Paris Match(100)

            “Didn’t Holly tell you?”

            “You tell me.”

            “I saw the airplane, first in Santa Monica, then I saw it at Le Bourget when we arrived on Mike Freeman’s Gulfstream. I just couldn’t remember where I had seen it before—now I do.”

            Lance produced a cell phone and pressed a number. “Rick? We’re on. Stone says for us all to meet at Le Bourget, at Landmark Aviation.” He listened for a moment, then hung up. “All right,” he said, “let’s get going.”

            Lance had, apparently, been on the phone before, because there was a Mercedes armored van waiting for them in the mews.

            “How far is it to Le Bourget?” Holly asked.

            “Seven miles,” Lance replied. “It seems like a lot farther in traffic, but there’s no traffic this time of the day. Driver, step on it—use the flashing lights if you have to, but no siren.”

            Stone was pressed into his seat by the acceleration.





                     54


            They didn’t bother with the Périphérique; they went straight north, through the heart of Paris. It astonished Stone how little traffic they saw along the way.

            “Director,” the man in the front passenger seat called, “where at Le Bourget?”

            Lance gave him directions to a security gate near Landmark Aviation. “Rick LaRose will meet us there.”

            Ten minutes later they drew up at a security gate bearing a large sign in several languages, to the effect that admittance was available only to those with the proper credentials. At their appearance, the gate slid open, beeping loudly. Just inside, next to a small guardhouse, Rick stood waiting for them with half a dozen other men.

            Lance slid open a door. “Rick, I assume you have the proper credentials for us to be admitted.”

            “I do,” Rick replied. “A two-hundred-euro note satisfied that requirement.” He produced a map of the airport and a small flashlight. “Here’s Landmark,” he said, then pointed at a lighted ramp a quarter of a mile away. “There are several large hangars. I’ve sent some men to reconnoiter. They’ll call us.” He held up a small handheld radio.

            “How long do we have to wait?” Lance said.

            “Until they call us. The airplane could be in any of the Landmark hangars, or it could have already departed. That seems unlikely, however. We checked with the tower, and no flight plan for a Gulfstream jet has been filed since sundown yesterday.”

            “Check with the tower again,” Lance said.

            Rick produced a cell phone, dialed a number, and, in excellent French, conducted a brief conversation, then hung up. “A Gulfstream 450 has filed for Saint Petersburg”—he consulted his watch—“departure in thirty-five minutes.”

            “Can you see it on the Landmark ramp?” Lance asked.

            Rick got a pair of binoculars and trained them on the FBO. As he did, a voice was heard from his radio. He listened. “That’s our guy,” he said. “An FBO employee tells him a Gulfstream is being pre-flighted by three pilots, a stewardess, and a maintenance crew in Hangar Two.” He pointed. “The doors are closed.”

            “Tell your guy,” Lance said, “to find a way to observe—only observe—the interior of the hangar. I want to know if there are any passengers in the hangar or on the airplane, and I want to know if any vehicles bearing such persons arrive at the hangar.”

            Rick transmitted the orders. “He’ll get back to us. Do you want us to go over there now?”