St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

on the radio to your deputy and tell him to call in as soon as he leads Ms. Breck to her destination. Then you’ll tell your deputy to haul his ass back out to Highway 93 and drive north to”—he looked at the map Grace had printed out—“milepost marker 418. Should I repeat that?”
    “No.”
    “Tell your deputy to stop at marker 418, turn on the light bar, and block all southbound traffic for the next ten minutes.”
    “What for?”
    “Road hazard,” Faroe said. “A small private aircraft will touch down south of him and let off a passenger. As soon as the plane takes off again, your deputy can turn off his light bar and head north.”
    “Why north?”
    “Because you want to keep your job. And if you let your good, rich friend know what’s happening, I will guarantee that you won’t be able to get work anywhere, including picking up trash at a downscale cathouse.”
    “If you’re wrong—”
    “I’m not.”
    Faroe punched out.
    “Will he do it?” Grace asked.
    Faroe let out a long breath. “Zach will be the first to know.”

79
    OVER NEVADA
SEPTEMBER 17
6:22 P.M.
    C ontact continues,” Zach said into the microphone that went to the men on the ground who were shadowing Jill, front and rear. “White sheriff’s car with blue-and-red light bar is still behind Jill, about a quarter mile back. He may be looking for company. Keep giving him a lot of space.”
    The sound of microphones popping in agreement came through the small headset Zach wore.
    He looked out through the aircraft’s windscreen at the road ahead, straight and black to the far horizon. Trucks and a few RVs were most of what little traffic there was.
    “What’s out here for the next hundred miles?” Zach asked the pilot.
    “Sand, rock, and rabbitbrush. And maybe a half-dozen whorehouses.”
    “Whorehouses? Out in the middle of nowhere?”
    “Roger that,” the pilot drawled. “There are thirty accredited brothels in the state of Nevada. I think at least half of them are along Highway 93. Chances are, if you see a settlement beside the road, it will have a name like ‘The Lobster Ranch’ or ‘Kangaroo Court.’”
    “Lobster Ranch?”
    The pilot grinned. “Yeah. Like the sign says, ‘Not too many lobsters but a whole lot of tail.’”
    “Maybe that’s why I never chased classic cars down there,” Zach said, sweeping the landscape with his binoculars. “I thought there weren’t enough people to leave behind junkyards. But from up here, I’ve noticed several small ones off the highway.”
    “Probably old ranches. Everybody down there now is dead or driving through. Truckers, mostly.”
    “Hence the tail ranches.”
    “They’re state-regulated,” the pilot said, glancing automatically at the control panel. “All the girls get checked once a week. Newspapers carry the results in the public notices, just like restaurant inspection reports.”
    Zach laughed out loud at the thought of government-inspected tail. “Nevada. Gamble with your money, not your health. Gotta love it.”
    He kept the binoculars on the patrol car.
    It kept the same interval behind Jill for five miles.
    Zach switched the headphones to his sat/cell and punched in a number. A St. Kilda communications specialist answered instantly.
    “Balfour in Nevada,” Zach said. “We’re still in contact. Still an open tail, county sheriff’s car, quarter mile behind the Caddy.”
    “Roger.”
    “Get ready to coordinate communications if I have to set down.”
    “Standing by.”
    Zach popped the microphone in answer and switched over to the BlackBerry’s bug frequency just in time to hear Jill talking to Mary.
    “The patrol car will lead me to the meeting,” Jill said.
    He couldn’t hear what Mary said.
    “Hopefully the next call I make will be the one you’re waiting for.”
    A pause.
    “Stay close to the phone,” Jill said.
    Zach’s sat/cell vibrated. He switched over to it. “What?”
    “The destination may be Beaver Tail Ranch,” Faroe said. “If the sheriff is smart, the deputy will drop her there and head for milepost 418. He’ll stop traffic southbound. We’ll stop it northbound. Once the deputy turns on his light bar, land ASAP and get to the car that will be waiting by the road. I don’t want to lose this client.”
    “I’m not real happy with the idea myself,” Zach said. “And I’m less happy about seeing the cops on the opposition’s side.”
    Faroe grunted. “Money talks. Crawford has it. After I had a little