Dust Up: A Thriller by Jon McGoran

turned to me and said, “Florida. That’s where we’re headed. We have Miriam in a safe place, just for the moment.”
    “You’ve got a private plane and a safe house. What do you need with me?”
    He smiled, acknowledging the point. “You’ll have to ask Miriam.”
    The door to the cockpit opened, and a guy came out wearing jeans and boots and an open yellow oxford shirt over a white tee. His face looked anywhere from a sprightly mid-sixties to a haggard forty-five. I guessed around fifty, with a medium dose of haggard. His eyes were gray, tired but intense.
    He and Sable exchanged a nod, then he turned to me. “You’re Carrick,” he said as he walked over to a cooler strapped down behind the seats. He took out a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. “I’m Charlie. The pilot.” He clamped the juice against his ribs with his elbow while he opened the sandwich and took a bite.
    “Good to meet you,” I said.
    He nodded and went back into the cockpit.
    Sable leaned forward, his eyes serious. “The people after Miriam are probably the same people who killed Ron. We can’t risk them finding out where she is or what she’s doing. That’s why all the secrecy.” He sat back. “We won’t be gone long. You’ll be home in time for dinner.”
    “Who’s paying for all this? Who are you working for?”
    He studied my face, like he was trying to decide how much to tell me and how much of it should be the truth. “We know what you did in Dunston. Martha’s Vineyard too.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    He smiled. “You made some powerful enemies, right? Well, you made a few friends too. Friends who want the same thing you want.”
    He kept saying that. “And what is it that you think I want?” I wanted to turn the plane around, go home, and get into bed with Nola. I hoped that wasn’t what he meant.
    “You want to see that when bad people do bad things, they don’t get away with it.”
    “Everybody wants that.”
    He laughed. “No, they don’t. The bad guys don’t. Or the people making money off the bad guys. Or the people who think the bad guys are a necessary evil.” He cocked his head. “Do you like being a cop?”
    He asked like it was a choice, like it wasn’t simply part of me. “It has its moments. I wouldn’t mind a slightly lower bullshit-to-accomplishment ratio, but as I understand it, that’s a problem with most jobs.”
    He laughed at that.
    “How about you?” I asked. “Do you like being a … Actually, what the hell are you?”
    He laughed again. “Do you know the name Gregory Mikel, of the Mikel Group?”
    It took me a second to realize I did, then another to realize how. “The billionaire?”
    He nodded. “I work for him.”
    “Gun for hire?”
    His smile flattened out. “Sort of. Mikel has a vast business empire, but he also underwrites a group called Beta Librae. We work quietly to try to counter some of the damage being done by his fellow billionaires and the corporations they control.”
    “So he’s a good-guy rich guy?”
    “Something like that.”
    “And I’m sure he’s never strayed from the straight and narrow while accumulating his billions.”
    He sat back. “I didn’t say that. And he hasn’t lost the billions he’s made, so I don’t think he’s undermining his own interests. But he’s a good guy. He’s uniquely placed and trying to do the right thing. And he’s never asked me to do anything I disagreed with.”
    “Helping Miriam Hartwell flee prosecution is doing the right thing?”
    “You tell me. You helped her get away, as well.”
    I could have given him the same counter I’d given Warren, but I knew it didn’t ring true. “What about Ron? Wouldn’t it have been the right thing to swoop in before he got killed?”
    He gave me a distasteful look, like I was being too glib. “We weren’t aware of the situation until it was too late.”
    “How did you become aware of the situation?”
    He smiled. “Kind of a funny