Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

started at the end of the week before and worked backward, but found no trace of the airplane leaving the Mesa Grande area. Billy Burnett had not turned on his transponder: smart. He did, however, catch the airplane two days later, landing at Las Vegas International, and three days after that, departing. Burnett turned off his transponder after leaving Las Vegas airspace, though, and he could have gone anywhere, so Igor didn’t know where to look next.
    Igor checked his watch: just after two PM . He calculated the time in Paris, then dialed a number.
    “Who is this?” an annoyed man asked.
    “It’s Igor, in New Mexico.”
    “Ah, Igor,” Majorov said. “Did you find Ivan and Yevgeny?”
    “Yes. They’re buried in the desert at Mesa Grande, inside the Navigator.”
    A baffled silence. “You’re not making any sense.”
    “Someone killed both of them, then put them in their car, dug a large hole with a backhoe, and pushed the car into it. Then he filled up the hole again. I had a man dig down until we found the car.”
    “Holy shit. What did you do then?”
    “I got the hell out of there. I expect the man called the police.”
    “Do you have any idea who did this?”
    “I think it was probably a man called Billy Burnett.”
    “Who is he?”
    “He was working at a filling station in Mesa Grande when Ivan and Yevgeny stopped there. They had followed the Barrington boy and his friends into the town, where they had stopped for the night. Something happened, some sort of disagreement, I guess, and there was a fight. Ivan and Yevgeny lost.”
    “I want you to find this Billy Barnett,” Majorov said.
    “Burnett.”
    “Whatever. Find him.”
    “And take him out?”
    “Maybe not. I think I want to talk to him myself, if he took on two of my best men and killed them.”
    “I warn you, he’s not going to be easy to find. He has no fixed address, and when he left Mesa Grande I traced him on the FlightAware program flying into Las Vegas, but he left three days later and I couldn’t tell where he went. He has a cell number, and I called it, but he said I had a wrong number. I called back, and the number was engaged, and when I called back again, I got a recorded message from the phone company saying that the number didn’t exist. He probably destroyed the phone.”
    “Igor, I want him found. Think of something.”
    “I’ve got one chance. If I keep a watch every day on the computer, I might catch him in the air again and be able to trace him.”
    “I have some business in Las Vegas, and I will be there the day after tomorrow, at the usual hotel. I’ll call you when I get there.”
    “Good. In the meantime, I’ll keep watch for the tail number.” Igor hung up, turned in his rental car, and flew back to Phoenix.
    The following morning he went to his office, set his laptop on the conference table, turned it on, and logged onto FlightAware. N123TF was not in the air. He called in an assistant and sat him down at the computer. “I want you to sit here for as long as you can and watch for this tail number.” He wrote it down. “When you get tired or hungry or have to go to the toilet, get someone to replace you, all day, every day. We’re going to watch the skies for that airplane. Got it?”
    The man sat down, nodded, and stared at the screen.

Teddy sat at the bar, nursing a drink for nearly an hour before Charmaine showed up. She came in looking very un-Vegas, in a pretty cotton dress, her hair in a ponytail.
    “Hey, there,” he said, getting down from his stool and hugging her. “Let’s get our table.” He left some money on the bar for his drink and signaled to the headwaiter that they were ready to sit down. A moment later they were at a good table in the garden, taking in the night air.
    “I didn’t think I’d get down to L.A. this soon,” she said. “But fortunately, something came up that gave me an excuse.”
    Teddy waited for the waiter to set down her martini and some menus before he spoke again. “Let me guess what came up,” he said.
    “I don’t think you can guess.”
    “My guess is Pete Genaro suggested you come see me.”
    She blushed a little and stared into her drink. “Why would you think that?”
    “Pete was having a little trouble categorizing me when I checked out, and my guess is, he wants to know more.”
    She took a sip of her martini. “Pete said you were one hell of a poker player.”
    “Maybe so, but rusty. I hadn’t played in years. That’s why I