19. The Airport
The Airport
The next morning, I got up later than normal, but still left my house on time.
I felt pretty good considering I had four beers and passed out on the sofa.
Fred slept beside me in his bed; sometime overnight, he dragged his mat out of the bedroom and into the living room.
I set off quickly, hoping to beat the traffic, when I got a call midway to the station.
The caller ID was set to private. I normally avoid these types of calls because of scammers and the like, but this time I picked it up.
“Detective Hernandez, go ahead,” I said.
“Hernandez? It’s me, Salsbury,” Salsbury said, his voice cutting through the static. He was panting on the line. Like if he was holding the receiver right to his mouth and exhaling between words. “Listen, remember that lady from yesterday? The one who gave you the boot?”
“I remember,” I replied. How could I forget her? Belle’s blunt dismissal struck me harder than I would’ve liked.
“Well, after you left, I overheard her fighting with someone. I thought nothing of it until she started speaking another language. I considered it odd, you know?”
“Another language? Do you know which one? Who was she speaking to?”
“I peeked inside while she talked and noticed she was on the phone. I’m not sure who she was speaking to, but I’m sure it was in French,” Salsbury said.
“French? Are you sure you didn’t mistake hearing her?”
“Positive. I did a summer exchange program in Paris. But that’s not why I called you.”
“Then why did you?” I asked.
“I heard her mention Miami International Airport. She said it multiple times, and I’m pretty sure she said something like, ‘They’re escaping to Europe’.”
“The airport?” I said. As I approached the light, I quickly changed lanes and turned left.
I’d gotten on a road that would take me straight to the main airport in the city instead of turning right towards the station.
Instinctively, I reacted without a second thought.
Well, it was too late now; I’ve got to follow the lead.
“I don’t think these guys are the type to fly commercial. ”
“Me neither, but what other way is there to get there?” Salsbury said.
“I imagine someone would notice if they arrived in a large group. More than likely they would spread out to different area airports and take connecting flights out rather than direct.”
“Or fly private.”
“A private jet? Can it even make the jump over to Europe?” I said.
“Of course. There are larger private planes that can easily make it,” Salsbury said.
“I’ll let my captain know. I was taken off the case, but thanks for the heads-up, Salsbury.”
“Sure, no problem,” replied Salsbury and hung up.
I shifted gears and put the car in park; I now had an unobstructed view of all the planes and concord D.
I had no idea what to look for or whom, but I kept a sharp eye for anything unusual; especially the employee access near the building.
If they had help, they might move the hard drive through there; or maybe they paid off a baggage handler to stuff the package into the cargo bay for delivery to Europe.
Anything was possible. Normally, I wouldn’t bother in situations where I’ve been taken off a case, but I felt the urge to see it through.
To follow each and every lead. I needed closure, though I framed it as justice for the victim.
It had become apparent that I’d grown too emotionally involved in this case, and although the ones responsible were dead, that feeling lingered.
I felt hollow. Incomplete. I thought of her, too, for some weird reason.
This case itself was odd from the start.
Secret tech, spies, government involvement, the military, artificial intelligence.
I felt out of place. And frankly, out of my scope.
I was, honestly, quite happy deep down at being taken off the case.
And yet, here I am, parked outside the main airport and scanning the planes as they taxi down the road.
One after another. Small jets, large cargo planes, and even helicopters zoomed on by.
Not long after, another call came in. I picked it up.
“Hernandez! Where the hell are you?” Captain Smith said, his voice quivering with anger. I guess he was angry I didn’t update him last night. Or that I hadn’t come into the station yet.
“Captain Smith. I got sidetracked, sort of,” I replied sheepishly.
“Sidetracked? What the hell happened yesterday? The suspects are dead, the hard drive gone, and we were iced out from the investigation.”
“The suspects were hired help and loose ends.”
“Did you learn anything from the feds? Were you able to search them before they got there?” Captain Smith said.
“No, unfortunately. They got inside before I did, though I found out one thing —.”
“Well?”
“The beat cop on the scene, Salsbury, called me earlier and told me he overheard Special Agent Sarfati speaking in French and mentioned the airport multiple times.”
“That woman speaks French? And the airport? Where are you now?”
“Where do you think?” I replied, shifting in my seat and lowering the driver’s side window. “I’m at the airport. The news caught me by surprise, too. I had no idea.”
“Alright, good. Let me know the moment you learn anything. I’m going to make some calls. And look into this special agent and APOLLO. Something shady is going on and I don’t like it,” Captain Smith said.
The rumbling from the jet engines shook the car as it took off overhead.
I’d gotten close to the airport, just off a public street, and parked next to the main fence to scout the area.
See if anything was amiss. Without a warrant or a proper reason, it’d be hard to get access inside.
Not to mention, if the people responsible noticed me, it might jeopardize the investigation.
And then there’s the chance of running into her again.
So, I stayed. In my car, with the window down, watched the planes come and go until late in the afternoon when I turned on the radio in search of some soothing music to help pass the time.
Stakeouts are incredibly tedious, and the music aids somewhat, though it could be a distraction.
As I scrolled through the channels, I stopped on the afternoon news broadcast.
A local farmer, Mr. John Jamsy, has won the Good Farmer Award for his novel application of organic farming practices in Homestead.
Congrats to him. Now, to news from Europe; I turned the knob to raise the volume.
In Marseille, a criminal gang was implicated in an explosion and subsequent gunfight with local police and Interpol.
Investigations into criminal networks exploded out into the open with several civilians killed in the crossfire.
The Bateleur Clan in the city’s north is the fastest-growing criminal element, with ties to Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco.
They are involved in drug and weapons trafficking. Its leader remains unknown.
Sounds like the Europeans have their hands full with their own rabble; maybe those hands are too full and now they’re overflowing.
Reaching us across the Atlantic. What if the ones responsible are a branch of a larger organization operating out of Europe?
Or visiting criminals? The type who fly in, commit crimes, and fly out before the investigation has even started rolling.
Strange men with no records on either continent, recruited from small villages across North Africa and the Middle East to do the bidding of powerful men.