pyramid. It was different.
‘Interesting,’ Hobart said. ‘Who was the architect? Frank Lloyd Wrong?’
Skender grinned. ‘Did you know, this is the first major construction of its size in this city to be built on time and under budget?’
‘Yeah – I heard what happened to contractors who didn’t turn up on time.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you, Ivor?’
Cano shook his head slowly.
‘Opening ceremony’s in a week,’ Skender continued. ‘And you and Mrs Hobart are invited.’
‘Can’t wait. Are Mr and Mrs Bin Laden invited too?’
‘I’m full of surprises, Hobart. You never know.’
‘Save your horse crap for the people who eat it. This isn’t a social call. I’m here to tell you that your time’s running out. You’d better start shaking that tree of yours a little harder. Those two traffickers you turned over to us, Bavero and Puta, were your meal ticket for last month. I want someone new and bigger for this month. And don’t worry. Unlike those prick friends of yours in the administration I’m not expecting you to hand over Bin Laden. We both know you probably have more chance of delivering the Man in the Moon. While I remember, here’s a to-do item for you to slip under a fridge magnet. I want something by the end of this week or the opening ceremony is about all you’ll ever see of this place. I’ll give you a lead. Over a ton of heroin hit the East Coast last month, ferried in by mules from Sicily. That’s an Albanian trade route. I want to close it down. That’ll buy you next month’s freedom. And you should know that I’m going to keep on your back either until you’re all dried up or until your friends tear you apart to stop themselves ending up on your list. And another thing. The amnesty honeymoon’s over. The next employee of yours who steps out of line I’m putting them in chains. Have I made myself clear?’
