a short conversation, she hung up. “They close at ten p.m.”
“It’s not far.”
“Did you wonder about how they were financing all this? I mean the apartment, the house on Spring Street, everything?”
“I was until you said they never recovered the money from Radek’s armored-car robberies.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “The total haul was almost a million and a half.”
“Apparently, even criminals have figured out that it takes money to make money.”
The traffic was light and it took only twenty minutes to get to the sports store. “I’ll go find out where we’re going next.”
She watched him walk inside and felt a rush of anticipation. To distract herself she started scanning through the FM stations on the radio. By the time she found one she liked, he was getting back in the car. “Amazing how fast they can find something when it’s closing time.” He started the car and, after checking a map, made a U-turn.
“Where are we going?”
“West Seventh Street. They sell those tanks for paint-balling. The name the buyer used was Thomas Carson, with this address.” He handed her a slip of paper.
“Think the name’s a phony?”
“If it isn’t, it’d be the first one. Why don’t you call someone at the office anyhow and have them check indices. Also ask them if there’s an employee by that name. Just in case.”
Kate called the Los Angeles office and was told that no one by the name of Thomas Carson worked there, and indices also failed to find any record of it. “Nothing,” she said after hanging up. “I hope that doesn’t mean the address is no good.”
“So far, every time we have run into an alias, the address has been good. If it is this time, you know what that means.”
Kate said, “You think this is an ambush?”
“I’m hoping so.” The surprised look on her face asked the question. “Because we’re not going to get any closer if it isn’t. Unless you’ve discovered a way to make an omelet without breaking eggs.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m starting to wonder if there is such a thing as an omelet.”
THE WEST SEVENTH STREET address was in a commercial neighborhood that in recent years had begun to be gentrified. The structure was a seventy-five-year-old office building and was thirteen stories, taking up a city block. Neglect and the hydrocarbons of Los Angeles’s automobile culture had left the structure stained and unappealing. But apparently someone had recognized not only the subtle architectural qualities of the building but also its easily alterable construction and dimensions and was spending several million dollars rejuvenating it. The stone pediments that accented the top two floors had been sandblasted back to their original spotless beige. The upper-floor windows had been removed, and the spaces were now covered with heavy-gauge clear plastic awaiting energy-saving replacements. Scaffolding hung from thin cables a hundred feet long. A heavy tarplike material surrounded the three lower floors to keep debris from falling. A temporary walkway with a protective overhead had been constructed along the sidewalks that surround the building. “This is different,” Vail said.
“Different how?”
“The prison and the tunnel were abandoned sites. This building’s being rehabbed.”
“It’s nice to see that the Pentad’s found a more glass-half-full place to try to kill you.”
“Not me, darlin’, us.” Vail turned the corner. “Let’s see if we can find the construction entrance. We’ll set up on it for a while and see what happens.”
Vail drove slowly around the building. It was a little after 10 p.m. and there was little traffic. Kate was leaning forward searching the enormous structure through the windshield. “Is that it down at the end of the building?” she asked.
“Unpainted plywood doors with a padlock on it. Looks like it, but let’s drive all the way around and see if there is any other way in.”
As they drove by, Kate could see the door had been pried open and left slightly ajar. “Looks like someone is already here.”
“Let’s get an eye on it and see if anyone else shows up.”
He parked the car as far away as he could while still being able to see the door. Both of them slouched down in the seat. For the next half hour they watched the building. Occasionally a car drove by, but none stopped. Then a man on foot rounded the corner and, under the shadows of the protective overhead, slipped into the building through the jimmied door. “Did you get a look at him? Was it Radek?” Kate asked.
“I couldn’t