The Lion's Game (87 page)

“Us?
He doesn’t like
you
. He wants to cut out your tongue and slit your throat.”

“Hey, I have
friends
who want to do that.”

We both laughed, trying to lighten the moment. She said, “Anyway, I think you handled him well. I mean, why should you be serious and professional?”

“The rule is, when the suspect has something
you
want, treat him with respect and importance. When he’s calling for something
he
wants, jerk him around as much as you want.”

“I don’t remember that in the interrogator’s manual.”

“I’m rewriting the manual.”

“I’ve noticed.” She thought a moment, then said, “If he ever gets back to Libya, he’s going to want some answers.”

I replied, “If he asks questions like that in Libya, he’s dead.” I added, “He’s either going to go into denial, or he’s going to do in Libya what he’s done here. This is a dangerous, driven man, a killing machine, whose life is dedicated to settling scores.”

“And you just gave him a few more scores to settle.”

“I hope so.”

We drove on, and I noticed there was no traffic on the road at all. Only an idiot would be out on a night like this at this hour.

Kate said to me, “And you still think Khalil is in California?”

“I
know
he is. He’s in the Santa whatever mountains, near or on the Reagan ranch.”

She looked out the window at the black, fog-shrouded hills. “I hope he’s not.”

“I hope he is.”

Route 101 took us into Ventura, at which point the highway left the hills and became a coastal road. The fog was really thick, and we could barely see twenty feet in front of us.

I did see the lights of the Ventura Inn Beach Resort to our left and said to Kate, “That’s where I got engaged.”

“We’ll come back here on our honeymoon.”

“I was thinking of Atlantic City.”

“Think again.” After a few seconds,
she
thought again and said, “Whatever makes you happy.”

“I’m happy if
you’re
happy.”

Anyway, we were doing only about forty miles an hour, and even that seemed too fast for the road conditions. I saw a sign that said SANTA BARBARA—30 MILES.

Kate turned on the radio, and we caught a news replay from an earlier broadcast. The news guy gave an update on the big story and said, “The FBI now confirms that the terrorist, who is responsible for the deaths of everyone aboard Flight One-Seven-Five at Kennedy Airport in New York, as well as four people at the airport, is still at large and has possibly killed as many as eight additional people as he flees from Federal and local law enforcement authorities.”

The news guy went on, reading incredibly long and convoluted sentences. Finally, he wrapped it up with, “An FBI spokesperson confirms that there appears to be a connection between several of the people who have been targeted by Asad Khalil. There is a major press conference scheduled in Washington tomorrow afternoon to update this important and tragic story, and we will be there to cover this development.”

I switched to an easy listening station.

Kate said, “Did I miss it, or did that guy not mention Wiggins?”

“He didn’t. I guess the government is saving that for tomorrow.”

“Actually, it’s today. And we’re not going to make that morning flight out of LAX.”

I looked at the dashboard clock and saw it was 2:50 A.M. I yawned.

Kate unpocketed her cell phone and dialed. She said to me, “I’m calling the Ventura office.”

Kate got Cindy Lopez on the line, and asked, “Any word from the ranch?” She listened and said, “That’s good.” What wasn’t good was that apparently Douglas Rat-Fink had already called because Kate listened further, then replied, “I don’t care what Doug said. All we’re asking is that the agents from the Ventura office, who are in Santa Barbara, meet us in Santa Barbara, call the ranch, and tell the Secret Service we are driving to the ranch to meet with their detail.” She listened again, then said, “Actually, John just spoke to Asad Khalil—yes, that’s what I said. They have established some sort of rapport, and that would be invaluable if a situation developed. That’s right. I’ll hold.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said to me, “Cindy is calling the Secret Service detail at the ranch.”

“Nice move, Mayfield.”

“Thank you.”

I suggested, “Do not let them mess us around with a telephone conference. We will not accept any calls from the Secret Service. Only a meeting in Santa Barbara, with FBI and/or Secret Service, followed by an invitation to the ranch.”

She said, “You’re going to get a piece of this if it kills you—aren’t you?”

I replied, “I deserve a piece of it.” I added, “Khalil not only murdered a lot of people who served their country, but he also threatened my life and your life. Not Jack’s life, not Sturgis’ life.
My
life, and yours. And let me remind you, it wasn’t
my
idea to put my name and photo in the papers. Someone owes me, and it’s time to pay.”

She nodded, but didn’t reply. Cindy Lopez came on the line. Kate listened, then said, “Forget it. We are not discussing this over an unsecured cell phone. Just tell me where we can meet them in Santa Barbara.” She listened, then said, “Okay. Thanks. Yes, we will.” She hung up and said to me, “Cindy says hello and when are you going back to New York?”

Everyone’s a comedian. “What
else
did she say?”

Kate replied, “Well, the FBI detail is in a motel called the Sea Scape, north of Santa Barbara, not far from the mountain road that leads to the ranch. There are three people from the Ventura office there—Kim, Scott, and Edie. With them is a Secret Service man, who is acting as liaison. We are to go to the motel and tell them about your phone conversation with Khalil, and no, we cannot go to the ranch, but we can wait at the motel until dawn in case something develops and you’re needed to chat with Khalil, by phone if he should call, or if he’s apprehended, in person, in cuffs. Khalil in cuffs, not you.”

“Got it.” I added, “You understand we’re going to the ranch.”

“Take it up with the Secret Service guy at the motel.”

We continued north, not making good time, but after a while, there were signs of civilization, and then a sign said WELCOME TO SANTA BARBARA.

The coast road passed through the south edge of the city, then veered north away from the coast. We continued north up Route 101 for about twenty more miles, and the road swung back to the coast. I said, “Did we miss that motel?”

“I don’t think so. Call the motel.”

I thought a moment, then said, “I think we should save time and just go on to the ranch.”

“I don’t think you understood our instructions, John.”

“How can we find that road that goes to the ranch?”

“I have no idea.”

We moved slowly through the fog, and I could sense, but not see, the ocean to our left. To our right, I could see that the ground rose, but I couldn’t see the mountains that Kate said came right down to the sea in some places. In any case, there were very few roads that entered Route 101 at this point. In fact, I hadn’t seen one in some time now.

Finally, to our left, was a flat, open piece of land between the road and the ocean, and through the fog was a lighted sign that said SEA SCAPE MOTEL.

Kate pulled into the lot and said, “Rooms one-sixteen and one-seventeen.”

“Drive to the reception office first.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get us two more rooms and see if we can get some snacks and coffee.”

She pulled up to the front office under a canopy, and I got out.

Inside, a desk clerk saw me through the glass door and buzzed me in. I guess I looked respectable in my suit, even if it was crumpled and smelled.

I went to the desk clerk and showed him my credentials. I said, “I think we have colleagues registered here. Rooms one-sixteen and one-seventeen.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want me to call them?”

“No, I just need to leave them a message.”

He gave me a pad and pencil, and I scribbled, “Kim, Scott, Edie—Sorry I couldn’t stop by—See you in the morning—J.C.” I gave the note to the clerk and said, “Call them about eight. Okay?” I slipped him a ten and said casually, “How can I find the road to the Reagan ranch?”

“Oh, it’s not too hard to find. Go north another six tenths of a mile, and you’ll see to your left Refugio State Park, and to your right is the beginning of the mountain road. Refugio Road. But you won’t see a sign.” He added, “I sure wouldn’t try it tonight.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t
see
anything. Near the top, the road makes a lot of switchbacks, and it’s real easy to zig when you should zag, and wind up in a ravine. Or worse.”

“No problem. It’s a government car.”

He laughed, then looked at me and said, “So, the old man is home?”

“Just for a few days.” I asked him, “Am I going to have trouble finding the ranch?”

“No. It’s sort of at the end of the road. Bear left at the Y. There’s another ranch to the right. You’ll see some iron gates if you bear to the left.” He again advised me, “It’s a tough drive in the
daylight
. Most people have four-wheel drive.” He looked at me to see if he was getting through, wanting, I’m sure, to give it his best shot so he could say to the State Police later, “I warned him.” He said, “It will be light in three hours and some of this fog might burn off an hour or so after sunrise.”

“Thanks, but I have six pounds of jelly beans I have to deliver before breakfast. See you later.”

I left the reception area and got back to the car. I opened Kate’s door and said, “Stretch a little. Leave it running.”

She got out and stretched. “That feels good. Did you get us rooms?”

“They’re full.” I slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and lowered the window. I said, “I’m going to the ranch. You staying or coming?”

She started to say something, then let out a sigh of exasperation, came around to the passenger side and got in the car. “Do you know how to drive?”

“Sure.” I drove back onto the coast road and turned north. I said, “Six tenths of a mile, Refugio State Park to the left, Refugio Road to the right. Keep an eye out.”

She didn’t reply. I think she was angry.

We saw the sign for the state park, then at the last second I saw a turnoff and cut the wheel right. Within a few minutes we were headed uphill on a narrow road. A few minutes later, the fog got worse, and we couldn’t have seen the hood ornament if there had been one.

We didn’t say much, but just crept along the road that was at least straight at this point as it went up a sort of ravine with walls of vegetation on either side.

Kate finally spoke and said, “They’re just going to turn us back.”

“Maybe. But I have to do this.”

“I know.”

“For the Gipper.”

She laughed. “You’re a total idiot. No, you’re Don Quixote, tilting at windmills. I hope you’re not showing off for me.”

“I don’t even want you along.”

“Sure you do.”

So, up we went, and the road got steeper and narrower, and the surface started to get rougher. “How did Ron and Nancy get up here? Helicopter?”

“I’m sure of it. This road is dangerous.”

“The road is fine. It’s the drop-offs on each side that are dangerous.”

I was really tired, and I had trouble keeping awake, despite the fact that I was starting to become anxious about the road. I said to Kate, “I own a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I wish I had it now.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you had a tank. Do you see those drop-offs on either side of us?”

“No. Too much fog.” I asked her, “Do you think we should turn around?”

“You
can’t
turn around. You barely have room for the car.”

“Right. I’m sure it widens up ahead.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.” She added, “Kill the headlights. The parking lights should be better.”

I switched to the parking lights, which didn’t reflect as much off the fog.

We pushed on. I was becoming disoriented by the fog, but at least the road remained fairly straight.

Kate called out, “John! Stop!”

I hit the brakes and the car lurched to a halt. “What?”

She took a deep breath and said, “You’re going off a cliff.”

“Really? I don’t see it.”

She opened the door, got out, and walked ahead of the car, trying to find the road, I guess. I could see her, but just barely, looking very spectral in the fog and parking lights. She walked off into the fog and disappeared, then came back and got into the car. She said, “Keep bearing left, then the road makes a hairpin turn to the right.”

“Thanks.” I continued on, and caught a glimpse of where the right edge of the blacktop ended and a very steep drop began. I said to Kate, “You have good night vision.”

The fog actually got a little thinner as we climbed up the mountain, which was good because the road got a lot worse. I put the headlights back on. The road started to make hairpin turns, but I could see about ten feet in front of me now, and if I kept the speed down, I had time to react. Zig, zag, zig, zag. This really sucked. A city boy shouldn’t be out here. I asked her, “Are there wild animals around here?”

“Besides you?”

“Yeah, besides me.”

“Maybe bears. I don’t know. I never came this far north.” She added, “I think there may be mountain lions up here.”

“Wow. This place
really
sucks. Why would the leader of the Free World want to be here?” I answered my own question and said, “Actually, it’s better than Washington.”

“Concentrate on the road, please.”

“What road?”

“There’s a road. Stay on it.”

“Doing my best.”

After another fifteen minutes, Kate said, “You know, I don’t think they’re going to send us back. They can’t send us back. We’ll never make it.”