"Oh, it's nothing to be concerned about, sir.” The young man raised a brow as he scrutinized Hopkins. “You waiting for someone?"
"Yeah."
"There's no danger. The last plane that landed had a blow out and left rubber all over the runway. The ground crew is cleaning it up. The jet you see circling will land in approximately thirty minutes. There's nothing to worry about. They have plenty of fuel to last for quite awhile."
Hopkins nodded. “That's good to know. Thanks.” Moving away from the counter, he strolled toward the main terminal. With his hands tucked into the coat pockets, he crossed the room toward the large window and peered over the heads of a couple of women. They gave him a cynical stare, put a tissue to their noses and eased out of his way. Soon, he had most of the space to himself.
Several minutes passed and he noted the yellow trucks returning and figured it wouldn't be long before the jet landed. He watched the big plane lower its landing gear and set down at the far end of the runway. It soon coasted to a stop outside the terminal. They pushed the big step ladders, as he called them, toward the plane. He moseyed toward the boarding door where the passengers entered the terminal.
There would only be one more plane coming in tonight from San Francisco. If Jamey didn't make this one, she'd for sure be on the next flight. It puzzled him why she hadn't come in earlier. He knew he hadn't missed her, as he'd watched every plane land. What did the woman fear? No way could she know he'd be waiting, unless the big man had sent her a warning. But if the investigator had something on her, he wouldn't tell her for fear she might not show. Well, he hoped to hell nothing had leaked to Jamey.
Carl stood back from the group of people gathered at the door. He glanced around the room, half expecting to see the tall cowboy meandering around the edge of the crowd. But he didn't spot him. Maybe the investigator knew something he didn't. Then he wondered how Jake had fared today in distracting the cops.
His attention turned back toward the door when he heard loud greetings and the rustling of arriving passengers. He studied each person, but not one halfway resembled Jamey. When the last passenger stepped into the terminal, the attendant closed the door. Carl let out a sigh and scratched his chin. Well, he had one more chance. If she didn't make it on the next flight, she'd more than likely miss that meeting tomorrow. He'd seen nothing of a postponement or cancellation in any of the e-mails to the title company. Maybe she hired a private jet. Naw, he thought, shaking his head. Surely those jewels she carried away didn't amount to that much money. His gut told him that Ms. Jamey would show.
His stomach rumbled as he ambled toward the exit. He detoured into the small coffee shop where he ordered a hot dog and soda. Carrying his snack in a paper sack, he stopped at the vending machine and purchased a bag of peanuts and a small package of cheese crackers. Hopefully, this would carry him through the next couple of hours. He certainly didn't want to hang around inside, as some of the personnel were taking notice, displaying sour smirks as he shuffled by.
Strolling toward Jake's car, he felt the gun hitting against his leg with every step. He doubted anyone noticed that one side of the coat hung lower than the other. Most people just wrinkled their noses at the odor which proved to be a blessing in disguise. Knowing the human race, he doubted anyone would be able to tell a cop what he looked like. All they'd remember is that he smelled and looked dirty. Chuckling, he climbed into the old Chevy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Hawkman left Charley's with a good feeling. Much to his surprise, they'd both had fun and enjoyed the game of dominos. It reminded him of how he and his son, Sam, used to set up a board game on the coffee table in front of the fireplace on a cold winter night. He missed those times now that the boy had gone away to college. Occasionally, they'd talk Jennifer into joining them, but she finally tired of getting skunked and listening to their unmerciful laughter, especially at Monopoly. He smiled to himself when he remembered how many times they'd sent her into bankruptcy.
Since he had a few hours to kill before going to the airport, Hawkman decided to stop by the office and catch up on some work. But first, he'd swing by the old hotel. Driving past the parking lot, he spotted Hopkins’ Toyota parked in its normal slot and the surveillance vehicle across the street.
He thought it odd Hopkins stayed in his room, unless the man had managed to hack into the airlines computer system and retrieve information. But he doubted Hopkins knew the alias Jamey might use, so the passenger list wouldn't help. He'd probably focus on the schedule of plane arrivals, which could easily be provided through a phone call.
Hawkman didn't dare stop and visit the man's hotel room. That could ruin their attempts at keeping him under scrutiny. Puzzled and knowing something didn't fit, he pulled to the side of the street and stopped. What had he missed? The men who had Hopkins under surveillance certainly wouldn't mistake him for someone else and they knew the make of the car. Hopkins didn't dare shave his beard or cut his hair at this time because Jamey would recognize him immediately. The man's unusual blue eyes were his giveaway, and the hairy mop around his face prevented anyone from noticing them unless you were practically nose to nose.
So far, Hopkins had done nothing to make the police suspicious. Even though Hawkman found the hidden gun, a judge's questions on how he discovered it could cause him to lose his investigator's license.
Hawkman and the police were in a tight spot. Detective Williams probably hoped Hopkins would make a wrong move to warrant a search or arrest. But they had little time left.
He glanced across the dark parking lot and tensed. A shadowy figure strolled toward the Toyota. It looked like Hopkins. But the minute Hawkman saw the man take a lit cigarette from his lips and flip the burning butt onto the ground, he knew they had the wrong man under surveillance. Hopkins didn't smoke.
Hawkman started the engine, turned the corner at the intersection and cut into the alley behind the hotel. Entering the parking lot from the rear, he pulled up alongside the Toyota just as the man unlocked the passenger side door.
"Hey, Carl, how's it going?"
Jake laughed. “I ain't Carl. Just borrowin’ his car."
"You two kin?” Hawkman asked. “You look enough alike to be brothers."
"Naw, just friends."
"What's your name?"
"They call me Jake."
"Where's Carl?"
He pointed toward the hotel. “Up in his room, I reckon. My car's in the shop and he loaned me his for the day."
"Well, nice meeting you, Jake."
"I never caught your name,” he said, eyeing Hawkman suspiciously.
"They call me Tom."
Jake climbed inside the car and slammed the door. He waved as he pulled away.
Hawkman took his cell phone from his belt and called the detective.
"Williams, we're tailing the wrong man."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The fellow driving the Toyota looks so much like Carl Hopkins, you'd suspect they were related. He even dresses like him."
"So, who is this guy?"
"He says his name is Jake. Didn't give me a last name. Said Hopkins loaned him his car for the day as his was in the shop."
"What's your take on this?"
"Doesn't set well. I think Hopkins is driving Jake's car and is on the prowl for Jamey. I have a hunch he discovered the cops following him, so he traded cars with Jake and they're playing a game."
"What's your plan?"
"I'm going to the airport. See if I can spot Hopkins. He won't be hard to locate if he's inside that small terminal. I doubt there'll be many people mingling around when the plane arrives near midnight."
"You want a back-up?"
"Wouldn't hurt."
"You got it. I'll be there."
"Thanks, Williams."
Hawkman hung up and glanced around the lot. It would help to know what kind of car Jake owned. He pulled closer to the hotel entrance and the minute a person came out of the hotel, he yell
ed, “Hey, you know Jake?"
"Yeah, I know Jake Withers. What's it to ya?” asked the large man as he staggered toward the 4X4. Hawkman, not knowing if the vagrant might be dangerous, drunk or on drugs, removed his gun from the shoulder holster and rested it on his thigh. He leaned out the window as the man got closer.
"Came to see him on business, but don't see that old car he used to have around. He get a new one?"
"Naw,” the fellow said. shaking his head so hard he almost lost his balance. “He still drives that old green Chevy.” He spit to the side and glanced around the parking lot, holding his hand to shade his eyes as if the sun were shining bright. “Nope, don't see it out here. He twisted his big belly around and braced himself against the fender of the 4X4.
"Thanks. I'll try and catch him tomorrow."
"What's your name?"
Hawkman didn't respond, instead he gunned the engine and waited for the derelict to remove his bulk from against the front of his vehicle. The man slowly moved away. Hawkman eased past him. All he needed was some vagrant to claim hit and run. He drove out of the lot and returned his gun to the holster. When he glanced into the rearview mirror, he shook his head as he watched the derelict stumble toward the hotel entrance.
* * * *
Jamey asked for a blanket, then reached above her head and flipped on the overhead light. She curled up in the seat with the cover tucked around her shoulders and tried to read the mystery paperback she'd bought for the trip. But soon her eyelids grew heavy. Suddenly, the plane shuddered and dropped. Jamey jerked awake as she slammed against the forward seat. The book fell from her lap to the floor and a scream echoed from the front of the plane. The warning sign to buckle seat belts flashed.
She peered down the aisle as she rubbed her bumped face and saw the frightened expressions of the passengers as they gripped the arm rests. Fastening the belt, she grabbed her hat that had fallen to the floor and hugged the large purse close to her stomach. The beating of her heart pounded in her ears. The plane continued to buck like a bronco and she wondered if they were going to crash. The pilot soon announced over the intercom they'd only hit some turbulence and assured the passengers they'd move into calmer air as they descended into the landing approach to San Francisco.
Jamey had that odd feeling of being watched and shot a look at the men across the aisle. The prisoner's eyes narrowed and his stare bore into her very soul. Her stomach quivered as she pulled the blanket back over her shoulders, turned away and glanced out the window. The man's looks scared her. She wondered how many people he might have murdered.
The ride smoothed and Jamey breathed a sigh of relief. Flying didn't frighten her, but she disliked those bumps. It amazed her how the craft held together when it hit pockets of weather such as they'd just experienced. As soon as her emotions eased, she crammed the book into her purse, took out her mirror and examined her face. A slight redness glowed on her left cheek where she'd raked it across the rough material. She took out her compact and dabbed it with powder, then freshened her lipstick. Satisfied there'd been no damage to her appearance, she returned everything and zipped up the bag. Her ears popped as the plane descended. She stared out the window watching the stars disappear as they flew through the cloud cover, then suddenly, the lights of the Bay Area flashed into view. Within minutes they were coasting down the runway. The plane soon stopped and the passengers prepared to disembark.
Jamey waited for a few moments, letting most of the people pass before she stood and pulled her suitcase from the overhead rack. She flipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then moved into the aisle at the same moment the men across from her stepped out. The prisoner lunged forward and grabbed Jamey around the neck with his free arm. She dropped her suitcase and purse as she grabbed at his limb. Her hat fell to the floor as he twisted her around to face the security men.
"I'll kill her if you try anything."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jamey gulped for breath as the man tightened his grip around her throat. The people bringing up the rear retreated to the back of the plane into a small group of horrified spectators. A young boy whimpered and buried his head into his mother's neck when she picked him up and turned him away from the sight.
"I'll break her pretty little neck if anyone comes near,” the prisoner hissed in broken English.
"How the hell do you think you'll get away?” one of the men asked.
The convict snickered. “I got my own idea."
The agent moved his arm that linked him to his captive.
"Quit moving,” the prisoner demanded, yanking Jamey's head backwards until she let out a yelp.
"Unlock the cuff. But keep your hands so I can see them."
When the agent released the man's wrist, Jamey knew she had to act quickly and a few self-defense procedures flashed through her mind. With all her force she stomped down on the man's toe with the heel of her shoe, then swiftly plunged an elbow deep into his middle. He let out a gasp and released his hold. She quickly turned and sent a knee into his groin then gouged both his eyes with her long fingernails. In those few seconds, the man fell to the floor and rolled around with both hands covering his eyes.
"The bitch blinded me!” he screamed.
The agents grabbed his arms, twisted them to his back and cuffed his wrists together.
Jamey hastily grabbed her purse and suitcase from two passengers who held them out to her, stepped over the squirming body, picked up her hat, then quickly made her way down the walkway.
"Wait, Miss! Wait!” yelled one of the agents.
Ignoring their pleas, Jamey hurried into the terminal, mingled with the crowd, then darted into the nearest bathroom. She locked herself into one of the stalls and leaned against the door. Breathing heavily, she clasped her hands together. Feeling something sticky she held them in front of her and almost threw up. Small bits of blood and mucus covered her fingers. She flung open the door, headed straight for the basin and scrubbed her hands diligently.
Once she felt they were thoroughly cleansed, she went back into the stall. Digging into her purse, she pulled out the blond wig that she'd tossed in as a second thought before leaving home. She loosened and combed out the bun at the crown of her head, slipped on the wig tucking loose strands of hair under the edges, then stepped cautiously out of the stall. Only two women were left in the bathroom and neither paid any attention to her as she moved toward the mirror. Breathing a sigh of relief, she fluffed the short ringlets around her face. After examining herself in the mirror, it amazed her how the blond hair made such a dramatic change in her appearance.
She slipped off her jacket, took a scarf that she had in her pocket, wrapped it around her neck and tied it in an exquisite bow. Folding the jacket inside out, so the dark lining showed, she draped it over her arm, partially covering the hat she held.
This should do it, she thought, giving herself one more quick inspection. Can't change my eye color, as I've got to resemble the Shirley Ann Noland passport somewhat. Sauntering out of the ladies room, pulling her suitcase, she headed for the gate of her next flight. She noticed a crowd of people mingling around the area where she'd just disembarked. Then she spotted the reason. Two paramedics were pushing a gurney out of the exit from the plane she'd just left.
She stared at the patient who appeared sedated, with straps across his chest and hips. Bandages covered his eyes and the two agents were walking briskly alongside. She felt a bit queasy about what she'd done, but figured the idiot got what he deserved. Jamey hurried past the throng of gawkers who were held back by a line of security guards.
A moment of panic hit when she heard the name, Shirley Ann Noland, blast over the paging system. She stopped in her tracks and gnawed her lower lip. The police probably wanted to question her about the prisoner. Surely they'd know there was no connection between them by the way she'd fought him off.
She wouldn't be able to avoid this, as they had her name on the roster to Medford. Taking a deep breath, she headed b
ack to the ladies room. She yanked off the wig, redid her hair back into the original bun, put on her hat, turned the jacket to the right side and slipped it on. Exiting the restroom, Jamey headed for the gate where she expected to find the police waiting.
* * * *
Hawkman had his car radio tuned to a news channel, and the story about a scuffle on a San Francisco bound plane between a South American convict and a young woman caught his attention. The prisoner, guarded by two FBI agents, had somehow managed to grab a passenger as a hostage and threatened her with bodily harm if they tried to stop him.
"The female displayed state of the art self-defense moves, and had the prisoner groveling before she finished him off by poking two well-placed jabs to the eyes with her long fingernails. At this point we're told the convict screamed in pain and dropped to the floor. The young lady disappeared and the authorities would like to find her."
The announcer chuckled. “They'd probably like to hire her into the Agency."
Hawkman grinned to himself. That sure sounded like a Jamey thing, he thought, pulling into the airport parking lot.
He circled and spotted the old Chevy he'd seen earlier parked in the same spot. Now the puzzle pieces were coming together and completed a corner of the picture. Hawkman figured Carl Hopkins had changed identities with his look alike. And he'd bet his last dollar that the dirty long coat and old rustic cowboy hat belonged to Jake Withers.
Parking a couple of rows back, Hawkman's headlights illuminated a figure sitting in the driver's side of the old Chevy. He loosened the flap over his gun, manually turned off the lights and left the 4X4. Weaving in and out of the parked cars, Hawkman came upon the passenger side without Hopkins noticing.
The window was partially rolled down. Hawkman hit the side of the door with the flat of his hand. “Hello, Carl."
Hopkins jumped and jerked around in his seat, spilling soda down his front. “What the hell do you want?” he asked, wiping off the liquid with a paper napkin.
Hawkman shrugged. “Nothing. Saw you sitting here all alone and thought I'd keep you company."
Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 12
