stepped in. ‘It was like that when I got here.’
‘I’ll believe you, millions wouldn’t,’ Lucinda said cheerfully. ‘Heard any more out of Andre?’
‘Nothing worth knowing,’ James replied. ‘He’s stuck home playing video games. Pissed off that his mum and dad are being all lovey-dovey. Though it looks like Tamara’s mainly doing it to help our cause.’
Lucinda nodded. ‘Tamara’s attracted to him. A lot of women go for the Neanderthal look.’
‘Does that include you?’ James asked.
He was trying to be funny, but Lucinda glowered at him. ‘What if it was the other way around?’ she snapped. ‘If you were undercover and you slept with a female target, it would be a big joke. Ha, ha, I nailed the bitch! Why can’t a woman enjoy sex for its own sake? Why must a woman who has sex either be a victim or a slut?’
James had already worked out that Lucinda had a short fuse, but this was a strong reaction even for her.
‘OK, don’t bite my head off.’
‘I’m not mad,’ Lucinda said. ‘You’re a bit of an asshole, that’s all. The good news is, I stopped at the market and bought you gifts.’
She passed James a carrier bag, which contained bug spray, and half a dozen mousetraps.
‘Chocolate or peanut butter makes the best bait,’ Lucinda said.
As James inspected a plastic trap, Lucinda unrolled a map on the bed. It was made from sheets of A4 paper, printed off Bing Maps and crudely taped together.
‘I plotted the sixteen locations from the sat-nav in Leonid’s Lexus,’ Lucinda explained. ‘Airport, shopping malls, a big industrial unit up near the border. Most interesting, there’s two locations out of town, close to the secure compound of the Talavera Brothers. I’d guess that’s who Leonid is selling his missiles to.’
‘Can those guys afford twenty-four million?’ James asked.
‘They’re a new force here in the north. They’re muscling in on the smuggling routes and have powerful southern groups backing them,’ Lucinda said. ‘I also found a report on an anonymous blog about a large explosion, taking out the leader of one of the Talavera Brothers’ main rivals about ten days back. The report describes witnesses seeing a missile corkscrewing downwards, taking a right turn over the heads of a security detail and slamming through the front window of a restaurant where the victim was having lunch.’
‘Sounds exactly like a missile using GPS and terrain mapping,’ James said. ‘Leonid probably gave them a sample for a test firing. But why are you looking at anonymous blogs?’
Lucinda liked reminding James that she knew more than him and tutted contemptuously. ‘Newspapers here print stories about politicians donating money to charity, cute baby competitions and gossip about TV celebrities. Print any real news, or even mention the names of the main gangs, and you’ll get your head hacked off. Everyone reads blogs for the real news, but god help the writers if the gangs work out who’s behind them.’
‘Such a nice country you have here,’ James said, smiling.
‘I’m American, so go screw yourself,’ Lucinda replied.
42. CAMPER
Ted was OK lying on his back or standing up, but sitting for a long time was painful and he was hurting as he came down six steps out of a small jet. They were at Sonoma County Airport, in the heart of California’s wine country.
After picking up a hire car, they headed for Lombardi’s house. There was nobody home, but fortunately Lombardi liked to portray himself as an upstanding citizen. He didn’t flip cellphones like a crook would and TFU headquarters triangulated his position to a fancy seafood restaurant back in town.
Joe did a reccie and sighted Lombardi, his wife and his two pre-teen daughters. They were part of a big group, acting loud as they scoffed seafood platters and $200 bottles of wine.
‘Your man’s drinking plenty,’ Joe said, as he leaned into their hired mini-van speaking to Ted, Ethan and co-thug Don. ‘Toilets are up the back of the building. I can take him, stick a hood over his head and push him out the fire exit.’
Ted nodded, as he sat in the front passenger seat scrolling through maps on his iPhone. ‘Try not to knock him out, we need him lucid.’
It was a good plan, but it didn’t work.
‘Lombardi must have a bladder like a racehorse,’ Ted complained, after an hour.
Inside, Joe reported that the diners were on coffee and dessert. When Lombardi stepped out into the night, he still hadn’t been to the toilet. He looked a little drunk and had a sleepy eight-year-old daughter