for the tail number.
Todd went to the FAA website and accessed the aircraft registration list and entered the tail number. Nothing. He typed in “Jack Smithson” and got nothing.
AS TODD WAS CHECKING the FAA database, Teddy Fay was flying his 182 RG to a small airport in Albuquerque that had a paint shop, flying at low altitude and without filing a flight plan. He landed, taxied up to the shop, got out, found the owner and introduced himself as Ralph Pearson. “I spoke to you on the phone yesterday,” he said.
“Oh, yes. You wanted your registration number changed. Have you got your paperwork?”
Teddy gave him the FAA documents he had created.
The man looked over the airplane. “It’ll take us two full days of work,” he said, “what with drying time and doing the shadowing in the contrasting color. You can pick it up in three days.”
Teddy thanked the man, then walked out to the parking lot, where Lauren was waiting for him in the used Jeep Grand Cherokee he had bought. “You can drive me back down here in three days,” he said.
They drove back to Santa Fe, to their new rental house, and Teddy went to his computer, where he entered the FAA mainframe and inserted registration for his airplane with the new tail number, giving a false name and an address in Fort Smith, Arkansas.
“I see your boxes arrived,” Teddy said. “Did you have them shipped the way I asked you to?”
“I did,” she replied. “My name appears nowhere on them.”
“Good.”
“We’re going to have to go out for dinner,” Lauren said, “since we don’t have any groceries yet. We can pick up breakfast at a convenience store on the way home.”
“Fine with me,” he said, closing the computer. “Another trip to Geronimo? We haven’t been there yet.”
“Sure, that’s fine. Shall I call?”
“Is the phone working?”
“We didn’t get phone service, remember?” she reminded him. “We’re using our cells.”
“Oh, right.”
Lauren called and made the reservations, then brought a drink to him and sat down beside him on the sofa. “What are we going to do with our days, Teddy?” she asked. “I’m used to being busy.”
“Then get busy,” Teddy replied. “Boredom is a self-inflicted wound. Get to know Santa Fe; learn to appreciate the light and the terrain; read books; TiVo the good stuff at night and watch it in the daytime. Maybe we’ll take up golf.”
“It all sounds wonderful,” Lauren replied, clinking her glass with his. “A whole new world.”
22
Todd Bacon landed the B-36TC Bonanza at Santa Fe Airport late in the afternoon and taxied to the Santa Fe Jetcenter, a mock-adobe building with a large ramp. An assortment of aircraft populated the place, from large corporate jets and turboprops to his own turbocharged piston Bonanza.
Todd lost no time in questioning the young woman on the desk. She checked her computer. “No, Paul Janzen, the man who flew the 182 RG, is no longer here. He turned in his rental car yesterday and flew away. He said something about selling his airplane to somebody in Texas,” she said.
“And he’s not returning?”
“Didn’t seem like it,” she said.
“Do you know if he was selling the airplane through a broker?”
“No, sir.”
“Or what town in Texas? It’s a big state.”
“Nope. I only saw him twice, the day he arrived and the day he left.”
“Was there a woman with him either time?”
She looked thoughtful. “There was a woman in here on the day he arrived, but it didn’t look like she was with him. He came in and signed the paperwork for his rental, then he went out to the ramp, got in the car and drove away.”
“Without the woman?”
“Yes. Like I said, she didn’t appear to be with him. There were several airplanes unloading that afternoon, and she could have been on any of them.”
“Can you give me a physical description of the man?”
“I guess he was in his early fifties, dark hair, going a little gray around the ears.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
“No. He was just like anybody else.”
“Do you remember what kind of car he rented?”
She went to her computer, looked it up and told him.
“Thanks,” Todd said, then got into his own rental car, took a good look at the map and drove into Santa Fe. As he got into the city it looked to him like the sort of place he’d like to live himself, and he couldn’t blame Teddy if he’d picked it. He drove to the Plaza and found La Fonda, the big old hotel that had served visitors to the town for decades. It had been nicely updated, and he was given a small suite on the top floor. He opened his bags and got out his computer, then logged on to the Agency mainframe and sent an e-mail to Holly Barker.
Checked out Vero Beach and discovered that Lauren Cade had left some boxes in storage there and that they had been shipped to Santa Fe, but the company had nothing under her name. Arrived Santa Fe an hour ago and checked for 182 RG at Santa Fe Jetcenter, but owner had turned in his rent-a-car and left yesterday. Appeared to be alone on both arrival and departure. Description by woman at the desk vague, could fit hundreds of people. Said he was going to Texas to sell his airplane, no mention of what city.
I’ll follow every lead in Santa Fe tomorrow and report on anything I find. I tried to find a photograph of Lauren Cade in the records of the Florida State Police and motor vehicles department, to no avail. I guess you were right about our friend’s ability to scrub items on databases.
Todd
HOLLY, WORKING LATE at her desk as usual, read the e-mail, and it was nothing less than she had expected. Teddy was a chameleon with endless bags of tricks, and she wasn’t entirely sure that Todd understood who he was up against. Still, he was a resourceful young man who wanted to further impress Lance Cabot, so he was highly motivated.
TODD GREW HUNGRY around dusk, so he showered and changed and stopped at the concierge’s desk in the lobby.
“May I help you, sir?” the young woman said.
“Yes. Can you recommend a very good restaurant for dinner outside the hotel? Something with local color?”
“I’d recommend either Santacafe or Geronimo,” she said. “I suppose Geronimo has more local color.”
“Can you book me a table for one, please?”
She called the restaurant and spoke to them, then turned to Todd. “They have no tables, but you can dine in the bar; you won’t need a reservation there.”
“All right. Thanks.” Todd turned toward the garage, then turned back.
“Can you give me directions?”
“It’s very easy. Turn right out of the parking lot, then drive toward the cathedral and take your next right. Go straight at the traffic light, then take your first left onto Canyon Road. Geronimo is about halfway to the top, and they have valet parking.”
TEDDY AND LAUREN were seated at a corner table at Geronimo, Teddy in his preferred gunfighter’s seat with his back to the corner. He saw a young man enter the restaurant and walk straight through the dining room toward the bar. Bells went off in Teddy’s head. He never forgot a face, but where had he seen this one?
