“What was the broker's name?”

“Jones. Save your dime. He's dead.”

Gomez smirked. “Don't tell me. His car blew up.”

“He drove off a cliff. It was supposedly an accident.”

A man in a dark blue suit came over and tapped on the car window. The agent nodded and turned back to Zavala. “They want me inside. Let's keep in touch.” He switched to Spanish. “We Mexican-American chili peppers have to stick together.”

“Definitely,” Zavala said, opening the door to get out. “I'll be heading back to Washington. Call me at NUMA headquarters if I can be of help.”

Zavala had been truthful with Gomez up to a point. He purposely hadn't mentioned Hanley's disclosure about the Mulholland Group. He doubted the FBI would blast its way through the front door warrant in hand, but he hadn't wanted to complicate his investigation. On his return to the hotel he called Los Angeles directory assistance and tried the number he was given for the Mulholland Group. The pleasant-sounding receptionist who answered the phone gave him directions to the office. He asked the hotel concierge to arrange a rental car, and before long he was driving north to Los Angeles.

Later that morning he pulled off the Hollywood Freeway into a typical California maze of close-built residential blocks interspersed with commercial plazas. Zavala wasn't sure what he expected, but after the explosion in Baja and the bizarre deaths of Hanley and Pedralez, he was surprised to find a well-marked office in a professional building sandwiched between a Staples office supply store and a Pizza Hut.

The lobby was open and airy. The cheery receptionist who greeted him was the same one who had given him directions on the phone. He didn't have to exert his Latin charm. She readily answered questions about the company, showered Zavala with brochures, and said to call if he ever needed hydraulic engineering services. He went back out to his rental car and sat behind the wheel staring at the unassuming facade, wondering what to do next. His cell phone buzzed. Austin was calling from his office at NUMA headquarters.

“Any luck at your end?” Kurt said.

“I'm sitting outside the Mulholland Group as we speak,” Zavala said. He filled him in on his findings. Austin in turn told Joe about his visit to the Grabber center, his conversation with Buzz Martin, and the revelations from Max.

“You've accomplished a hell of a lot more than I have,” Zavala said.

“All blind alleys so far. I'm heading to upstate New York this afternoon to see if I can clear up the mystery of the flying wing pilot. While you're in L.A. maybe you can poke around on Gogstad.”

They agreed to compare notes back in Washington the next day. Zavala hung up and called information for the Los Angeles Times. He got through to the newsroom, where he gave his name and asked for Randy Cohen in the business section.

Moments later a boyish voice came on the phone.