Diamonds Aren't Forever (16 page)

"I'll kill her if you try anything."

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 back 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."

"That's a bunch of crap,” Hopkins spat.

"You've been here all day. I imagine you're lonely."

"So what's it to you? I'm waitin’ for someone."

"Sounds mighty fishy to me,” Hawkman said, shaking his head. “Hasn't your friend ever used a phone or e-mail?"

About that time, Hawkman's cell phone vibrated against his waist and he stepped back.

"Tom Casey."

"Hawkman, this is Patti. We were just informed the plane Shirley Ann Noland is scheduled to arrive on has been delayed. It appears an incident occurred just before disembarking in San Francisco between her and a prisoner the FBI had in custody. The authorities are questioning Shirley Ann, but don't feel she's involved in anything but self-defense. They'll hold the plane for a little while. You want me to call and let you know if she made it aboard?"

"I'd appreciate it."

Hawkman hung up and moved back to the side of the Chevy. “Well, Carl, you might as well go home. Your friend has been detained by the police in San Francisco."

Carl's eyes widened as he stared up at the tall investigator. “What the hell are you talking about?"

"Aren't you waiting for Jamey?"

Carl clamped his mouth tight and his blazing eyes bore into Hawkman. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” he hissed.

Hawkman moved away from the car, he went for his gun when he noticed Carl reaching inside his coat. “Don't do anything stupid."

Hopkins raised his hands, palms out and slammed them down on the steering wheel. “Look, Mr. Private Detective. I don't have a quarrel with you. Why don't you just go away and leave me alone."

"Little hard to do when you came to my office wanting to find Ms. Jamey. Makes me think you might have something on your mind beside a chat with the young lady."

"Is that why you sicced the cops onto me?"

"You might say that. Especially since you're fresh out of jail. You sounded a bit vindictive when you paid me a visit."

"Well, I've simmered down. Got me a nice job and nothing can undo what's been done."

"Then why the big charade?” Hawkman asked.

"What charade?"

"The one between you and your look alike, Jake Withers. He's been driving all over town in your car, dressed in your clothes. The cops are on his butt while you sit out here in his car, dressed in his garb, waiting for planes to land. Looks a bit suspicious."

Hawkman watched Carl's hands grip the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. “I don't have to answer your damn questions.” He reached down and turned on the ignition. “I'm outta here, man. You make me crazy.” The engine roared to life and he drove out of the lot, a plume of smoke trailing from the rear of the car.

A blue cloud of exhaust swirled around Hawkman as he walked toward the terminal. He figured Hopkins would return. It made him shudder when he thought about how the man's hate for Jamey showed in his eyes with just the mention of her name.

Hawkman decided to stake out the small terminal and hoped Detective Williams showed up. He figured Carl Hopkins anticipated opposition now. But it appeared unclear how much he'd be willing to sacrifice.

He pulled open the door, turned and surveyed the parking lot. Still no sign of the Chevy. Stepping inside, Hawkman assessed the close quarters of the small building, and it worried him. The passengers would disembark on the runway, walk to the terminal and enter the swinging doors at the back. Friends and relatives would bunch up at the gate waiting for their loved ones to come through.

Security would keep anyone from getting too close. But what would occur if Jamey left the crowd and headed for the exit? Would Hopkins spot her? No disguise could fool the man at this point. He needed to be close to the ex-con in case he pulled the gun.

As Hawkman strolled through the building, a thought flashed through his mind and he hastened out the door at the other end. His head cocked, he walked around the structure on the outside and studied the roof area. A fence met the corner of the building, preventing anyone from wandering onto the runway. He peered around the edge and spotted a garbage dumpster close to the side, but not tall enough for a man to use and climb to the apex. Further down he noticed a metal ladder draped over the top edge of the roof which hung over the ledge about four feet. A mechanical device would be needed to lift a person to meet the rungs.

He turned and headed toward the front of the building. The area was well lit and several spotlights illuminated any shadowed crevices around the structure. After examining all alternatives, he doubted any person could make it atop the roof without being detected. It appeared Carl Hopkins would have to make his appearance through the doors leading into the terminal.

This relieved Hawkman's mind to some extent. He then decided to search the restrooms and any other possible escape routes. The men's room only had one narrow window, about four feet long and ten inches wide, which ran along the top where the ceiling met the wall. A locked bar ran through the middle of the transparent plate. Only one door led inside. He meandered over to the women's bathroom and made sure it wasn't occupied before taking a quick peek inside. He discovered it to be the same design as the men's.

Strolling through the terminal, he noted all the glass panes were stationary with no opening devices. The doors leading out to the planes were secured or manned by personnel. As he headed for the coffee shop, a tap on the shoulder made him whirl around.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” Patti said, grinning. “Aren't you a little early? That plane just left San Francisco."

Hawkman nodded. “Just wanted to do a little checking. Is our girl on it?"

"Yes. I was just getting ready to call when I saw you."

"Want a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds great. I'm on a quick break. We have a few hot headed people waiting for that plane, so Dan took over for a few minutes. Seems they don't give a guy as much guff as they do a woman."

Hawkman chuckled. “No one tends to mess with a guy who looks like a linebacker."

She laughed. “You've got a point."

They ordered coffee and found a vacant table in the corner. Patti sat down and dropped her black purse on the floor beside her chair. She sipped the hot brew, then raised a brow and tilted her head. “By the way, what are you checking?"

Hawkman pushed back his hat with his forefinger and blew on the mug. “Escape routes."

She frowned. “Why?"

"Because the man pursuing Shirley Ann Noland will be here to meet that plane. I want to have all points covered. Do you know if there's an underground area beneath the terminal?"

Her face paled. “I'm sure there is. That's where the heating and air conditioning units are located."

"Then there's bound to be entries for repairmen."

"I have no idea where the openings are located.” Her eyes widened. “Since 9/11, Security has tightened our movements and we're hardly allowed out of the building.” She reached over and clutched his arm. “Hawkman, should I alert them?"

"I don't think it's necessary. The police will be here.” Spotting a uniformed officer, he half rose from his chair. “In fact, they're here now. Why don't you go back to work and I'll talk to you later. I don't want the detective to connect you as my snitch."

Grabbing her purse, Patti, hurried out of the shop and headed toward the ticket counter. Hawkman adjusted his hat, then meandered into the main terminal. He spotted Detective Williams standing at the front door with a couple of officers.

When Williams saw Hawkman, he motioned for the policeman to stay at the door and moved forward to meet him. “What's happening?"

"Nothing at the moment. The plane's on the way after a delay"