War Plans
By five the next morning, Griff was at the table in his hideaway going through all the files from Lance, Wilkinson and T-Rex again. He called Lance at six-thirty, knowing he was on his way to the office. Griff asked to have Wilkinson look into the health and well-being of Talon Technologies’ most recent investments and for JR to put into play Spook Central’s social media data mining algorithms from Mumbai and point them at Talon’s partners.
“Add Andy Rousch to the list, too,” Griff said.
“Who’s he?” Lance asked.
“A-and-P at Reid-Hillview Airport in San Jose. South Bay Avionics. He was the last guy to sign off maintenance on Nickolson’s Bell 407. Logs say he pulled a radio and did a transponder check.”
“Worth a look for sure.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave…”
“When first we practice to believe.”
“How would you feel about playing Spyglass next week?” Griff asked.
“Can I bill it back to JR?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m in. Why?”
“There’s a Highlands Group outing, and it looks like one of the Talon guys is a golf nut. No doubt he’s playing.”
“I’m there. Got me a new Calloway Rogue driver I’m dying to put through its paces.”
“And I’ll need to borrow JR’s credentials and accommodations—at least for the first day of the conference. Make sure he’s signed up for the golf outing. And get two extra tickets to the banquet Tuesday. And one for yourself.”
“This is exciting, no? Business and pleasure all wrapped up in a big flour tortilla. Covered in cheesy mystery sauce.”
“Yeah. Exciting.”
“Come on, Griff. You and me. On the case—on the client’s dime.”
“I’m all tingly inside.”
“It doesn’t get any better.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Griff hung up and dialed Norfolk.
“You lucky twat,” T-Rex answered his call. “I hear you skated from Johnny Law.”
“Thank you, Dewey, Cheatum and Howe.”
Rodya wandered in and put his muzzle on Griff’s thigh.
“Now what? It never fucking ends with you, does it?”
“Got your info on Valance. Thanks.” Griff scratched the Husky’s neck.
“I hate guys like that. No soul. They’re the fucking worst.”
“I gotta deal with this situation. Pronto. His body count is six blue—so far. Gotta stop.”
“How’s that?”
“Cover and move.”
“And…”
“I need some cover. Next week. Three teams.”
“Where?”
“Kentucky. Newport, Maysville, and Pine Hollow.”
“I’m on it. Put this dog down already.”
“Gotta flush him out first.”
“Then what the fuck are you waiting for, you twat?”
“I love you, too, Chief. I’ll send the details.” Griff hung up and set down his phone. He patted Rodya’s flank and, without looking back, said, “Well, well, well…look what the dog dragged in.”
“Damn it, I thought for sure I got the drop on you.” Maura’s voice came from the doorway behind Griff.
He shook his head and pointed to a convex mirror in the corner by the ceiling.
“Rodya made me do it.”
“Just don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
“Trust me.” Maura stepped in and surveyed the hideaway, barefoot and dressed only in a large Denver Broncos #7 jersey. “Hope you don’t mind. I found this in a drawer. The orange reminded me of…you and home.”
“Very funny.”
“So, what is this? Your Crowe’s nest? Ha, ha. I make myself laugh.”
“You are hilarious.”
“I know.”
“Welcome to my lair.”
“That sounds nefarious.” She stepped over beside the table.
Rodya turned his attention from Griff to Maura. She knelt down to let him lick her face.
Griff sighed.
“So, what was that all about?” Maura pointed to Griff’s iPhone.
“Did you happen to pack any girlie things?” Griff asked.
“What for?”
“Didn’t think so. Then, we’ll have to go shopping when we get there.”
“Where?”
“Ca-li-for-nee-ya,” Griff said in an Austrian accent like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
***~~~***