over Brooklyn a year after 9/11, and NY Yankees pitcher Curt Moline's flight into a Manhattan high rise. Gordian was the most capable company to assist in the probe of crash involving a star as big as Rex Hayden.
The dead bodies were piling up fast. First Coleman, now Hayden. Both mentioned by Sam and both pushing daisies. Locke didn't like the pattern because his name was in there, too. The evidence was fresher on Hayden's death, so that was Locke's first priority.
"Tell Judy we're joining them at the crash site," he said to Aiden. "We'll make a stop in Vegas before we come back to Seattle."
"If you pop into a casino, put a hundred on Ireland to beat Germany in what you call soccer."
"Sorry, Aiden. You know I never gamble. Might use up all my luck."
Locke hung up and stared at Dilara with curiosity. What a beautiful archaeologist and Noah's Ark had to do with the deaths of an engineer and a world-famous movie star was a question he never expected to be asking himself. The answer had to be even stranger than the question.
"You, Dr. Kenner," he said with a smile, "are a trouble magnet." He winked at her.
She smiled back at both of them. "Then it seems like I'm in good company."
"Speak for yourselves," Grant said. "I consider myself more of a trouble
maker
."
"I can vouch for that," Locke said.
The muffled roar of helicopter blades penetrated the walls. Locke glanced out the window and saw the Super Puma heading for the landing pad. He waited breathlessly for a puff of smoke from the chopper's turbine, but it glided in safely. He didn't think they'd try blowing up another helicopter, but he'd feel better once they reached Newfoundland safely.
"Our ride is here," he said. "Time for a change of scenery."
As they walked to the helicopter pad, Locke made one last phone call to arrange for the jet to divert to Las Vegas and have a Jeep waiting for them at the airport. He wanted to see the Hayden crash site for himself.
Chapter 15
The news about the failed assassination of Dilara Kenner and Tyler Locke didn't reach Sebastian Garrett's ears until the next evening. He had spent his Sunday flying back from LA to make an inspection of his facility on Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington state. The 57-square-mile island was home to 4500 people and a bustling tourist trade, which meant visitors to Garrett's facility could come and go without attracting undue attention.
He ate dinner with Svetlana Petrova on the veranda of the facility's mansion and enjoyed the cool October breeze, a luxury he would be able to enjoy for only one more week. She was dressed in a sheer top and miniskirt, showing off her assets to full advantage. She looked faintly like the businesswoman she had pretended to be when she lured Sam Watson into touching the poison that would end his life in a matter of seconds. Garrett only wished she had been part of the mission to follow Dilara Kenner out of LAX and kill her before she had caused all this trouble. Svetlana certainly wouldn't have left the job unfinished.
The building where they were eating was one of five on the 400-acre property. Huge old-growth pine trees ringed the densely-wooded property.
Dan Cutter sat stiffly in a chair at the opposite end of the table. He didn't eat, only sipping from a glass of water. Petrova listened to the conversation in silence. Garrett had met her when she had been trafficking black market pharmaceuticals into Moscow for the Russian Mafia. He saved her from that lifestyle and brought her to the US. Her parents had been nuclear scientists who were killed in the Chernobyl disaster, so she shared a kindred spirit with Garrett's vision for a better world.
"Why did it take so long to notify me?" Garrett asked.
Cutter shifted in his seat, the discomfort apparent. "The operative in charge didn't want to call with the bad news until it was confirmed that they had both survived."
"His name?"
"Gavin Dean. He claims that our man on the platform
The dead bodies were piling up fast. First Coleman, now Hayden. Both mentioned by Sam and both pushing daisies. Locke didn't like the pattern because his name was in there, too. The evidence was fresher on Hayden's death, so that was Locke's first priority.
"Tell Judy we're joining them at the crash site," he said to Aiden. "We'll make a stop in Vegas before we come back to Seattle."
"If you pop into a casino, put a hundred on Ireland to beat Germany in what you call soccer."
"Sorry, Aiden. You know I never gamble. Might use up all my luck."
Locke hung up and stared at Dilara with curiosity. What a beautiful archaeologist and Noah's Ark had to do with the deaths of an engineer and a world-famous movie star was a question he never expected to be asking himself. The answer had to be even stranger than the question.
"You, Dr. Kenner," he said with a smile, "are a trouble magnet." He winked at her.
She smiled back at both of them. "Then it seems like I'm in good company."
"Speak for yourselves," Grant said. "I consider myself more of a trouble
maker
."
"I can vouch for that," Locke said.
The muffled roar of helicopter blades penetrated the walls. Locke glanced out the window and saw the Super Puma heading for the landing pad. He waited breathlessly for a puff of smoke from the chopper's turbine, but it glided in safely. He didn't think they'd try blowing up another helicopter, but he'd feel better once they reached Newfoundland safely.
"Our ride is here," he said. "Time for a change of scenery."
As they walked to the helicopter pad, Locke made one last phone call to arrange for the jet to divert to Las Vegas and have a Jeep waiting for them at the airport. He wanted to see the Hayden crash site for himself.
Chapter 15
The news about the failed assassination of Dilara Kenner and Tyler Locke didn't reach Sebastian Garrett's ears until the next evening. He had spent his Sunday flying back from LA to make an inspection of his facility on Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington state. The 57-square-mile island was home to 4500 people and a bustling tourist trade, which meant visitors to Garrett's facility could come and go without attracting undue attention.
He ate dinner with Svetlana Petrova on the veranda of the facility's mansion and enjoyed the cool October breeze, a luxury he would be able to enjoy for only one more week. She was dressed in a sheer top and miniskirt, showing off her assets to full advantage. She looked faintly like the businesswoman she had pretended to be when she lured Sam Watson into touching the poison that would end his life in a matter of seconds. Garrett only wished she had been part of the mission to follow Dilara Kenner out of LAX and kill her before she had caused all this trouble. Svetlana certainly wouldn't have left the job unfinished.
The building where they were eating was one of five on the 400-acre property. Huge old-growth pine trees ringed the densely-wooded property.
Dan Cutter sat stiffly in a chair at the opposite end of the table. He didn't eat, only sipping from a glass of water. Petrova listened to the conversation in silence. Garrett had met her when she had been trafficking black market pharmaceuticals into Moscow for the Russian Mafia. He saved her from that lifestyle and brought her to the US. Her parents had been nuclear scientists who were killed in the Chernobyl disaster, so she shared a kindred spirit with Garrett's vision for a better world.
"Why did it take so long to notify me?" Garrett asked.
Cutter shifted in his seat, the discomfort apparent. "The operative in charge didn't want to call with the bad news until it was confirmed that they had both survived."
"His name?"
"Gavin Dean. He claims that our man on the platform
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