Holly sat at Ham’s dining table while Ginny filled out her logbook, entering the training exercises she had performed the day before.
“You know,” Holly said, “I sometimes think about buying an airplane.”
“It’s a great time to do it,” Ginny said, “what with the economy the way it is. Prices are depressed. Can you pay cash?”
“Probably,” Holly said.
“Well, what do you want to do with an airplane?” Ginny asked. “Travel long distances or just fly around on Sunday afternoons?”
“I’d like to be able to fly down here whenever I feel like it,” Holly said. “There’s a nice airport at Manassas, Virginia, not far from my house.”
“You want to make the trip nonstop?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s the Cessna 450-a turbocharged single-fast, with a good range.”
“Is it pressurized?”
“No. For that you’d want a Piper Malibu Mirage, and that would cost you twice as much.”
“I’ve got a friend who’s got a Mirage,” Holly said, “and I like it. He’s had the engine upgraded to a turboprop.”
“So, start with the Malibu, then do the conversion later if you need it. Right now I happen to know that the Piper factory in Vero has a couple of airplanes that buyers backed out on after the stock market crash. Let me look into it; I might be able to get you a deal.”
“Sounds good,” Holly said.
“You’d need to do the factory training course, which takes five days, but you have enough time to get that done before you go back to work.” Ginny handed her the completed logbook. “There you go; you’ve had your biennial flight review, so you’re good for another year, and your instrument competency check, too.”
“I really like the idea of the Malibu,” Holly said. “It’s the sort of airplane that could go a long distance on a long weekend. Let’s look at it.”
Ginny got up. “I’ll call a guy I know in sales at the Piper factory,” she said. She got up and went into the little office she shared with Ham.
Holly got up and went out on the back porch, where Ham was reading the Wall Street Journal. “Making any money?” she asked.
“Nobody’s making any money,” Ham said. “My portfolio is way down.”
“I’m glad I’m in Treasuries,” Holly said. “I’m thinking about buying an airplane.”
“Good idea. I’m sure Ginny can advise you on that.”
“She already has; she’s looking into it now.”
“Heard anything about your roving rapist/killer?” Ham asked.
“No. He was hot for a few days, now he’s cooled off.”
“Think he’ll get hot again?”
“You can count on it,” Holly said. “He was just getting started when he stopped. I’ll bet he’s already getting antsy again, looking forward to that thrill.”
“You know, I’ve killed a bunch of people in my time-Vietnam gave me that dubious opportunity-and I didn’t find one of those kills thrilling.”
“That means you’re a normal human being, Ham-well, fairly normal-and our guy isn’t. He’s all twisted up inside.”
“You think it’s Jim Bruno, don’t you?”
“Right now, he’s the only suspect, but I haven’t decided he’s the one. He needs to get tied to one of these cases directly, with some hard evidence.”
“You ever miss being a cop?” Ham asked.
“Sometimes; it has the virtue of resolution: you solve a crime and send somebody to prison. The work I do now, the victories take longer, mostly. You get a short-term thrill now and then, when an operation goes just the way you hoped it would, but not very often.”
“I know what you mean,” Ham said. “In Vietnam, you had a good day or a bad day. You couldn’t think a month ahead, because in a month you might be on the other guy’s KIA list.”
Ginny came out back to join them, a sheet of paper in her hand. She handed it to Holly. “They faxed me the specs on an airplane that’s sitting out on the ramp at the airport,” she said. “Take a look. It’s loaded with the latest of just about everything. They took a big deposit on it, but the guy got hurt in the market, and he can’t close the sale.”
Holly read the list carefully, trying to imagine each piece of equipment on the airplane. “Wow,” she breathed. “This is a dream machine. How much?”
“How about a hundred and fifty grand off list?” Ginny asked. “I talked to the seller, and he’s highly motivated; he wants to get his deposit back, and he’s willing to take a loss to do that. The factory wants the rest of their money, too, so they’re chipping in something.”
“Tell them yes,” Holly said. She looked at her watch. “I can get the money wired here today. Do you think we could buy it through your flying school? I don’t want an expensive airplane registered in my name right now. It might raise questions with my employer.”
“Sure, I guess so.” Ginny went and got her checkbook, ripped one out and handed it to Holly. “You can wire the funds to this account.”
Holly made a note of the information, then went inside and called her bank in the Caymans. She entered her account number and two passwords, then tapped in the amount and the receiving account number and routing code. A computerized voice repeated the information to her, she confirmed it, then she was asked to speak a code sentence. She did so, and the computer confirmed her identity and authorized the transaction. Holly returned to the porch. “The money’s on its way.”
“You want to go look at the airplane?” Ginny asked.
“Sure!”
They drove to the airport in two cars, so Holly wouldn’t have to drive Ginny back, and she followed Ginny onto the field to a ramp outside the Piper factory where three airplanes were parked. A man was waiting next to a Malibu Mirage with the keys, and he opened it up for them.
Holly loved the smell of new inside the airplane-all leather seats and wool carpeting. She sat in the pilot’s seat, with Ginny next to her, and examined the big glass panels that displayed all the flight and instrument information.
“By the way,” the Piper man said, “the training class starts Monday morning; by next Friday, you’ll be qualified.”
“I can’t wait,” Holly said. “How about insurance?”
“I’ll put the airplane on my flight school policy,” Ginny said, “and you can reimburse me.”
“Great. When can we close?”
“How about tomorrow morning?” the man sitting behind them asked.
“That’s good for me,” Ginny said. “I’ll stop by the bank on the way in tomorrow and get a cashier’s check.”
They got off the airplane and Holly walked around it. It was painted in a beautiful red and white color scheme. She wiped a finger across the paint and found grit. “It’s dirty,” she said. “How long has it been sitting on the ramp?”
“About seven weeks,” the man said. “I’ll have it washed today.”
“Ginny, will you fly it before we close, make sure there are no maintenance squawks?”
“Sure, I will,” Ginny said.
Holly was more excited than she had been since she had started training at the Agency’s Farm. “Ginny, can we fly her some over the weekend? Do you have the time?”
“Sure, we’ll get a head start on your training.”
Holly drove home, singing to herself. She hadn’t been this excited since she began her training at the Agency.
21
Teddy Fay, now Jack Smithson, had a busy day. First, he went to the Department of Motor Vehicles and exchanged the Georgia driver’s license he had created and planted in the Georgia database for a Florida license. Now he was perfectly legitimate. He had a fixed address and a government-issued picture ID.
He chose a bank near his house and opened a checking account and a savings account with a cashier’s check from a Miami bank that his Cayman bank had arranged. He drove out to the western outskirts of Vero Beach, just past I-95, and found an outlet mall with a Ralph Lauren store. He owned few clothes, so he bought a lightweight suit, a blue blazer and a tweed jacket, plus trousers, underwear, shirts and ties, and a dozen Polo shirts in various colors. He thought of that as Florida camouflage. He found a Publix market near his rented house and stocked up on groceries in some depth, then he went home, put away the groceries and, with a needle and thread, fixed the length on all his new trousers, dress and khakis. He pressed everything and put the things in his drawers and closets, then answered the doorbell.