The Eyes of Darkness

waiting."
    Alexander nodded. "We can call the rental agencies at the Reno airport."
    "No need to call. The hacker geeks in computer operations can probably access all the rental agencies' data files long distance."
    Alexander picked up the phone and gave the order.
    Fifteen minutes later computer operations called back with its report. Elliot Stryker had a rental car reserved for late-night pickup at the Reno airport. He was scheduled to take possession of it shortly before midnight.
    "That's a bit sloppy of him," Kennebeck said, "considering how clever he's been so far."
    "He figures we're focusing on Arizona, not Reno."
    "It's still sloppy," Kennebeck said, disappointed. "He should have built a double blind to protect himself."
    "So it's like I said." Alexander's crooked smile appeared. "He isn 't as sharp as he used to be."
    "Let's not start crowing too soon," Kennebeck said. "We haven't caught him yet."
    "We will," Alexander said, his composure restored. "Our people in Reno will have to move fast, but they'll manage. I don't think it's a good idea to hit Stryker and the woman in a public place like an airport."
    What an uncharacteristic display of reserve, Kennebeck thought sourly.
    "I don't even think we should put a tail on them as soon as they get there," Alexander said. "Stryker will be expecting a tail. Maybe he'll elude it, and then he'll be spooked."
    "Get to the rental car before he does. Slap a transponder on it. Then you can follow him without being seen, at your leisure."
    "We'll try it," Alexander said. "We've got less than an hour, so there might not be time. But even if we don't get a beeper on the damn car, we're okay. We know where they're going. We'll just eliminate Bellicosti and set up a trap at the funeral home."
    He snatched up the telephone and dialed the Network office in Reno.
     
     
     
     

25
     
    in reno, which billed itself as "the biggest Little City in the World," the temperature hovered at twenty-one degrees above zero as midnight approached. Above the lights that cast a frosty glow on the airport parking lot, the heavily shrouded sky was moonless, starless, perfectly black. Snow flurries were dancing on a. changeable wind.
    Elliot was glad they had bought a couple of heavy coats before leaving Las Vegas. He wished they'd thought of gloves; his hands were freezing.
    He threw their single suitcase into the trunk of the rented Chevrolet. In the cold air, white clouds of exhaust vapor swirled around his legs.
    He slammed the trunk lid and surveyed the snow-dusted cars in the parking lot. He couldn't see anyone in any of them. He had no feeling of being watched.
    When they had landed, they'd been alert for unusual activity on the runway and in the private-craft docking yard—suspicious vehicles, an unusual number of ground crewmen—but they had seen nothing out of the ordinary. Then as he had signed for the rental car and picked up the keys from the night clerk, he had kept one hand in a pocket of his coat, gripping the handgun he'd taken off Vince in Las Vegas—but there was no trouble.
    Perhaps the phony flight plan had thrown the hounds off the trail. Now he went to the driver's door and climbed into the Chevy, where Tina was fiddling with the heater.
    "My blood's turning to ice," she said.
    Elliot held his hand to the vent. "We're getting some warm air already."
    From his coat, he withdrew the pistol and put it on the seat between him and Christina, the muzzle pointed toward the dashboard.
    "You really think we should confront Bellicosti at this hour?" she asked.
    "Sure. It's not very late."
    In an airport-terminal telephone directory, Tina had found the address of the Luciano Bellicosti Funeral Home. The night clerk at the rental agency, from whom they had signed out the car, had known exactly where Bellicosti's place was, and he had marked the shortest route on the free city map provided with the Chevy.
    Elliot flicked on the overhead light and studied the map, then handed it to Tina. "I think I can find it without any trouble. But if I get lost, you'll be the navigator."
    "Aye, aye, Captain."
    He snapped off the overhead light and reached for the gearshift.
    With a distant click, the light that he had just turned off now turned itself on.
    He looked at Tina, and she met his eyes.
    He clicked off the light again.
    Immediately it switched on.
    "Here we go," Tina said.
    The radio came on. The digital station indicator began to sweep across the frequencies. Split-second blasts