Neon Prey (Lucas Davenport #29)(56)

“You remember Dick? Ricardo Santos, the guy you met at Rog Smith’s house?”

“The guy with the degree in chemistry,” Lucas said.

“That’s the guy. We’ve put a light tag on both Smith and Santos. I found out a few minutes ago that Santos jumped on a cut-rate airline at eight o’clock this morning, going to Vegas. He ought to be arriving there in about an hour.”

“Oh-oh. Text me the details. I’m in a car; I just left the Hertz place by the airport. I’ll turn around and go back. I’ll get Bob and Rae headed this way.”

“Do that. I’m trying to find a flight, but everything has a stop somewhere, they’re all six hours or more,” Tremanty said. “I can’t get there until tonight. But if you’re close to Deese, I’d like to be there.”

“Jump right in,” Lucas said.





CHAPTER


THIRTEEN


They had to hurry. Lucas did an illegal U-turn and headed back south, called the Hertz manager, spoke for a moment, got Bob and Rae on the phone. They’d been driving east toward I-15, on the way to the hotel, and were only ten minutes behind him.

“Unless he’s got his own car, he’ll have to rent one or take a cab,” Lucas said, fast. “I was talking to the manager at Hertz. We’re like old friends now. I want you to drive right up there like you’re returning a car. He’s expecting you and he’ll turn your car around. Take a shuttle back to the airport; the manager says it only takes a few minutes. I’ll talk to the airport cops and keep my car outside. Santos knows me but not you. I’ll spot him coming off the plane and then you guys follow him to wherever he’s going. If he rents a car, you should be able to jump on a shuttle and follow him right out of the place. If he’s got a limo or gets a cab, I’ll follow him.”

“On the way,” Bob said. “We should talk to our SOG guys here in Vegas in case we need them.”

“I’ll let you and Rae do that, you know them,” Lucas said. “But get your asses out to Hertz now.”

Lucas drove up the departures ramp at the airport, saw a cop, identified himself, and was pointed to a place where he could park his car. As he was getting out, a supervising cop jogged up to talk to him.

“You think anything will be going down here?” the cop asked.

“No. We’re following him out of the airport, trying to see where he goes. For God’s sakes, don’t put any cops out there,” Lucas said. “This is a smart guy, he’ll spot them in a second. I’ve got two people on him, nothing will happen here.”

Lucas, escorted by the cop, badged his way through security, located the gate for the incoming plane, which was still a half hour out, and managed to fractionally relax. A blank gray door that said “No Entry” was across the concourse from the gate, and Lucas got the cop to open it. There was nothing behind it but a stairway landing, with stairs going up and down.

“Could you stay with me? I’d like to hide here when he comes through.”

“Not a problem,” the cop said.

Bob texted from Hertz, said they were set, that the Tahoe was “cocked and locked.”

“We’re in in Terminal 1, the D gates,” Lucas said. “Get down here as soon as you can.”


FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Lucas and the cop sat waiting at a bank of one-cent slot machines when Bob and Rae walked up. Rae looked at the slots, said, “They won’t let you get out of here with a fuckin’ penny,” and Bob said, “Tell us about it.”

Lucas introduced the cop—“This is Judd Harlan”—and pointed across the concourse to the gate. “Santos will be coming out of there. We’ll be behind there”—he pointed to the gray door—“and then you follow him. If he meets somebody, or gets a cab or a limo, you gotta let me know. I’ll be at my car, I’ll track him, and you can get back to the Tahoe and follow me. If he goes to Hertz, you drop in behind him and call me and I’ll follow you.”

Rae said to Harlan, “We’ll need another one of your guys. We’ll need him to stay way, way behind us, but if somebody meets him and he doesn’t go for a rental or a cab we’ll need you to run us through the airport to the parking structure, which we don’t know about. We don’t want somebody shooting at us because we’re running.”

“You got it,” Harlan said, and he went off with his handset to call for a backup cop.

While he did that, Bob said to Lucas, “We talked to the head guy on the local SOG and they can gear up in an hour. You gotta tell me when.”

The SOG was the marshals service Special Operations Group, a heavy-duty SWAT squad. “We’ll wait until we see where Santos is going,” Lucas said. “If he heads out west on I-15, we’ll want to get them ready.”

“You think this too easy?” Rae asked. “Bob always worries about that.”

“Maybe, but we’re not there yet,” Lucas said. “We thought it was too easy in LA until I got my ass shot.”

“Santos is a complication,” Bob said. “We don’t know exactly what he’s doing here . . . if he’s doing anything. Maybe he came to roll some bones.”

Lucas nodded and said to Rae, “By the way, I’ve got some news for you. Your heartthrob is coming to town. Tremanty. He’s on his way right now. Maybe, you know, you’ll want to shave your legs.”