Forty minutes later he was cruising the quiet morning streets of Ladera. It took him a long time to find the guy's car-a silver S80. He'd parked in a clever place, Dos Loma Vista Drive, only a half mile from Alex's house as the crow flies, but several miles away by car. The guy had clearly studied a topographical map and understood that with the night-vision goggles he could easily hump the short distance to Alex's house by cutting through yards, while keeping the car in a place where even someone searching for it wouldn't immediately think to look.
When Ben saw the Volvo's lights blink in response to the key remote, he parked and got out. Dos Loma Vista was a heavily wooded cul-de-sac. No one was around. No one was going to see him.
He checked the underside of the car for IEDs. It was clear. Then he examined one of the back doors. If someone had booby-trapped the car, most likely it was the driver's door that would be wired, but they'd out-thought him once already, and he wasn't going to let it happen again. The back door was okay. He got in the car and did a quick search. The inside of the car was empty. No registration, not even any rental-agency materials. There was just one thing, in the glove compartment. A cell phone.
Gotcha.
Ben pocketed the phone and paused to write down the vehicle identification number from the dash under the windshield. Unlikely it would lead to anything other than the legend the guy had used to rent the car, but you never knew.
He drove away in his own car and parked in the Ladera shopping center. The phone was a Samsung T219, an entry-level model, probably a throwaway He checked the log. There was a single incoming call entry-a 650 area code. Local. The call had come in just fifteen minutes earlier. Nothing else. The guy must have purged the phone before leaving the car for Alex's. Smart. But he couldn't stop someone from trying him after.
Ben pressed the Return Call button and raised the phone to his ear. There were two rings on the other end, then a man's voice: “I called you, just like you said. I still haven't seen him.”
Ben's heart kicked harder. Goddamn it, the voice was familiar. But he couldn't place it.
“I know you called,” he said, keeping his voice at a near whisper to disguise it.
“Where are you? Why are you talking so quietly?”
“I'm in a public place. I don't want anyone to hear. Where are you?”
“I'm at the office, where do you think? He's not here.”
Son of a bitch. The office. That's why he knew the voice.
It was Osborne.
Thinking fast, improvising, Ben said, “There was a minor problem. I need to meet you.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Go out to the parking lot and stand by your car. I'll be there in five minutes.”
There was a pause. Osborne said, “I don't think this is a good idea.”
“You will once you meet me and hear what just happened. Five minutes. We'll iron this out fast and you'll be good to go.”
He clicked off, not giving Osborne a chance to reply. Ben had been making up the whole thing as he went, and had probably stumbled into a half dozen incongruities, maybe more. Right now, Osborne's unconscious was telling him something wasn't kosher. The trick was to make him feel under pressure, to give him no time to listen to that little voice telling him something was off. And if he did listen, if he did realize something was wrong, Ben didn't want him to have a chance to call in reinforcements. Five minutes was perfect both ways.
He took 280 to Page Mill and pulled into the Sullivan, Greenwald parking lot. If Osborne wasn't waiting, he'd get to him another way, it wasn't a problem.
But there he was, standing next to a shiny black Mercedes sedan, looking nervously left and right, absurd in his T-shirt and cowboy boots. Ben pulled into the spot next to him. Osborne watched him, his expression completely confused. Before he had a chance to process any of it, Ben was out of the car, the Glock in his hand. Osborne saw the gun and his eyes bulged.
“Don't say anything,” Ben said. “Just unlock your car and get in the driver's seat. Do that, and I'll assume you want to talk to me. Don't do it, and I'll assume you want to be dead right there.”
“I… I…” Osborne stammered.
Ben pointed the Glock directly at his groin. “Shut up and unlock the car.”
Osborne took out his keys and pressed a button. There was a chirp and the lights flashed. Ben got in the back on the passenger side. He slid past a child's booster seat and sat directly behind Osborne.
“Now drive,” Ben said. “Be smart, and this will be just a talk. Fuck with me and I'll kill you. Do we understand each other?”
Osborne said, “Where do you want me to go?”
“Right on Page Mill, toward 280.”
They pulled out of the parking lot and onto Page Mill. Osborne said, “What's this all about?”
“I'll ask the questions. You just drive. Make a left on Coyote Hill Road.”
“Coyote… why do you want to go someplace where there are no people? Why can't we just talk while I drive?”
Good instincts, Ben thought. And a smart question. Ben would never let someone take him to a secondary crime scene. Whatever the bad guy was going to do to you, it would be a hundred times worse when he had you someplace isolated.
“Do what I tell you, or I'll put a nine-millimeter round through the base of your skull. Your brain will blow up, but there'll be hardly any blood. I'll buckle you into the passenger seat and drive your corpse back to your law firm in the carpool lane. Sound good?”
“Fine, fine, Coyote Hill Road.”
A minute later, Osborne was turning as Ben had instructed him. “That dirt road,” Ben said, indicating a brown depression, lined by trees, that cut through the green hills to Deer Creek Road and some office complexes on the other side. “Turn onto it.”
Osborne complied. They rolled a little way down the dirt road, and when they were out of view of Coyote Hill, Ben said, “Stop. Kill the engine.”
“What do you want with me?” Osborne said.
Ben pushed the child seat onto the floor and slid across to the passenger side so he could see Osborne's face. “I want to know your angle on Obsidian,” he said.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“The invention Alex patented.”
“Yeah, I know what it is, I just don't know what you're talking about.”
Ben considered. There were two possibilities here. One, Osborne was running this whole thing with some impressive mercenary connections. Two, the outsiders were running him. But which was it? Osborne had to feel Ben knew more than he really did, that's what would get him talking, and to create that illusion, Ben needed to start out in the right general direction. Based on Osborne's responses, Ben's guesses would get increasingly specific. The whole act was an illusion, a lot like what fortune-tellers do to gull credulous customers, and just as for fortunetellers, the key was to establish credibility, the appearance of knowledge and even omniscience, right at the beginning.
Osborne was afraid, that much was obvious. And yeah, he was being held at gunpoint, but his fear felt like something else.
“How'd they get to you?” Ben said.
“Nobody got to me. I told you, I don't know what you're talking about.”
Ben smiled. He could see in Osborne's eyes, from the sudden beads of perspiration on his brow, that the question had terrified him. Okay, he wasn't running this thing. Someone had something on him. But what?
He glanced at the child seat on the floor. Had they threatened his family? No. Osborne's fear didn't feel righteous to him. It felt like something laced with… shame.
What did Ben know about him? He'd met him briefly. He'd been in his office for a few minutes. Alex had said something about Thailand, hadn't he? And there had been a photograph, too. Osborne and some Thai dignitary.
“It was Thailand, wasn't it?” Ben said, taking a chance, knowing if he was wrong Osborne would see he was fishing and make it hard to reestablish the proper momentum.