Moving Target (28 page)

A
fter the emotional beginning, the rest of the Pig and Whistle lunch was far more mundane. From Ali’s point of view, it felt like eavesdropping on a class reunion sixty or so years after graduation. While Thomas and Leland talked about jobs and where and how they had lived and traveled, Ali concentrated on her pasty, which more than lived up to its advance billing. It was delectable and huge. Ali and Leland left the pub with leftover servings large enough for another meal.

“So?” Ali asked once they were safely in the car. “What do you think?”

“Thank you for talking me down out of my tree,” Leland said. “I’m glad Thomas and I had a chance to spend some time together.”

“What now?” Ali asked. “The weather report predicted sun breaks this afternoon. Since it’s our last day here, is there anything else you’d like to do before we head back to London tomorrow? Maybe stop by Jordan’s-by-the-Sea for a visit?” she added with a grin.

“No, thank you,” he said at once. “I don’t need any more time with the girls. One visit was more than enough for me. Since the weather is fine, though, there is one place I’d like to go: Stonehenge. It’s only forty miles or so from here. When we were kids, my father used to take us
there on the summer solstice to watch the sun come up through the stones. I’d like to go one last time.”

Ali turned the key in the ignition and put the Jaguar in gear. “Do I need to put in the directions, or do you know the way?”

“I know the way,” Leland said.

“When you say one last time, does that mean you won’t be coming back for the reunion?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “With Thomas’s help, I believe I have the answers to the questions that have haunted me all this time. I always thought of my father as a fair man, and I never could reconcile that with his disowning me. I’m sure he did so in the heat of the moment, based on the mistaken assumption that I had betrayed my country. The DNA situation may yet provide definitive proof, but for my money, I believe Thomas’s assertion is correct: that Father had reconsidered his first rash decision, and that’s why Langston killed him—to prevent Father from keeping the appointment to change his will.”

“Will you share any of what you’ve learned with Jeffrey?”

“Certainly not,” Leland said. “I refuse to repay his and Charlie’s kindness by passing along the unwelcome news that his grandfather was most likely a murderer.”

For the next while they drove at a leisurely pace, through Hum, Ringwood, Fordingbridge, Downton, and Salisbury, with Leland recalling incidents from those long-ago summertime trips with his father and his brothers. Ali realized that was all a gift from Thomas Blackfield. At last Leland could remember the good times the family enjoyed without having long-ago memories colored by the hurt that came later. The drive to Stonehenge was more than a simple trip down memory lane; it was a way to recapture something that had seemed irretrievably lost.

By the time they arrived, a ray of sunlight slanting down through the clouds lit the circle of stone in bright relief against the winter-yellow grass. Astonished by the underground car park, Leland told of his father parking along the shoulder of the road next to open fields and letting his sons scramble ahead in their eagerness to get there. Leland was
dismayed to learn that visitors were now forbidden to touch the massive ancient stones, especially the long flat ones fallen to the ground, ones that he and his brothers had clambered over in sheer joy. He led Ali to the spot in the very center of the circle where father and sons had stood to watch the sun come up over the horizon.

“Thank you,” he said at last, turning back toward the car. “My father had lived through the Great War. He hoped there would never be another. I had forgotten what an innocent time it was back then, and today has given me back a measure of that.”

Even though they had walked in mostly bright sun, they were chilled through by the time they returned to the car. On the trip back to Bournemouth, they stopped for tea at a shop in Salisbury, more to warm up than because they were hungry. Finished with tea, they were just getting back into the car when a text message came in over Leland’s phone. “Here,” he said, handing it to Ali. “It’s from Mr. Simpson.”

Leaving Zurich within the hour on a charter. Should be at BOH by six-thirty or so. It’ll take an hour to refuel. If you and Leland are there by seven, we should be able to take off again at seven-thirty. We should be in Austin early tomorrow morning.

Ali read through the message twice, then glanced at her watch. In traffic, she estimated, they were at least an hour from the hotel. “What are the call letters for the Bournemouth airport?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Leland said. “Why?”

“Because it sounds like B. has chartered a plane, and we’re on our way to Austin.”

“To Austin,” Leland echoed. “In Texas? What about our flight from London to Phoenix? Mr. Simpson already paid for that, didn’t he?”

“It’s on his frequent-flier account, so he’ll either get the miles back or he won’t.” Ali turned the key in the ignition, put the Jaguar in gear, and hit the gas pedal. Hard. The drive back to Bournemouth was anything but leisurely. While she drove, Leland used his phone to look up
the airport. BOH was indeed the official airport code for Bournemouth International.

“What’s in Austin?” Leland asked eventually.

“A boy named Lance Tucker,” Ali answered, realizing as she did that Leland had no background whatsoever on the situation in Texas. For the next few minutes, as they tore down the A338, she filled him in. Leland listened without comment until she’d finished.

“I’m sure,” he said, “that chartering a jet for a transatlantic flight is a very costly proposition. Mr. Simpson must regard whatever’s going on as very serious.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

They rode in silence for another few moments, then Leland laughed aloud.

“What’s so funny?”

“The irony of the whole thing,” he said. “The last time I left England, it was by working on board a tramp steamer. I left the country with the clothes on my back and all my worldly goods stuffed in a duffel bag. This time I’m leaving in luxury on board a private jet. That’s the other good reason for not coming back. How could I possibly top this?”

“You can’t,” Ali agreed.

At the Highcliff, it took only fifteen minutes for them to pack up and go. They were at the airport with the car checked in and luggage in hand by the time B.’s jet landed on the tarmac. When the stairs came down, B. stepped off, followed by a flight attendant and two pilots. Ali left Leland with the luggage and ran to greet B. While a tanker truck began the refueling process, Ali led B. into the terminal. Although he was glad to see her, there was no denying the grim set to his jaw.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Someone threatened Lance’s family today, including his grandmother and his six-year-old brother,” B. said. “Someone also attempted to plant a listening device in his hospital room. Sister Anselm was smart enough to locate the device and disable it.

“All along my strategy has been to keep High Noon’s interest in
Lance’s work under the radar. Assuming that much of your phone information is somewhere in the public domain, being quiet about it is no longer necessary or even feasible. Our plan now is to go there tomorrow and talk to him. If he’s amenable, I want to take High Noon’s involvement with him public in the cyber security world. I’m convinced that GHOST is the reason he and his family are being targeted, and I want the world to know that they have some allies in that fight.”

“What do I do?”

“If I need one, you’re my media babe,” B. said with a grin. “We’ll make you the public face of High Noon Enterprises. I want the bad guys to know that whatever it is they want from Lance Tucker, they’ll have to come through us to get it.”

“Am I your fianceé or your lightning rod?”

“A little of both?”

They walked into the airport lounge, where, after B. said hello to Leland, they took seats together on a sofa.

“When did all this happen?” Ali asked. “How do you know about it?”

“The threat was issued overnight. Sister Anselm called me at about ten-thirty Texas time this morning, right after Lance finally gave her permission to talk to me about it. I started figuring out a way to get us there, including arranging this charter. This aircraft, a Legacy, belongs to one of my best customers. It happened to be on the ground in Zurich and ready to go. I was on my way here in under an hour.”

Ali thought about that, then said, “If Lance’s family is being threatened, why call you for help? Why not go to the police?”

“Sister Anselm is the one who called, but she did so at Lance’s behest. His mother wanted to call the cops, something Lance adamantly opposed. Sister Anselm negotiated a mother/son peace treaty and they agreed to call both—local law enforcement and me. Sister Anselm asked me to speak to Lance’s mother, LeAnne, to give her my read on the situation. She almost hung up on me because she holds me partly responsible for Lance going to jail in the first place. Even though they’re calling the cops, I’m not sure how much good it will do.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure law enforcement will take the idea of the threat seriously. The note doesn’t come right out and say, ‘I’m going to harm your family.’ It’s more subtle than that. Sister Anselm sent me a copy. Take a look.”

Switching on his phone, B. selected an item in his photo gallery and passed the device to Ali. On the screen was a photo of the printed note.

“The first picture is the note that accompanied the bouquet of bugged flowers. The next one is a picture of Connor, Lance’s little brother, getting into his grandmother’s car. That one was taken in front of the family home in San Leandro. The last one is LeAnne’s mother.”

“I see what you mean,” Ali said. “What’s written here—‘We know where they live’—doesn’t constitute an actual threat.”

“Especially if the local cop shop is invested in the official versions of the other events we believe are connected to this case: Lowell Dunn’s ‘accidental’ fire or Everett Jackson’s ‘accidental’ overdose.”

“To say nothing of Lance’s ‘self-inflicted’ burns,” Ali added.

“The note uses the word ‘we.’ That’s plural, that implies more than one person is involved. The targets are plural, too: ‘they.’ I suggested to LeAnne that she might want to pull Lance’s brothers out of school and bring them and their grandmother to Austin with her. If someone truly is targeting the whole family, they’ll be harder to find if they’re not at home and following their usual routines.”

“To say nothing of having three additional people—Leland, you, and I—looking out for them,” Ali surmised. “Did you mention to anyone there that we’re coming?”

“No. You know that, and I know that,” B. said, “but nobody else does, including Sister Anselm. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you and Leland are scheduled to be in the UK until your return flight on Sunday afternoon. I’m not supposed to leave Zurich until two days after that. Those are the reservations listed on the calendar in your phone. So our arrival in Austin should come as an unwelcome surprise to any number of
people. That’s why I sent the message on Leland’s phone instead of yours.”

One of the pilots stopped by. “Okay,” he said. “Refueling’s complete and luggage and catering have been loaded. All I need now is to check your IDs.” As they followed the pilot out the door, Ali grabbed one last piece of luggage, a hanging bag.

“What’s that?” B. asked.

“It happens to be my wedding dress,” she told him. “It’s riding in the cabin with me, and no, you can’t see it.”

“Wouldn’t think of asking,” B. said. “Not on a bet.”

On board the plane, they settled into cushy leather seats.

“How long is this going to take again?” Ali asked.

“The transatlantic part takes six hours,” B. explained. “We’ll land in Reykjavík for fuel and again in White Plains to clear customs. That could take as much as several hours, less if we’re lucky. We’ll be chasing time zones all the way. With the six-hour difference between here and Austin, we could be on the ground in Texas as early as midnight.”

By half past seven, the plane was airborne. Once they hit cruising altitude, the flight attendant came around with offers of food and drink. Rather than accepting one of the proffered sandwiches, Leland charmed the woman by dining on his own hand-carried leftover pasty.

“How was your trip home?” B. asked Leland.

“Not altogether what I expected,” Leland replied. “I’ve learned more about my family history than I cared to know, but I very much appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

For the first leg of the trip, that was what they discussed—Ali and Leland’s sojourn in Bournemouth. After an hour, though, Leland excused himself to settle down on the couch with the seat belt fastened around him and a blanket spread over him and leaving Ali and B. facing each other across a polished foldout table. “Ready for a major debriefing?” B. asked.

Ali nodded.

“Take a look at this,” he said, opening his computer and turning the screen in her direction. The photo was one of an older gentleman whose face seemed vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t place him.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“His name is Trevor Fullerton.”

“Fullerton? Like the guy in the Volvo?”

“The very same,” B. said with a nod. “The guys who ran you off the road are Trevor’s nephews. Once we had their names, thanks to Marjorie Elkins, it wasn’t difficult for Stuart to access their bank records. Both of them had wire transfers in the amount of two hundred pounds come in yesterday afternoon. The transfers led back to their uncle Trevor.”

“Sounds like a generous sort of uncle to have,” Ali said.

“Yes,” B. said, “but the story gets better. Once Stuart had Trevor’s name, he upped his game and found out several telling details. It turns out Trevor lives in New York City. According to his income tax records, he occasionally does fieldwork for UTI.”

“You shouldn’t have access to those records,” Ali pointed out.

“Granted,” B. agreed. “But Trevor shouldn’t have used his nephews to threaten you. In Stuart’s book, that made him fair game.”