'That's right. You don't. Fifteen minutes.'
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lallon hung up.
Richard put down his phone and looked at me. 'What do we do?'
'Exactly what he told you to do. We'll do the rest.' Pike and I left at a dead run. We knew that Fallon was probably already at the airport and would be set up so that he could see Richard approach and watch for the police. Speed was everything. We had to get to the airport before Richard, we had to stay out of sight, and we had to come at lallon in a way he didn't expect.
I drove fast, and so did Pike, the two of us rat-racing across the city.
Sunset Boulevard glowed with violet-blue light that rippled and shimmered on the hood of my Corvette. The cars we raced past were frozen in place, their tail lights stretched in front of us like liquid red streaks. I couldn't shift hard enough, I couldn't drive fast enough. We screamed across Westwood into Brentwood, and then toward the sea.
Santa Monica Airport was a nice little place, one lonely airstrip built during a time when inland Santa Monica was mostly clover fields and cows, north of LAX and west of the 4o5. The city grew up around it, and now the airfield was surrounded by homeowners and businesses who hated the noise and lived in fear of a crash. You could get a good hamburger there, and sit on benches across from the tower to watch the airplanes take off and land. Ben and I had done that more than once.
The north side of the airfield was mostly corporate offices and the Museum of llying old hangars and parking ramps lined the south. Many of the hangars on the south had been converted into offices or businesses, but many were empty I guess they were cheaper to abandon than repair.
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I called Myers's cell as we got close.
'We're almost there, Myers. Where are you?'
'We just left the hotel. I'd say twelve or fifteen
minutes. We're cutting it close.'
'You're driving?'
'Yeah. Richard's in back.'
'When you reach the airport, slow down. Drive slow
so that Pike and I have enough time.'
'We can't be too late, Cole.'
'They'll see your limo turn into the airport. They'll know you're here. That's what matters. They know you're from out of town, so just drive like you're confused.'
'Shit, man, I'm doing that now.'
I had to smile, even then.
'I'll call you back when we're there.'
I leaned on the horn all the way down Bundy, slowing for red lights but never once stopping, and twice Joe Pike pulled ahead. I straddled the curb to get around slower cars and hung on their bumpers, then downshifted hard into the oncoming lanes. I hit a trash can on Olympic Boulevard, and raked a street sign as we blew under the freeway. My right headlight went out.
All four tires smoked as I turned toward the sea. I picked up the phone. 'Myers ?' 'I'm here.' 'Two minutes.'
We blew west two blocks north of the airport past a long row of offices and charter jet hangars. The tower stood silently in the distance, asleep for the night, its only sign of life a throbbing green and white light.
Pike stopped at the embankment by the end of the runway, but I kept going. The office buildings gave way
3oI
to a soccer field, and then to residential streets. I left my car a block away and ran on foot to the dark hangars that lined the south side of the field like overgrown shadows.
Fallon would probably have a man on the roof and maybe another on the little service road that Richard would be using. A few cars were parked along the service road, but I couldn't see if anyone was in them and I didn't have time to go from car to car. The rooflines were clean.
I edged past the last hangar, then peeked around the corner. A few small airplanes were tied down on the ramp with a row of fuel trucks parked by them. The
trucks were all by themselves at the edge of nothing. I whispered into the phone. 'Myers ?'
'We're at the east side.'
'I can't see you.'
'I don't care if you can see me; do you see them?' 'Not yet. Go slow. I'm moving.'
Pike was working his way toward the ramp from the north. I couldn't see him and didn't try; if I saw him, then they could see him, and either way would be bad. A trailer set up as a temporary office jutted out between the hangars. I slipped out to its end for a better view. I scanned the rooflines again, then the shadows along the base of the hangars, and then the trucks. Nothing moved. I listened as hard as I could. Nothing moved. I looked for shadows and shapes that were out of place, but everything seemed normal. No other cars were present. The hangar doors were dosed. Fallon was probably waiting nearby if he was waiting anywhere at all.
