Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

Kate nodded. "And where did he go next? How did he leave Long Island?"

"I guess he could have flown out of MacArthur. It's not international, so the security is not always tight. But maybe I see a pattern of private planes."

"I think that may be it. So he may be flying to Colorado Springs, or to California in a private plane." She added, "Most likely a jet."

"Maybe. But maybe he wants to quit while he's ahead, before he loses big-time, and he's now on his way to Sandland."

"We haven't given him much reason to lead him to believe he can't go for it all."

"Good point." I took a pencil and started adding up the known dead, not counting the gassed people on Flight 175. I said, "This guy is reducing the overpopulation on the East Coast." I put down my pencil and read, "Andy McGill, Nick, Nancy, and Meg Collins, Jabbar, Waycliff, wife, and housekeeper, Grey and cleaning lady, Satherwaite, McCoy, and a guard. That's unlucky thirteen."

"Don't forget Yusef Ffaddad."

"Right. Scumbag accomplice. Fourteen. And today's only Tuesday."

Kate didn't reply.

I handed her the fax sheets and said, "Except for Callum, who's covered, Wiggins is the last guy who is-or might be-alive and not covered."

She glanced at the fax sheets and asked me, "Did you try Wiggins?"

"Yeah. Phone disconnected. Let's try to get him through Burbank directory information."

She swiveled around and started banging away at her computer. "What's his real first name?"

"I don't know. See what you can do."

"Call Counterterrorism in D.C. while I play with this. Then call the L.A. field office. Then notify everyone here in the ICC by e-mail, or whatever you think is the quickest."

I didn't exactly jump to it. I was trying to think faster than Khalil was killing people. The knish, mustard, sauerkraut, and red wine were churning in my tummy.

I didn't see any immediate reason to alert my colleagues around me, or to alert Washington. I'd already established that four men were dead and didn't need cover. Callum was alive and covered. That left the problem of finding Wiggins, which Kate and I were more than equipped to handle. I said to her, "I'm going to call the FBI field office in Los Angeles. Or do you want to make that call?"

"I would if you knew how to use the computer better. I'll look for Wiggins." She added, "Ask for a man named Doug Sturgis. He's the Deputy Agent in Charge. Mention my name."

"Right." So I called the Los Angeles field office, identified myself as working with the New York Anti-Terrorist Task Force, which usually gets people's attention, and I asked for Doug Sturgis, who came on the line. He asked me, "What can I do for you?" I didn't want to confuse the guy with facts, nor did I want him on the horn with Washington, but I wanted him to help. I said, "Mr. Sturgis, we're looking for a male Caucasian named Chip Wiggins, first and middle name unknown, age about fifty, last known address is Burbank." I gave him the last known and added, "He's a possible witness in a high-profile case that might involve international terrorism."

"What case is that?"

Why is everyone so nosy? I replied, "The case is sensitive and under wraps at this time, and I'm sorry I'm not at liberty to identify it right now, but Wiggins may know something we need to know. All I need is for you to look for him and take him into protective custody, and call me ASAP." I gave him what little I had on Mr. Wiggins.

There was a silence, then Mr. Sturgis asked, "Who is targeting him? What group?"

"Let's say Mideast. And it's important that we find him before they find him. When I get more details, I'll call back."

Mr. Sturgis didn't seem inclined to do my bidding, so I said, "I'm working with Kate Mayfield on this."

"Oh."

"She said you were the man to call for help."

"All right. We'll do what we can." He repeated Wiggins' last known address and phone number, and said, "Give Kate my regards."

"Will do." I gave him my and Kate's direct dial numbers and said, "Thanks." I hung up and dialed LAPD Missing Persons. I ID'ed myself, asked for and got a supervisor, a Lieutenant Miles. I went through my slightly evasive rap and added, "You guys can do a lot better job than we can in locating a missing person."

Lieutenant Miles said, "This can't be the FBI I'm talking to."

I chuckled politely and informed him, "I used to be NYPD, Homicide. I'm here to teach basic law enforcement."

He laughed. "Okay. If we find him, we'll ask him to call you. That's all I can do if he's not a suspect in anything."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd escort him to your location. He's in some danger."

"Yeah? What kind of danger? Now we're talking danger."

"I'm talking national security, and that's all I can say at this time."

"Oh, now you're a Fed again."

"No, I'm a cop in a bind. I need this, and I can't say why."

"Okay. We'll put his picture on a milk carton. You have a photo?"

I took a deep breath and said, "It's not much of a photo, and it's very old, and I don't want posters in his old neighborhood either. We're trying to catch the guy who's trying to find him, not scare the guy off. Okay? By the way, I called the L.A. FBI office, an Agent Sturgis, and they're working on this, too. Whoever finds him first gets a gold medal."

"Wow. Why didn't you say so? We'll get right on it."

Cops can be pains in the ass. "But seriously, Lieutenant."

"Okay. I'll work this one and give you a call."

"Thanks." I gave him my and Kate's phone numbers.

"How's the weather in New York?"

"Snow and ice."

"Figures." He hung up.

Kate looked up from her computer and said to me, "You didn't have to be so secretive with our people, or with the LAPD."

"I wasn't secretive."

"Yes, you were."

"Well, it's not important that they know why, it's only important that they know who. Chip Wiggins is missing and needs to be found. That's all they need to know."

"They'd be more motivated if they knew why."

She was right, of course, but I was trying to think like a cop and act like a Fed, and all this national security crap was getting to me.

Kate went back to her computer and said, "I'm not finding anything in any of the Burbank or L.A. area directories."

"Tell the computer why you need to know."

"Fuck off, John." She added, "I am your boss. You'll keep me informed and listen to me."

Wow! I replied, in my I'm-outta-here tone, "If you don't like the way I'm handling this case, and you're not happy with my results so far-"

"Okay. Sorry. I'm just a little tense and tired. I was up all night." She smiled at me and winked.

I sort of smiled back. Ms. Mayfield had a tough side, too, and I'd be well advised to remember that. I said to her, "Sturgis says to say hello."

She didn't reply, but continued banging away at her computer and said, "This guy could have moved to Nome, Alaska, for all we know. I wish I had his Social Security number. Check your e-mail to see if we have any message from DoD or the Air Force regarding the personnel files of those eight guys."

"Yes, ma'am."

I punched up my e-mail, but aside from a lot of interoffice stuff, there was nothing there. I said to Kate, "Now that we have some names, we can specifically ask the Air Force for the Wiggins file."

"Right. I'll do that." She got on the phone, and I heard her making her way through some bureaucracy or another.

I said to no one in particular, "I hope Asad Khalil is having as much trouble finding Wiggins as we are." I got into my computer and tried a few avenues on the Information Highway, including the Air Force Web site. There was an MIA and a KIA section, and incredibly I found Steven Cox, killed in the Gulf War. But there was no section called "Guys on Secret Missions."

Kate put down her phone and announced, "It may take a while to get Wiggins' file. The Chip thing threw them. They want his service number or Social Security number. That's what we want."