The Aspen Account (35 page)

The pilot stood up to close the cockpit door. “Shut the airstair door; then take a seat and buckle up,” he said. “It’s gonna be bumpy, but we’ll make it.” Then he disappeared behind the cockpit door.

Michael turned to the outside door, still open with its stairs reaching down to the cold concrete of the hangar. He pressed the button and watched the steps slowly rise and fold into the fuselage. He prayed there would be enough time to get the jet off the ground before the incoming plane landed.

Jason Kano raced out a side door of the airport terminal and was met by a squadron of Aspen Volvo patrol jeeps bouncing across the uneven snow. As he burst out into the cold air, the runway lights blazed back on. “What the . . . ! Will someone please tell me why the runway lights are on?” Kano barked into his radio. “I gave specific instructions that all runway lights remain off!”

“Marshal Kano,” a voice broke over the radio. “We have a situation here in the tower. There is an unscheduled incoming flight with government clearance on final approach. They are descending and landing here in Aspen. We have been forced to turn on the runway lights and have removed the trucks blocking the runways to accommodate their landing.”

“No, no, damn it!” Kano shouted into the radio. “We think we know where the fugitive is located on the airport premises. Put those trucks back on the runway. Have the plane circle for twenty minutes before letting it land. We could have Chapman in custody in five minutes! Just have it circle the airport until I give the okay for it to land.”

“That’s a negative, Marshal. The plane has government clearance and is demanding to land immediately. The weather’s getting worse, and this may be their best chance. They’re already in their final descent. They’ll be down in less than two minutes.”

Kano pulled the radio away from his ear and waved the front jeep to a stop. Just as he slid into the passenger seat, the police radio crackled. “This is Deputy Lincoln. I’m on patrol on the south end of the runway and just had a visual on Chapman. He opened the door to a hangar and got inside a jet. It’s starting to taxi out towards the takeoff strip. I repeat, Chapman is on a jet that just left a hangar on the south end of the runway.”

“Lincoln! You’re sure it was Chapman?” Kano asked into the radio.

“Yes, sir! I tried to stop him from getting on the jet, but he fired shots at me.”

“How close is he to taking off?”

“The jet is about to turn onto the main runway!”

“Take us there now!” Kano said to the driver.

The jeep took off toward the runway with three other patrol jeeps in tow. The snow, being blown in hazy circles along the dark ground, blurred the surface as if it were a moving body of water. Kano could see other police units approaching from the side. Then, at the far end of the airport, he saw the jet turning onto the runway for takeoff.

“Hurry!” Kano yelled. “It’s already on the runway . . . He’s about to take off!”

Already the jet had moved onto the runway and was picking up speed, roaring past the green lights outlining the snowy runway. Kano’s jeep, followed by three others, bounced violently across the uneven no-man’s land between the taxiway and the runway. In the sky south of the airport, a low-flying jet descended toward the runway, its growing halos of light gleaming through the blustering snow. 

Fishtailing wildly, Kano’s jeep hurtled onto the runway just behind Seaton’s jet, followed by the tight pack of patrol jeeps, but eventually the aircraft picked up speed and pulled away from them. Snow kicked up from the intake jets and was thrown back at the jeeps as the front wheel of the jet lifted off the ground. 

“Pull back!” Kano said into the radio once he realized they couldn’t prevent the takeoff. “We can’t stop him! Pull back!” He turned to look at the growing spotlight in the sky behind them. “Stop the pursuit! Pull off the runway
immediately
! The other jet’s nearly on the ground! It’s coming in! Get off the runway
now
!”

The jeeps darted off the runway like quail running for cover, just as the incoming jet drifted over the front of the runway and touched down. One of the jeeps had flipped onto its side in the mad dash, but all were clear of the jet’s path. Kano slammed his fist on the dashboard in frustration as the Seaton jet became airborne. The front lights of the jet vanished into the clouds, with only a faint red light blinking incessantly back at them, as if his escaping quarry were laughing at him.

Kano turned to the deputy at the wheel. “Get me back to the terminal. I need to contact the Air Force and have them ground Chapman’s jet.”

“Can you use military resources to help capture a fugitive?”

Kano glared at the security officer. “I don’t have the authorization to use fighter jets to capture a fugitive for murder. But this has escalated.”

“How?”

“Chapman just became a fugitive who has illegally taken off in a private jet and appears to be heading toward Denver. We don’t know what he’s capable of. It’s not unreasonable to be concerned about a possible terrorist intention. That’s within Homeland Security’s warning protocol.”

“You think he’s a terrorist now?”

“I think Chapman has escalated this situation enough to justify taking actions appropriate for the national security protocol. I need to contact the Air Force. I’m not taking any more chances with him. We have to find a way to put that jet on the ground.”

The police vehicles had almost arrived back at the terminal when another deputy’s voice came over the radio. “Marshal Kano, we’ve made contact with the second jet. There is something you should know, sir. There is a man here who wants to speak with you. His name is Troy Glazier, and he appears to be an agent from the U.S Treasury Department. He says he needs to speak with you immediately about Michael Chapman!”

A
Treasury agent
? Was it possible Chapman had been telling the truth to the officer in Glenwood Springs? Chapman was accused of killing Lucas Seaton, so Kano still had a responsibility to capture him. But at least he could now get some answers about Chapman’s background. As the police vehicle bounced through a snow drift with the airport’s terminal shinning a hundred halos through the fast falling snow, Kano saw a large man in an overcoat at the base of the jet’s airstair waving his arms frantically.

61

“DAMN IT!” JERRY Diamond screamed into the phone. “Those fucking little brats have done it again!”

“Slow down,” John Falcon replied, holding the cell phone close to his ear while closing the door to his home office. “Just relax for a moment. Who’s done what?”

“The twins. They tried to kill Michael Chapman. Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“What are you talking about? The news said they tried to kill him?”

“No,” Diamond replied. “The news is saying Lucas Seaton died skiing in Vail yesterday afternoon. Lance reported to the police that Michael Chapman pushed Lucas over a cliff during an argument. The details are fuzzy, but there’s currently an arrest warrant out for Michael.”

“Michael killed Lucas?” Falcon asked. He was still having trouble sorting out Diamond’s frantic words.

“Hell, nobody knows for sure what happened up there. But you and I both know the kind of history the twins have, so I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume they tried to kill him. I can’t believe they’d try to repeat the same mistake they made with Kurt Matthews.”

Suddenly Falcon felt terribly vulnerable in this conversation. Something didn’t seem right. Diamond was restating, in clear detail, too many things they both knew perfectly well. It was the last comment in particular, making specific reference to Kurt, that triggered the alarm bells. Was Diamond trying to get him to admit something over the open phone? Could Diamond be
recording
the call?

Falcon wasn’t sure if he was just being overly suspicious or if his instincts were correct, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still hadn’t said anything incriminating. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Kurt died alone in a skiing accident, and I know nothing about the twins’ ‘past,’ as you call it. It’s horrible that Lucas died yesterday, and if Michael had any involvement in it, I hope he’s brought to justice.”

“What?” The word was drawn out, signaling uncertainty, even confusion.

“Jerry,” Falcon interjected before the man could say another word, “it’s the weekend. Let’s schedule a meeting Monday morning. Let’s discuss any public news related to Michael, the twins, or X-Tronic that we need to consider. There is nothing we can do until we get more information about what happened; then we can determine how this will affect our work.”

“Are you sure that’s how you want to handle this?” Diamond asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, Jerry.” Falcon snapped his cell phone shut and walked to the double doors of his home office. He reached for the handle, then stepped back after seeing that his hand was shaking. He made a fist, pressed it against his lips, and held it there while he took a few slow breaths through his nose. Closing his eyes, he focused on the emergency scenario he had played out in his mind as a precaution during the past few years. Now the time had come, and he knew exactly what he must do.

Opening the door, he left his home office and walked briskly through the opulent home, tucked away in a gated community outside Denver. He entered the main dining room, where his wife, Karen, was coaching their two daughters in the fine points of making tuna casserole. Rounding the counter, he leaned over and whispered something in his wife’s ear. She dropped the measuring cup and looked at him in fear. Leaving the children, she followed him into the next room.

“No,” she said after closing the door behind them. “No, no,
no
!”

“We don’t have a choice, sweetheart. We have to be prepared.”

“No. I won’t do it. The girls and I are staying right here. You’ll find a way out of it. You always do.”

“It’s not that easy this time. This time it’s not going to go away; it’s only going to escalate. This could be our last chance to get out . . . We don’t have a choice.”

Her eyes teared as she covered her mouth in a vain attempt to keep her composure.

“Karen,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t!” she snapped. “Don’t touch me.” She moved away from him and reached for the door before turning back to look at him. “You are so stupid, you know that? So
stupid.
We had a
life
here.” Then she turned and fled the room.

Falcon looked down at the immaculate white carpet, at the antique hutch and expensive furnishings that surrounded their lives. His wife was right. It would not be easy to leave their life in Denver behind, but they had no choice.

He left the room to return to his study. As he walked through their home, he could hear his wife leading the girls upstairs to pack. She would leave with them in the morning, and after wrapping up a few necessary things, he would join them.

As he entered his study, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed his account manager at the Imperial Bank in London. Looking at his watch, he noted that it was just after five on a Sunday morning in England. Someone picked up on the third ring.

“Donovan here,” a man said in a British accent.

“Donovan, it’s John Falcon in Denver. Sorry to ring you at this hour, but I need you to transfer some funds for me.”

“Yes, Mr. Falcon, just one moment, if you will—just logging into your file.”

Falcon knew that Donovan had access to all banking files for Imperial from his home and that he offered twenty-four hour banking services, which was one of the reasons Falcon was so willing to pay the high premium for Imperial’s services.

“Right, then, I have your information up. What would you like me to do?”

“How much do I have in all funds that can be liquidated within forty-eight hours?” Falcon asked.

“Just over forty-two million U.S. dollars.”

“I want you to transfer all funds according to my profile strategy number three.”

“Number three, sir? You’re quite certain?”

“Yes, Donovan, I’m certain. Please execute all trades as soon as possible. Use the Tokyo exchanges if you have to, since their trading will commence fourteen hours before the New York exchanges reopen. After everything’s liquidated, transfer them into the alternative accounts we set up a few years ago. Shake it around if you have to. I want it impossible for anyone to follow the money trail of my transfers. You understand?”

“Consider it done, Mr. Falcon. I’ll have someone confirm to you after the transactions are complete.” There was a short pause. “Anything else I may do to be of service?”

“Nothing else for now.”

“Good luck, Mr. Falcon.”

He looked out his study window at the piled snow on the street outside his drive. Then he looked at his watch. Forty-eight hours. He needed to wait for just the right moment to make his move. Timing was everything. He still had a chance.

62

TWO F16Cs took off from Buckley Air Force Base at the Colorado Air National Guard in Aurora, having received an urgent command from Homeland Security in Colorado Springs to intercept a private jet en route from Aspen to Denver. They were to escort it to Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, where the occupants would be held until representatives from the U.S Marshal’s Office and the Colorado attorney general’s office arrived at the base. The Homeland Security director was currently speaking on the phone with the White House to determine the rules of engagement should the private jet refuse to deviate from its current course to Denver.

The fighters cut across the sky at 1,300 miles per hour in parallel formation. Dark shadows of mountain peaks shot past beneath them. As they outran the calm weather of the Front Range and closed in on the retreating remnants of the snowstorm, they tipped their noses to the heavens and climbed above the storm system. In less than fifteen minutes they had traveled halfway across the state of Colorado and could now see the subject aircraft on their radar.