Corrector (30 page)

Jake took the flight book for Stan Mathews from his bag and placed it back into the safe.  He wouldn’t be needing that today, or most likely, ever again.  Instead, he grabbed the second, far less used book from the shelf in the safe.  He decided he could keep the new ID and the reservations he had made in that name.  It had never been used before and should be clean.  He would need his own ID as well.  That was unfortunate, but couldn’t be helped. 

“Jake?” Karin asked questioningly a few minutes later when he called her.  “Is something wrong?  You just called a short time ago.”

He explained the situation briefly.

“My God! They arrested you?  What are you going to do?  Maybe you shouldn’t try anything right now.”

“Don’t overreact,” Jake said, trying to calm Karin down.  It hadn’t been his intent to get her all worked up, but felt she needed to be aware of the recent development and the change in his plans.  “They don’t seem to know who I am.  They have gotten as far as the plane, but that is hopefully secure.  I planned for there to be no links back to me.  I just need to stay away from it entirely.  The FBI is seeking Stan Mathews.  They won’t be looking for Jake Waters right now, and would have no reason to expect any activity in Los Angeles.  I am going to have to decide how to proceed long term, however.”

He was over simplifying, of course.  The folks who knew him as Mr. Mathews where he parked the plane would have given the FBI a description of him.  They could start circulating that in the Reno/Sparks area.  They could eventually get some hits.  He might have to move away, and even that might not be sufficient.  He’d have to decide if he needed an alternate full time identity.  Would Karin go with him somewhere they could start over?  This was no time to worry Karin with such disturbing thoughts.

“They might know more than you realize,” she objected.

It was possible he admitted to himself. 

“I don’t think so,” he said with more confidence than he felt.  “In any event, I have to go today.  There is no way I can let something happen to Cheryl’s mom.  I owe her.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’ll simply back-track out of it, and think of another approach.  Don’t worry.  This is a simple task, not tricky like some of the things I’ve done before. I’ll be back tomorrow and we can talk about where to go from here.”

They talked another few minutes.  Jake was satisfied he had put Karin’s fears to rest.  He wished his own worries were equally settled.

He grabbed his two bags and headed to the garage.  The Toyota Camry would have to stay here.  He wouldn’t be driving that any more, and would have to think of a good way to ditch it permanently.  Stan Mathews and everything related to him would have to cease to exist. 

Jake threw the bags into the back of the Chevy pickup and climbed into the passenger seat.  A few minutes later and he was once again on his way out of the gate, but this time instead of turning south on the 395 for the local airport, he turned north.  A half an hour away Stead had a smaller airport, the home of the Reno air races, where he could rent a plane.  He had a second license in his own name, not as well used and not as high a rating as the Mathews license had been.  He used it just enough to keep it current as a backup.  He also had never rented a plane in Reno, not wanting to take a chance that someone might spot him and make the connection to his other identity.  The flying community wasn’t all that large in this area.

He parked his truck at the small facility he’d visited several times in the past.  He didn’t know the man working the shop today, but it was easy enough to arrange for the rental of a turbo powered Cessna TR 182.  They had two of them here, and the documentation established that he had flown both of them several times in the past.  Jake hadn’t flown under his own name often, but he did so often enough to keep his records current.  They had on file all of the necessary documentation as well as a checkout by one of their pilots, so it was only a couple of minutes before he had completed the rental process.  Jake returned to the truck for his two bags, which he loaded in the plane’s cargo space. 

A few minutes later he was taxing down toward the take off runway.  The exchange with the tower was brief today.  He was flying under Visual Flight Rules which was simpler.  It also meant no one would know where he was going.  Even though the police weren’t looking for Jake Waters, he felt better taking a few extra precautions.  As the plane rose, he tapped the brakes to stop the wheels from spinning and retracted the gear into the plane.  This was something he hadn’t had to worry about with the Corvalis and its fixed gear.  Then he punched in a direct route to LAX in his Garmin 430 GPS navigation system that would take him over the backbone of the Sierra Nevada mountains and directly over Yosemite National Park.  He leveled out at 15,500 feet, a VFR cruising altitude that was appropriate for his slight easterly heading.  Opposing VFR traffic should be cruising a thousand feet above or below him and IFR traffic would be five hundred feet above or below his cruising altitude.  Glancing at the Garmin he noted that with a ground speed of just over 200 miles per hour he would be in LA in less than two hours. 

As Jake gained altitude, he looked over toward the Reno International Airport.  His plane was down there.  No one would be alerted this morning.  There would be no calls to the FBI, and no one would be aware that he now knew that the plane was being watched and the pilot was actively being sought.  It was a shame.  He’d already decided he would simply leave the plane sit.  Trying to sell it would just increase his involvement with it, even though it would be handled through the special corporation.  It would be best to simply walk away from that as well.  Money wasn’t a concern.  He could always get more as needed the same way he’d earned what he’d used to set everything up in the first place.  He would miss the sleek and speedy Cessna. It had been a joy to fly, and he had loved owning it.  He could afford to buy another, but that would be stupid.  From this point on, he’d have to stay away from any Cessna aircraft.  It would be the kind of thing they would look for.

Descending into the LA basin, Jake crossed directly over LAX in the VFR corridor and made a descending left turn into the Hawthorne airport traffic pattern.  Five minutes later he was parked in front of the restaurant at the east end of the field.  He arranged to leave the plane overnight, then called for a cab to take him somewhere he could rent a car. 

Almost an hour later he pulled into the covered parking at the LAX Sheraton Gateway Hotel where he had made reservations.  He checked in, just another businessman as far as anyone could tell.  He went up to his room, unpacked his bags, and pulled out the map he had marked up before leaving Reno to familiarize himself with the freeways and major roads he would need to follow.  Then he went back down to his rental and drove the short distance down Century Boulevard to the 405 onramp.  Forty-five minutes later he was moving slowly down the street behind where Cheryl’s parents lived. 

Jake had decided that he wanted to have a look at the alley entrance he planned on using in the morning.  He also intended to acquire the hidden key tonight rather than the following morning.  He knew from Cheryl that her stepfather typically came home late, and that this night was the night her mom went to the gym.  No one would be in the house, which should make it easy to scout the yard and obtain the key.  In the morning, he intended to go directly to the rear entrance and not linger outside.  He knew from the police reports that at least one of the neighbors tended to rise early and had been alert to the shots fired.  He didn’t want any witnesses seeing him coming or going.

Jake walked down the alley and was surprised how easy they made it for someone to sneak into the houses.  The alley had high wooden fences that hid the homes from view, but also hid the alley from the owners.  A small army could walk down this way without being detected.  When he reached the back of the house, defined by the two large trees overhanging the back fence he’d seen when he had been here with Cheryl, he found that the back gate was recessed, which further hid his activities from anyone else in the alley.  It took only a few moments to defeat the cheap master padlock and make his way into the back yard.  He waited in the shade of the trees and listened for a while.  There were no sounds from the house.  No radio or television, and no one moving around that he could hear.  Satisfied, he walked over to the side gate and recovered the magnetic lock box that had been attached to the backside of the gas meter half buried in the bushes.  Still kneeling, he slid it open and checked for the key.  It was there.  He flipped the box over and let the key drop into his hand, then closed the box and reattached it to the back of the meter.

Silently, Jake walked across the yard to the back door of the garage.  He could have tried to go in through the back door of the house, but there was more chance of running into someone that way.  Cheryl’s mom had come down the stairs tomorrow, so she had been upstairs, but Jake wasn’t certain where her stepfather had been.  He slipped the key into the door lock and turned it carefully.  The locked opened silently, and he was able to push the door open.  Jake didn’t worry about the alarm.  Cheryl had explained they had one, but neither liked using it and they only activated it if they were going out of town for a couple of days.  Quickly, he stepped inside and closed the garage door behind him.  Still listening for any signs of activity, Jake made his way over to the door leading into the house.  As he expected, it wasn’t locked.  He tried the key in the lock and established it would work here as well against the chance they locked it at night.  Satisfied, he turned to leave.  He had seen everything he needed inside when Cheryl had showed him around.

Back at the hotel, he stayed in, calling for room service rather than go out into town.  Not only did that help him maintain a low profile, but it gave him time to think.  How could he learn more about an FBI agent named Carlson, and how much he had learned about Jake and his past activities?  Normally such information would be restricted, but Jake tried to think of a way he could be arrested, interviewed, which he could use as a means of discovering what they knew, and then back-tracking away having gained the insight he sought.  He needed to know more about how the FBI worked.  It wouldn’t do if after they arrested him they relocated him someplace too far distant from where he’d been prior to being taken into custody to be able to back-track successfully.  If he could learn where they detained prisoners in Washington, D.C. maybe he could go there, spend time outside the facility, then reveal himself to Carlson, and learn what he wanted to know.  It would be risky.  He required a lot more thought on the matter than he was prepared to give it at the moment.

The next morning he was up before dawn.  He made himself a cup of coffee from the fixings in the room and grabbed a pastry from the machine down the hall.  That would have to do.  He was outside the house by six AM, and inside the garage by six-fifteen.  He had found the inner door unlocked, so he propped it open a couple of inches so he could hear.  Nothing.

Satisfied after several minutes of listening, he moved slowly through the house and settled in behind the stairs that lead to the upper level.  He had moved one of the chairs from the kitchen into place behind the stairs so he had a place to sit for the couple of hours he would have to wait.  He couldn’t see much from where he was located, but he knew that Cheryl’s stepfather would come down in a while and wait in the office opposite the stairway.  From there the man would be able to watch for Cheryl’s mother, and could simply step out after she came down and turned toward the kitchen.  The two shots he fired suggested he had stepped out of the office as she approached and shot her face on.  Jake would be able to step out from behind the stairs as Cheryl’s mother made the turn and disrupt the planned proceedings.  After disarming the stepfather and explaining what had been planned, Jake would send the mother to the neighbor’s house, then flee.  It would be too late for the stepfather to act then, and Cheryl’s mom would know what his intentions had been and would take the needed precautions.

The minutes passed slowly, but finally Jake heard the heavy footsteps as the stepfather made his way down the stairs.  He headed straight for the study, where he rummaged around in his desk.  Then Jake heard the squeak of the chair as he sat down.  No breakfast for him. Cheryl’s brother said that he had reservations in one of the hotels downtown. His story was to have been he worked late and hadn’t come home.  Apparently he did that frequently, although usually he was with his mistress rather than at the hotel.

Ten minutes later Jake heard much shorter footsteps coming down the stairs.  It was time.  His heart beating a little faster than normal in anticipation, Jake stood quietly and pulled the Browning out of his belt.  It was cocked and locked, ready for quick action although he didn’t expect to need to fire the pistol. He had his finger inside the trigger guard, poor technique he knew but he’d never been able to break the habit, and his thumb resting lightly on the safety.

Jake watched as she moved past him, then stepped out of his hiding spot just as her husband stepped through the door of the office with his gun in hand.  Jake stepped into view with his gun pointed.

“Hold it!” he commanded, feeling a bit stupid

Almost immediately Jake realized it was going bad.  Cheryl’s stepfather showed a moment of shock, then without conscious thought started to shift his point of aim from Cheryl’s mom to Jake.  Maybe it was an automatic defensive reaction, and maybe he thought Jake was the perfect scapegoat for his plan, but there was little doubt he intended to shoot as the barrel of the short revolver swung toward Jake.  There was no choice.