The Black Box

it’s Friday and this is short notice, but my partner can cover anything we have open and he’s already working on a pickup trip with Trish Allmand.”
    “What about the Snow White case? Weren’t you telling me not two days ago that nothing was going to hold you up on it?”
    Bosch nodded contritely.
    “Yeah, well, it’s sort of cooled down at the moment. I’m waiting on developments.”
    O’Toole nodded like he knew all along that Bosch would hit a wall on the case.
    “You know this isn’t going to change the internal investigation,” he said.
    “I know,” Bosch said. “I just need to get away, think about priorities for a little bit.”
    Bosch saw O’Toole trying to hold back a self-congratulatory smile. He couldn’t wait to call the tenth floor and report that Bosch was not going to be a problem, that the prodigal detective had finally seen the light and returned to the fold.
    “So, you’re taking the week, then?” he asked.
    “Yeah, just a week,” Bosch replied. “I’ve got about two months banked.”
    “I normally want a little more notice, but I’ll allow the exception this time. You’re good to go, Detective. I’ll mark it down.”
    “Thanks, L-T.”
    “Do you mind closing the door when you leave?”
    “Gladly.”
    Bosch left him there to quietly make his call to the chief. Before Harry got back to his cubicle, he already had a plan for taking care of things at home while he was gone.

22
    C a’ Del Sole had become their place. They met there more often than anywhere else in the city. This was a choice based on romance, taste—they agreed on Italian—and price, but most of all it was based on convenience. The North Hollywood restaurant was equidistant in time and traffic from both their homes and jobs, with a little bit of an edge to Hannah Stone.
    Edge or no edge, Bosch got there first and was shown to the booth that had become their regular table. Hannah had told him she might arrive late because her appointments at the halfway house in Panorama City had backed up domino-style after the unscheduled interview with Mendenhall. Bosch had brought a file with him and was content to work while he waited.
    Before the day ended in the Open-Unsolved Unit, David Chu had compiled short preliminary bios on the five men Bosch wanted to focus on. Drawing from both public and law enforcement databases, Chu was able to put together in two hours what would have taken Bosch two weeks to gather twenty years ago.
    Chu had printed out several pages of data on each of the men. Bosch had those pages in the file along with printouts of the photos taken by both Drummond and Jespersen on the Saudi Princess , as well as a translation of the story Anneke Jespersen had submitted to the BT with her photos.
    Bosch opened the file and reread the story. It was dated March 11, 1991, almost two weeks after the war had ended and the troops had become peacekeepers. The story was short, and he guessed that it was just a copy block that went with her photos. The Internet translation program he used was basic. It did not translate grammatical nuance and style, leaving the story choppy and awkward in English.
    It is called “Love Boat,” but no mistake this is a war ship. Luxury liner Saudi Princess never leaves port but always has maximum security and capacity. The British vessel has been chartered and temporarily used by the U.S. Pentagon as a rest and recreation retreat for American troops from in Operation Desert Storm.
    Men and women with service in Saudi Arabia are allowed occasional three-day rest and relaxation leave and since the cease-fire the demand for it is very big. The Princess is only destination in the conservative Persian Gulf where the soldiers can drink alcohol, make the friends and not bring the camouflage equipment.
    The ship stays in port and is well guarded by armed Marines in uniform. (The Pentagon asks journalists who visit cannot reveal the ship’s exact location.) But on board there are no uniforms and life is a party. Hastwo disco, ten 24-hour bars and three pools. Soldiers who stationed in the region for weeks and months and dodged SCUD missile and bullets of Iraqi have 72 hours to have fun, taste their alcohol and flirt with the opposite sex—all of the things forbidden in camp.
    “For three days we are civilians once more,” said Beau Bentley, a 22-year-old soldier from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. “Last week I was in a firefight in Kuwait City. Today I sip a cold one with my