St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

didn’t like it, but she didn’t see any way around it.
    Sometimes rapids couldn’t be finessed. They had to be ridden.
    “I’m not going to waste time arguing about this,” Jill said. “Where’s your phone?”
    “Why do you need it?”
    “I’m calling Grace Silva Faroe. Then I’m going back next door and firing St. Kilda over my sat phone.”

72
    SAN DIEGO
SEPTEMBER 17
12:41 A.M.
    F aroe picked up the phone, listened, and glanced toward the rocking chair where Grace was nursing Annalise.
    “She’s busy,” Faroe said. “Talk to me.”
    “Who is it?” Grace asked.
    “Jill, on Zach’s phone.”
    “I can lactate and think at the same time,” Grace said, holding out her hand for the phone.
    Faroe got out of bed and walked over to Grace. Naked.
    “Get some pants on,” she said, trying to ignore the eye-level view as she reached for the phone. “I’m going blind.”
    He smiled. “The phone is on speaker, amada .”
    “Hello, Jill,” Grace said, taking the phone and telling herself she was too old to blush. “Are you calling me from a shower for the usual reason?”
    “Um, what’s the usual reason?” Jill asked.
    “Bugs,” Zach said into the phone.
    “Right. Bugs,” Jill said. “My sat phone is in the other room and the door is closed, but Zach is being paranoid.”
    “Cautious,” Zach said.
    “Am I necessary to this conversation?” Grace asked.
    Faroe reached for the phone.
    Grace handed him the baby to burp.
    “Let Zach summarize,” Faroe said. “Then everyone can argue.”
    “The opposition called Jill’s sat phone about five minutes ago,” Zach said. “She’s supposed to fire St. Kilda, leave half the paintings with a friend in Vegas, drive north alone with half the paintings, and wait for the nice arsonist/shooter to call again and give her a meeting place to exchange paintings and information on the other six paintings with said nice arsonist/shooter for two million, cash.”
    “Bullshit,” Faroe said.
    “Took the word right out of my mouth,” Zach said.
    “Thank you for your input,” Grace said ironically. “Does anyone have a better plan for getting our hands on Mr. Nice before he burns down or shoots up the whole world?”
    Silence.
    Followed by a baby’s lusty burp.
    “Ah, intelligence at last,” Grace said. “Shooter Mary is practicing with the military outside of Las Vegas. She’ll be the contact, assuming Mr. Nice is so stupid as to show up and ask for the second half of the paintings.”
    With that, Grace handed Faroe the phone, picked up another phone, and punched in Mary’s cell number.
    “Who’s Shooter Mary?” Jill asked.
    “Our long-arms specialist,” Faroe said. He smiled thinly. “She fights real good up close and personal, too.”
    “She’s put me in the dirt a few times,” Zach agreed. “But I still don’t want Jill to go alone in the car.”
    “Nobody wants her to go alone,” Faroe said. “That isn’t the point.”
    “You won’t do her any good riding in the trunk,” Grace said clearly. “And you can be sure she’ll be vetted for company along the way before anything else happens.”
    Zach made a growling sound of frustration that told everyone what they already knew—he’d lost the battle.
    But not the war.
    “I have a plan,” Zach said.
    “I’m listening,” Faroe said.
    “First, we’ve got to get Jill a BlackBerry,” Zach said. “She can text-message me without tipping off the dude listening to the bug.”
    “Done,” Faroe said.
    “Second, get me a Cessna Skymaster and a really good pilot,” Zach said.
    “How soon?” Faroe asked.
    “In time to keep up with Jill when she leaves tomorrow at, say, an hour or so before noon. It might be later, but I want to have everything in place well before she leaves.”
    Faroe grunted. “I’ll get back to you.”
    “No Skymaster, no op,” Zach said flatly. “I’ll tie Jill up and take her into the desert until the auction is over.”
    “I’ll get the Skymaster if we have to steal it,” Faroe said. “Then what? Cold convoy?”
    “Yes. I’ll have her six o’clock, ten thousand feet up, pretty much invisible to anything but radar. The Skymaster can float along almost as slow as she can drive, and it has enough range to go from Vegas to stateline.”
    “What will you do if Jill gets into trouble along a lonely stretch of Nevada road?” Faroe asked. “Parachute down?”
    “That’s where the good pilot comes in,” Zach said. “I need one who is used