Little Girl Gone (A Logan Harper Thriller)

by Brett Battles

  “I’m not a rent-a-cop. I own the security company, so I can wear whatever I damn well please.”

  In the distance, Logan could hear the jet’s engine revving up and getting ready for take-off.

  “Were you here for that plane?” he asked.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Mr. Williams said.

  “Well, if you weren’t here for that plane, then what are you here for?”

  Before either of them could answer, the jet began roaring down the runway, making it impossible to hear anything. Both men turned their heads to look.

  Don’t ever give them a chance.

  Mr. Williams was standing in the unfortunate position closest to Logan, so he was the first to go down. An open palm uppercut under the chin did the trick, sending a surprise shock to his brain that instantly shut his system down. His partner didn’t notice until it was too late, and quickly joined his friend on the asphalt.

  Logan made sure they were both out, then searched them.

  They each were carrying pistols, Smith & Wessons. As for IDs, though they both did have driver’s licenses in the names of Williams and Dean respectively, they also had ones in the names of Hoover and Jenson, too. So it wasn’t a leap to assume their real names were none of the above.

  Logan checked the door of the building. It was locked, but only by a single dead bolt. He picked it quickly, then hauled the two men inside. With some duct tape he found in one of the cabinets, he secured their wrists and ankles, then splashed water from a cooler in Williams’ face. It took three cups before Williams finally sputtered, and opened his eyes.

  “What the hell?” Williams said, as he realized he was restrained. He looked around, then caught sight of Logan. “Let me go, you son of a bitch! You’re messing with the wrong person, man.”

  “Mr. Williams, where are your friends headed?”

  “What friends?”

  “The ones you gave the girl to. The ones on the jet?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. Don’t know.”

  Logan smiled, then kicked him hard in the ribs. “You’re already in this for kidnapping. Quite possibly human trafficking, too. You sure you don’t want to cooperate?”

  “You ain’t no cop. You can’t charge me with anything.”

  “That’s true. But you know what that means? I don’t have to follow any of their rules. Where are they going?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Logan kicked him again.

  “Ah! Come on. Stop it!”

  “You tell me what I want to know, and I will. Until then…” Another kick.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m the guy standing over you with my foot in your ribs, and your guns in my pocket. Good enough? Maybe we should see how hard that head of yours is.”

  Logan adjusted his stance so that it appeared as if he were going to kick the guy in the temple.

  “Dude, lay off. All right? I don’t know where they went. They just hired us for the job here, you know? A little muscle, a little driving, some babysitting.”

  “Who hired you?”

  When it didn’t look like he was going to answer, Logan tapped his ear with the toe of his shoe.

  “Okay, okay,” Williams said. “The guy’s name is Andrews. That’s all I know.”

  “The suit who was in the car with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who does he work for?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know anything more.”

  “And I’m telling you, I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s the truth, man!” he pleaded.

  “You never met anyone else in charge?”

  “No.”

  “Just this Andrews guy?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Just him. How many times do you want to hear it?”

  Logan wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but he knew he didn’t have the time to waste trying to get the info out of him.

  Once again he got a hold Dev through his father, and arranged for some more of the Marine’s vet buddies to pick up these two, and hold them somewhere until Logan decided what they should do with them.

  “You got quite an operation going,” Dev said once Logan had explained everything.

  “It’s not a problem, is it?”

  “Hell, no. It’s great to be doing real work again.”

  22

  Ruth called Logan back as he was pulling into the motel parking lot just before midnight.

  “Please don’t tell me the plane’s stolen, too,” he said.

  “Now that would be interesting, wouldn’t it? No, not stolen,” she said. “Chartered.”

  “From who?”

  “A place called Midwin-Robb Express. The plane was chartered by a company called Kajiwara Research, specifically by a man named Robert Andrews.”

  “What do you know about Kajiwara?”

  Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she said, “Wow. I so did not expect you to ask that question. Lucky, I accidentally looked them up while I was at it. Well, tried anyway.”

  “Tried?”

  “Kajiwara’s a shell company. Incorporated in the Cayman Islands. Runs through a half dozen other corporations that I’ve been able to find so far.”

  “Where does it end?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  Logan hesitated, then said, “Can you keep looking?”

  “You are definitely getting me fired.”

  “That is definitely not my intention. I promise.” He paused. “What about the flight plan?”

  “The one on file has them going to Tokyo.”

  Logan was afraid of that. Not Tokyo specifically, but just somewhere out of the country. There was a very real possibility that Tokyo was not even their destination, and had just been used to explain their initial flight path.

  “I really need to know where the plane ends up. If it is Tokyo, fine, but if not I need that location. Can you…keep tabs on it?”

  “Logan, please.”

  “Ruth, can you?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” he said.

  “Good night, Logan. Don’t wake me up again.”

  She clicked off.

  It had been a long day, packed with a hell of lot more than Logan had bargained for. But as much as he would have loved to just lie down and fall asleep as he walked back into his room, he couldn’t. Time was the enemy. With each passing second, Elyse was moving further and further away.

  He found a phone book in the nightstand drawer. Midwin-Robb Express was listed under Airplanes, Charter. He called the number and, as he’d hoped, a live voice at an answering service picked up. A charter jet company in Los Angeles, where entertainment industry bigshots kept ever-changing schedules, had to be available 24/7 if they wanted to stay in business.

  “I need a plane,” he said. “I have a client who needs to leave for New York first thing in the morning.”

  “May I have your name, please?”

  “Sure. James Cole.”

  “All right, Mr. Cole. I’ll have someone call you back at this number in just a few moments.”

  True to her word, his phone rang three minutes later.

  “Is this Mr. Cole?” the woman on the other end asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi, my name’s Debbie Midwin. From Midwin-Robb Express? You called about a charter?”

  Logan was impressed. She sounded like it was the middle of the day, not midnight.

  “Yes, I did. I’m hoping you can help me out of a bind. My client has an event he needs to attend in New York tomorrow afternoon, but he’s here in L.A. right now. How soon do you think you could get him there?”

  “We have a plane at the Van Nuys Airport that can take off at six a.m., and get him there a little before two p.m. Eastern Time.”

  “He was hoping he could fly out of Santa Monica.”

  “Well, we do have a plane there that’s also available tomorrow. But
the airport’s closed until seven a.m.”

  “So, three p.m. in New York, then?”

  “Yes, sir. Around that.”

  “That would work.”

  “That’s great. Would you like to book it?”

  He paused for effect. “Well, here’s the problem. My client is…particular. Before I can book anything, I’ll need to see the plane first.”

  “Of course,” she said, without missing a beat. She’d obviously heard this tune before. “When would you like to look at it?”

  “Can we do it in, say, fifty minutes?”

  “One a.m.?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No problem,” she said. She gave him the address. “Can I ask who your client is?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that right now. If everything’s cool, and we book the charter, of course, you’ll know then.” He paused, then, in a faux whisper, added, “But I can say he probably won’t be bringing along the Oscar he just won.”

  He thought he heard a smile in her voice as she said good-bye and hung up.

  Logan took a cool shower in hopes it would revitalize him. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it helped.

  He had just pulled on his pants and was grabbing a clean shirt out of his bag when someone knocked on his door.

  He wasn’t surprised to find his dad standing outside. Harp immediately pushed past him. “I saw your car. How long have you been back?”

  “Not long,” Logan said. He waited at the door for a few seconds in case any of his dad’s friends were with him, but apparently he’d come alone. Logan shut it, and pulled on his shirt.

  “Well? What happened?” he father asked. “Dev got all ‘can’t talk right now’ as soon as he got off the phone with you, then disappeared.”

  “Elyse is alive.”

  “What?” His father’s eyes grew about as wide as Logan had ever seen them.

  “I saw her.”

  “You saw her? And she’s alive?” His dad’s voice stuck in his throat. Logan could tell he’d been assuming the worst, but hadn’t voiced it for his friend’s sake. “Where is she? We should go get her.” He started for the door.

  “It’s not that easy,” Logan said, stopping him.

  “Why not? If you know where she is, we just need to—”

  “Dad, she’s on a plane.”

  “A plane?” his father said, as if the word was foreign to him. “An airplane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s she going?”

  “The flight plan says Tokyo.”

  “Tokyo?” His dad sunk onto one of the beds, and sat there for a moment, staring at the floor, before he turned his gaze back to his son. “Why did you let her get on?”

  “She didn’t get aboard by herself. Someone put her there.”

  “And you just let this happen? You should have grabbed her.”

  “It wasn’t exactly an option at the time, okay?” Logan paused, trying very hard not to let his own frustration show. “At least we know she’s still alive. And, for the moment, we also know exactly where she is.”

  “You mean in a plane, above the ocean?”

  “Yes,” Logan said, ignoring his father’s tone.

  Harp looked defeated, like he’d let down Tooney, and there was nothing he could do to make it right.

  Logan sat down beside him. “You wanted me to find her and bring her back. Dad, that’s still what I’m going to do.”

  “Do you think you really can?”

  The answer that came immediately to mind was, “I don’t know,” but instead he said, “I’m not going to stop until I do.”

  Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.

  Finally, Logan said, “Wherever she’s gone, Dad, I’m going to have to follow her.”

  “Well, that’s not a problem,” his father replied, grabbing onto the thread of hope Logan had given him. “I told you we’d cover all costs.”

  “I’ll need cash. A few grand at least, and that’s not counting the plane ticket.”

  “The boys and I will go to the bank tomorrow.”

  “You should probably do it first thing,” Logan said. “I’ll need to leave as soon as I can.”

  “For Tokyo?” his dad asked.

  “That, I don’t know yet.”

  Harp gave his son a smile, then said, “Thanks, Logan. I’m glad you’re here, and I know you’ll do the best you can.”

  I hope so.

  23

  The address Debbie Midwin had given Logan was to the same building in which he’d questioned Mr. Williams and Mr. Dean. But that wasn’t a surprise.

  He parked in the lot directly across from it this time, and knocked on the door.

  A few moments later, a smiling woman of about forty-five opened it. She was short, maybe five-three at best, and dressed in jeans and a green sweater. By her demeanor, it could have just as easily been 1:00 p.m. as 1:00 a.m.

  “Mr. Cole?” she asked.

  Logan nodded, smiling. “You must be Ms. Midwin.”

  “Just call me Debbie. Come in, come in.”

  As soon as he was inside, she shut the door.

  “I want to thank you for meeting with me this late,” he said. “I know it’s a huge inconvenience.”

  She shook her head dismissively. “Not at all. You’d be surprised at how many late nights we put in here.”

  As she led him from the reception area into the back room, he heard something moving around. “Is someone else here?”

  She smiled. “Just Roger. Roger, come here.” A few seconds later, a golden retriever ran up and nuzzled Debbie’s hand.

  When he saw Logan, he ambled over. “Hey, Roger. How you doing?”

  The dog sniffed his fingers, then gave them an experimental lick. After that, they were fast friends.

  Debbie pointed at the door to the airfield. “The plane’s in a hanger nearby. We just need to—”

  “I was thinking we could discuss business first,” Logan said. “If you don’t mind.”

  She turned back. “Of course. Whatever you’d like.”

  She motioned to a desk in the middle of the room. After they were both seated, Logan let her give him what he assumed was her normal sales pitch.

  Finishing up, she said, “As you can imagine, we deal with a lot of people looking for discretion. For that reason, we never discuss our client list with anyone. In our case, less publicity means better business.”

  “I certainly can appreciate that. Tell me, do you fly just domestically? Or…?”

  She looked momentarily confused. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go to New York?”

  “Yes. On this trip. I was thinking more long term.”

  “Oh, sure.” She smiled. “We’ll fly anywhere our clients need to go, except war zones and that kind of thing, of course.” She let out a little laugh. “We’re all about customer service, but we’re not fighter pilots.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to be.” He paused for a second. “My client might need to fly to Japan later in the month. Is that doable for you?”

  “As a matter of fact we have a aircraft making that very trip as we speak.”

  “Oh, that’s good to know,” he said, surprised, then chuckled. “So you have a client going to Japan, huh?”

  “Well, through Japan, anyway.”

  He let the subject drop, and asked if she could run up an estimate of what the New York trip would cost his client.

  “No problem,” she said, then pulled a keyboard out from under her computer terminal.

  When people typed passwords into their computers, they generally checked to make sure whoever was with them wasn’t looking. But when they did the actually typing, they would focus either on the keyboard or the screen. Logan was petting the dog’s head when Debbie did her check, but as soon as she looked away, he moved his gaze just enough so he could see which keys she tapped to unlock her computer: roger1207. He figured the numbers must be the dog’s birthday.

  Once the estimate was printed
out and in Logan’s possession, she said, “Shall we see the plane now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The dog led the way, running ahead, stopping until they caught up, then running ahead again. They were almost to the hanger, when Logan shot his hand into his pants pocket, and pulled out his phone.

  “Sorry,” he said to Debbie. “This should only take a second.” He pretended to hit a button, then moved the phone to his ear. As he spoke, Roger loped over, and nuzzled his hand. “Hello?...Yeah, I’m here now…What? But I thought…Are you sure that’s what Tom wants?...Okay. Okay. No problem.” He hung up his fake call, grimacing.

  Debbie took a step toward him. “Everything okay?”

  Logan ran his hand over Roger’s head, then said, “Well, no, actually. I’m so embarrassed. My client’s changed his mind, and decided not to go. I feel horrible for having made you come out at this time of night, but it looks like we won’t need a plane in the morning after all.” He closed his eyes for a second. “It’s not the first time he’s done this, so I guess I should have expected it. I’m really sorry.”

  “No, no. Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It happens more often than you’d guess. At least you know about us now. I could still show you the plane, if you’d like.”

  “I’ve taken up too much of your time already. But I guarantee you when the Japan trip comes up you’ll be at the top of my call list. I owe you that much.”

  “We’d definitely appreciate the business.”

  He let her show him out, gave the dog a final pat, then apologized again as she locked the front door behind them. Not surprisingly, she and Roger were parked in the same lot Logan was.

  Logan got into his El Camino, started it up, then pulled out his phone, and pretended to be talking again. He didn’t know if he was getting good at it or not, but he did seem to be doing a lot of talking to dead air that night. As Debbie and Roger drove by, he gave them a waved, then slipped the phone back in his pocket once they was out of sight.

  Three minutes later, he was sitting at Debbie’s desk, typing in roger1207. In no time, he found the file for the charter flight Elyse was on. Interestingly enough, the client—Mr. Robert Andrews—had stated that he and his associates were escorting the sick daughter of a businessman home. Only home wasn’t Tokyo. That was merely a fuel stop.