"Doctor, if you know where they are and you withhold that information, you'll go to jail on obstruction charges right now."

"I may go, but I won't stay long."

"Trust me, Dr. Rollins, you won't enjoy a single minute behind bars."

Her lips pursed.

Milo said, "A job's that important?"

"It's not a job, it's a calling."

"So was the Nazi SS."

"That is outrageous--oh, all right, seeing as cut-day leads into the weekend, they're where you'd expect them to be: embarking on a family holiday."

Her voice rose as the Briticism rolled off her tongue. Creepy ebullience.

"Both families?"

"I believe so."

"Where are they going?"

"I don't know."

"How do you know the families are traveling together?"

"I chitchatted with the boys yesterday. They were in excellent spirits and I find it difficult to believe--"

"What exactly did they tell you?"

"Tristram told me. They were going to use the plane. That it would be... wonderful. I believe his term was 'awesome.'"

"The plane."

"Mr. Wydette's Gulfstream Five," she said. "It's a marvel."

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER
37

As I sped to Santa Monica Airport, Milo celled Reed.

"Nothing, Loo."

"That's 'cause we may be too late, both families are scheduled to leave for the weekend. Check with the mannequin in the booth and don't take any bullshit. Tell Sean to find out what's happening at Wydette's place. If everyone's gone, we'll go ahead and search the houses and given the size, I'll need a small army, so get in touch with the lab and the duty sergeant and start recruiting."

Moments later Reed phoned back. "Mannequin's cooperative, ex-Rampart Division, hates the family 'cause they treat him like dirt. He's absolutely certain no one left today except Tristram, after Quinn Glover picked him up in his Hummer. That was an hour and a quarter ago, right before I arrived. They took luggage, Loo. A lot of it."

The search warrant was extended to the Gulfstream by the time I reached Bundy Drive, takeoff to Aspen aborted by the tower at LAX as I turned onto Ocean Park. As far as the crew was aware, "unanticipated air-traffic buildup" was the reason.

I got buzzed through the gate at Diamond Aviation by mentioning Milo's name, drove onto the landing field, followed a porter in a golf cart to the G-V.

The plane's engines were running, as were those of two smaller jets. The noise level was at brain-puree.

When I reached the plane's left wing and stopped, the pilot looked down from the cockpit, curious, but not alarmed. Milo's badge-flash didn't change that. People who loft tons of metal in the air should take a low-key approach to life.

Milo motioned him out.

The engines switched off.

When they'd quieted to merely deafening, the door opened and the pilot lowered the foldout steps, descended two rungs, turned and shut the door.