Determinant (15 page)

A middle aged TSA agent sat at the front counter. A black tie hung against his blue, long sleeved shirt. I had seen him manning this station before. His name was Bates.

“Is Nick Waterman in?” I asked.

“He’s off today. How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

It appeared he had remembered my last visit as well.

“Who’s in charge when Waterman is off?”

“That would be Peter Reevis.”

“Is he here in the office?”

“He stepped out a few minutes ago. Let me page him for you.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Bates picked up the phone and made the call.

I looked at my watch. The time in the air between the two cities was an hour at the most. Viktor could have already been here.

The side door of the office opened. A short, thin man walked through. He was clean shaved with short blonde hair. He wore a white shirt with a black tie and black pants. A radio was buckled to his hip. He looked to be in his late thirties. He walked straight to me.

“I’m Peter Reevis. You are?”

He held out his hand for a handshake.

I took it. “Lieutenant Carl Kane, Tampa Homicide.”

“Ah, Lieutenant Kane, Nick has mentioned you before. What can I help you out with?”

“I have a person of interest that is coming in on a flight. The flight is a charter, not commercial.”

“You know the time and company?”

I shook my head. “Can you still find it by just the name?”

“I should be able to. Charter flights still have to follow all the same TSA regulations. The flying customers still get their names entered. They still go through security. Follow me back.”

Reevis waved over his shoulder. We went to an office at the back. He took up a seat behind a desk and started clicking keys at the computer.

“What is the name?”

“Viktor Azarov.”

He flashed me an unsure look. “How do you spell that?”

I spelled it for him.

“Give me just a minute here while I look. Where was the flight is coming from?”

“Miami.”

“Sure. One second.” He tapped a few keys on his keyboard and gave the computer’s mouse a few clicks. “I got him. Viktor Azarov flew in on a BizJets flight. He arrived twenty-two minutes ago.”

“How do I get to where that plane is?”

“BizJet is over in hangar J. It’s off the main terminal, by the cargo hangars. Come on.” He stood from the desk. “We can take one of the TSA vehicles over.”

I followed him from the office. We took a service door through a long corridor. He punched in a code at the keypad to the door leading outside. A green light flashed, and the door opened. We were outside the airport. I followed Reevis down a flight of metal stairs to the tarmac.

“We’re going to hop in that Explorer there.” He nodded to a truck parked among a few other vehicles.

We hopped in. Reevis used the truck’s radio to call up to the airport’s tower. They’d guide our drive over. Hangar J was less than a mile from where we got into the truck. The drive took us almost ten minutes. We had to stop for luggage vehicles. Airplanes taxing to and from terminals slowed our pace. We left the tarmac for the civilian streets around the airport to get to the south end. At the gate, we waited for someone to let us into to the area. Valuable minutes ticked away.

Behind the massive cargo plane hangars sat hangar J. We pulled to the front. The aircraft doors of the giant metal building stood open. A fleet of eight jets sat inside on the gloss white floor. Each jet had the company’s name painted across the tail. The back wall read
BizJet.com
in giant red block letters. An American flag the size of a house hung from the building’s rafters. The flag fluttered from the wind caused by the building’s two helicopter blade fans. There was nobody in sight.

Reevis and I left the vehicle and entered the hangar. He nodded toward a white and blue jet on the far right. The engine mounted to the side of the fuselage read Citation X. “That’s the plane your guy came in on. Sometimes these guys sit around in the lounge and wait for rides. He may still be here.”

I followed Reevis through a side door. We walked a short hallway that led us into a lobby. The room looked like it belonged in an upscale hotel. The floors were gray marble. Large leather lounge chairs sat in front of three huge television screens. One monitor displayed a commercial for BizJet on loop. The other two screens showed sports and a stock ticker. The far wall was glass allowing you to watch the planes come and go. Potted palm trees and tropical plants lined the walls. There was no one waiting. We walked to the front counter.

A well groomed concierge in his forties stood at attention to greet us. He wore in a gray suit with a red tie. A BizJet pin was affixed to the suit jacket’s lapel. His clasped his hands behind his back. “How can I assist you gentlemen?”

Reevis held up his name badge that hung from his neck. “Agent Reevis, TSA. Are the passengers from the last flight that came in still in the building?”

“I’m not sure. They never came to our lounge here.”

“What about the pilots?” I asked.

“Let me check on that for you. One moment.”

The concierge disappeared into the back.

I looked to Agent Reevis. “Do your cameras cover out here?”

“Just an overview. These are private hangars. I’m sure they have their own surveillance. I’m also sure that if you wanted to view it, you’re going to need a warrant.”

“Don’t think they’d let me take a look?”

“Without forcing them, not a chance. These places will do whatever they can to protect their clients.”

I wasn’t happy with it, but I understood. The customers of this place were wealthy, rich and powerful. The thing those kinds of people cherish most is privacy. I still planned to ask either way.

The concierge walked back to us at the front counter. “Sorry gentlemen. The occupants of the aircraft never entered our building as far as we know. The two pilots just left a few minutes ago.” He stood before us—his hands, once again, clasped behind his back. He cocked his head and smiled.

He annoyed me. The few minutes ago that the pilots left was the exact amount of time the concierge had been gone for. I bet he told them to leave the building to avoid being talked to.

“Know where they went?” I asked.

“Sorry, no.” He continued smiling.

“Do you have video surveillance in the hangar here?” I looked to the top corner of the room behind him. I spotted a camera pointed at us at the front counter.

“Couldn’t say.”

I pointed to the camera. “You couldn’t say, huh?”

He stood there and smiled.

I wanted to knock his teeth down his throat. “The passenger that was on that flight is a suspect in a criminal investigation. I’ll need to see your video footage.”

“No problem. We’ll just need to have our attorney go over the warrant you have for that.”

“I’ll have it shortly.”

The concierge nodded. “Sure. Let us know when you do. We’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

I took a step toward him.

Reevis grabbed me by my shoulder. “Come on. There’s other ways.”

I followed him back out to the truck. We got in.

“I’ll find out who the pilots were and get in touch with them. Maybe they saw who picked up the passenger.”

I nodded. “Can you do a lap around the outside of the hangar here? I want to check if they have cameras outside.”

“Sure thing.”

Reevis and I crept the truck along the perimeter. It appeared that the cameras were all indoors. There was nothing on the outside of the building. We headed for the main terminal. I pulled my phone to call the captain.

“Are you calling for a warrant?”

“Yeah.”

“Just wait on it for a second. Let’s check our footage first.”

“I need to find out who picked him up and where they went. My best chance is the BizJet’s cameras.”

“Give me ten minutes. Let me see if our footage shows anything. Even if our cameras can’t pick up the car, there’s a chance the two pilots are in the airport. I’ll get their names from the manifest and plug them into our system. You need a key card and code to get in just about any door that isn’t public. I can search when their cards were last used. We have options.”

Reevis parked the Explorer, and we got out. We took the stairs back into the airport and went back to his office. I slid out a seat across from him at his desk. He plugged the flight number into the computer and printed off the manifest. The pilot in command was a Jerry Horn. The first officer was a Doug McConnell. He searched the last usage of their key cards.

“Got them.”

“In the airport?”

Revis stood. “They used the door to the pilots lounge less than ten minutes ago. Let’s go have a talk.”

“Lead the way.”

The pilot’s lounge was on the main floor of the airport. Restaurants, shops and escalators heading down take up the center of the level. At the sides are the shuttle entrances that lead out to the individual concourses. The lounge doors sat off to the side of the elevators, almost unnoticeable. Reevis walked us through. Everyone inside looked the same. The pilots all wore white shirts, black pants, and had black ties. They all had a pair of wings attached to their breast pockets. Some of the pilots wore hats, some didn’t.

Reevis spoke up. “We’re looking for pilots Horn and McConnell.”

Two men in recliners parked in front of a television tossed their hands up with a wave. They watched Reevis and I approach.

“You two just fly a BizJet charter from Miami?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir. What can we do for you?”

I looked to the man talking. His name badge read McConnell. “Need to know where the passenger or passengers went.”

“Don’t have any idea on that. What is this regarding?” the other, Horn, asked.

“I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane with Tampa Homicide. I need to find who was on that flight.”

“Well, we just had a single passenger,” Horn said.

“Did he mention where he was headed?”

“I didn’t talk to him. Aside from giving flight updates over the intercom, we said hello when he boarded and goodbye when he left,” Horn said.

“Did you see him get picked up?” I asked.

“There was a car waiting. Not sure what kind,” Horn said.

“Limo?” Reevis asked.

McConnell shook his head. “No, newer Bentley.”

“Color?” I asked.

“Black.”

“Model?”

He shrugged. “Not sure on that.”

I held my notepad in hand. I tapped the tip of my pen against the paper. “Two or four doors?”

“Four.”

“And you’re positive it was a Bentley?”

“Yes.”

I wrote it down. It had to be a Flying Spur or Mulsanne. My money was on the Flying Spur, the Mulsanne cost an extra hundred grand for essentially the same car.

“Happen to get a plate number?” I asked.

McConnell shook his head.

I nodded to Horn. “What about you? Anything to add?”

“Sorry. Like I said, I greeted him when he boarded and when he left. The clients don’t want to be bothered. They just want to get from point A to point B.”

“Thanks guys,” Reevis said.

I followed him out and back to his office. We sat back down. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I slid it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text message from Hank saying they had picked up additional footage around the restaurant.

“I can pull up the cameras that cover the entrances in and out of the airport. We’ll see if we can pick up a black Bentley anywhere around the time the flight was supposed to arrive.”

“Sounds good.”

I fired off Hank a text message to get a BOLO out on the car. I also wanted him to keep an eye out for a black Bentley on the video footage. It could have been a rental or a limo service, but it was worth a shot.

Viktor sat in the back seat of the Bentley looking over a newspaper. He wore a dark gray pinstriped suit with a white shirt and solid gray tie. His dark brown hair was short, coming to a widow’s peak in the front. Stubble covered his cheeks.

“I take it this is one of Brewer’s cars?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are you driving it?”

“Did you want to be picked up in the little shitbox you got for me?”

Viktor, annoyed, shook his head. “You’re not supposed to be using Brewer’s cars. Why is it that you can’t follow simple orders?”

Ray remained silent.

Viktor reached up and lifted his sunglasses. “What happened to your face?”

Ray looked into the rear view mirror at Viktor sitting in the back seat. While not as big as Ray, he was still an imposing figure.

“The girl and I had a little disagreement.”

Viktor folded the newspaper he read and sat it beside him. He looked at Ray’s reflection in the car’s mirror. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“I didn’t do anything to her. The bitch caught me with her nails as I was tying her up. She’s fine.”

“She better be.”

Ray slowed as he came to the front gates of the mansion.

“Is this Brewer’s place?”

“Yeah.” Ray hit the button on the car’s visor to open the gates at the front. He pulled through and up the cobblestone driveway. He parked the car at the front door.

Viktor stepped from the car and brushed the creases from his suit. He folded his sunglasses and slipped them into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Ray led them into the house and to the wine room where she was kept. The two men stared through the metal gate at Callie on the floor. She scooted herself to the back wall. Viktor pulled at the gate.

“Unlock it.”

Ray took the key from his pocket and twisted it in the lock. He pulled the door open.

Callie scooted herself into the corner.

Viktor squatted in front of her. “Make this easy on yourself and tell me where that case is.”

He pulled the tape from her mouth.

Callie spit at him.

Viktor slapped her and wiped her saliva from the side of his face. He spit back at her.

“You want to make this hard?”

Callie spoke through bloody teeth. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Viktor took a handful of her hair and yanked her head to the side. “We’ll see about that.” He gave her hair a harder pull and let go. He put the tape back over her mouth. Viktor stood and looked to Ray. “Is there a place we can do this?”