St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

curse and “In your place I’d do the same. Let me know if I can help.”
    “Did the cops find anything at the bank?”
    “Negative, so far. They’re trying to trace the helicopter.”
    “They won’t find a thing. The pilot wasn’t Bertone.”
    “You sure? He used to fly helos before he could afford to hire someone else for the dirty jobs.”
    “Too lean. Long hair, wrong color.”
    “Damn. One of our guys works a regular job at the FAA regional center,” Faroe said. “He may be able to get a line on the bird.”
    “They’ll stay under the radar. If I see the helo at the house, I’ll tell you, but I doubt that it’s there.”
    “So why are you going?”
    “Remember? You don’t want to know.”
    “You met Mary. We’re getting her the tools of her trade as I speak. Keep it in mind.”
    “I will.”
    Rand punched the call off and drove hard until he turned onto the county road that led to the gated entrance to Andre Bertone’s house. He stopped on a high hilltop short of the gate and stared at the mansion on top of the mesa. From here he could see the garage and someone washing the bulletproof limo that drove Elena everywhere she and the kids wanted to go. He could also see the helipad.
    Empty.
    He wasn’t surprised. Foley had left more wreckage behind than even Bertone’s diplomatic passport would clean up.
    But Elena was still there.
    Maybe Bertone was, too.
    Be there, you bastard.
    He grabbed the cell phone and punched up Faroe’s number.
    “Where do you want Mary?” Faroe asked.
    “Not yet. I need a helo. I’m going to test Kayla’s certainty that Elena is a good mother.”
    “Huh.” Faroe breathed out hard. “You want the helo open or stealth?”
    “Bells and whistles all the way,” Rand said. “Hell, bring in a news chopper.”
    “Okay.”
    “What?” Rand asked, confused.
    “I told you yesterday.”
    “Tell me again.”
    “The camera crew from The World in One Hour put the squeeze on a local network affiliate for a weather and traffic chopper. They’re doing background shots of Phoenix, the businesses Bertone owns, and as much of the Bertone house as they can legally get.”
    “Thank you, God,” Rand said.
    “You’re welcome.”
    “You’re going to hell.”
    “You know anyone who isn’t?”
    “No. I’m on a hilltop about a half mile south of the castle. If I can’t get inside, is the helo pilot good enough to pick me up?”
    “Ask Martin. You have his cell?”
    Rand didn’t bother to say good-bye. He just cut out, called Martin, and waited for the okay man to answer.

66
    Over Phoenix
Sunday
1:54 P.M. MST
    A ll Kayla could see was the shiny tops of Foley’s loafers. All she could hear was the hammering noise of a helicopter in flight. She knew she was bruised and scraped from Foley’s rough handling, but she couldn’t feel anything except the adrenaline flooding her body. Her thoughts came with unnatural speed and clarity.
    Can’t run now.
    Foley is the weak link.
    Bertone is the stone killer.
    Work on Foley.
    She groaned and pushed away from the gun barrel jolting against her skull. Even Foley was smart enough not to shoot in a moving helicopter.
    “Hold still, bitch!” he yelled.
    The pilot winced and yanked off his headphones.
    Kayla pulled her hair free of Foley’s grasping fingers and shouldered herself into a sitting position against the helicopter’s side. Behind her back, handcuffs wrapped her wrists like obscene bracelets.
    No weapons within reach.
    No purse.
    No cell phone.
    Not even a nail file.
    The flat tract houses of Phoenix raced by in giddy beige curves as the pilot maneuvered to avoid power poles, telephone lines, and freeway overpasses. He was flying so low the skids nearly clipped roof tiles.
    She wondered what Bertone would do if she died in a crash.
    At least it would be quick. Maybe I should get my hands in front, do a Flight 93, and bring down this bird.
    Or maybe not.
    There’s still a chance to get out alive after we land. Small, but still a chance. That’s more than Flight 93 had.
    Foley unhooked his harness and started to go after his prisoner.
    The pilot grabbed his shoulder, shoved, and said, “Nyet!” loud enough to be heard over the engine noise.
    The helicopter swayed and shimmied.
    Foley sat down hard.
    Kayla leaned her head against the vibrating metal of the helicopter and thought hard.
    What is Foley’s weakness? Greed?
    Hell, yes.
    Stupidity?
    Depends.
    Would he believe I’d be his sex slave in order to