Free Utopian Day by C.L. Wells

to himself that more and more people
were keeping the information he needed as a detective on their
electronic devices. It made it more difficult for an old-school
detective like him to quickly find what he needed, particularly
with someone as careful as Nick Bartonovich. He had apparently
taken his laptop with him, so even if Silas had possessed the
technical skills required to access the computer’s data, they
wouldn’t have done him much good at the moment.
    There were few items in the desk drawer. A
herringbone letter opener, some writing pens, a pad of post-it
notes, a few paperclips, and some other odds and ends. A small,
black leather business card holder caught his eye. He opened it up
and found several business cards for Nick Bartonovich, President of
CES Enterprises. Nick's picture appeared in the corner. “Thank you,
Mr. Bartonovich,” Silas thought to himself.
    Silas took out one of the cards and replaced the
holder in the desk drawer. He put the card on the desk and took out
his phone, taking a picture of the card and then a close-up of the
photograph in the corner. He put the card in his pocket and then
dialed a number. After three rings, a man picked up on the other
end. He was greeted with a hearty, “Hello?” in a thick island
accent typical of the Cayman’s.
    “ Marty, it’s Silas,” he
began.
    “ Oh! Silaaaas! It is good to hear
from you, my friend. What can I help you wit today?”
    Silas could picture the tall islander with his
colorful shirt and sandals. He had been very helpful tracking down
the information Silas needed to get for Mr. Bartonovich before. He
hoped he would be as helpful this time.
    “ I’m going to send you some
pictures. I want you to go to the same bank as before and call me
as soon as you see any of these people anywhere near the bank. Can
you do that?”
    “ Ya mon, I can do it,” came the
reply. “You got sometin’ for me now?”
    “ Yeah, same rate as
before.”
    “ O.k. mon, I am on it.”
    With that, Silas hung up the phone. He took out the
three pictures he had printed off before and took pictures of each
of them with his phone, sending them to Marty along with the photo
of Nick Bartonovich. He couldn’t risk sending them from his work
computer, so this would have to do for now. He completed his search
of the office without finding anything else of value, and left the
brownstone the same way he had come in, making certain to lock the
door on the way out.
    Next, he called Darby Jones of the white-collar
crimes division.
    “ Detective Jones,” he
answered.
    “ Hey Darby, I need to locate a
plane.”
    “ Hello to you, too, Silas. Who
does it belong to?”
    “ Belongs to a guy named Nick
Bartonovich. It may be registered under a company by the name of
CES Enterprises.”
    “ Hmmm… let me check.”
    Silas could hear Darby typing feverishly on a
keyboard in the background. About a minute or so passed before
Darby spoke next.
    “ Yeah, looks like he has a plane
out at Newark International.”
    “ Any chance you could tell me
where that plane might be at the moment? He may have left town
yesterday afternoon and I need to know where he’s
going.”
    More typing could be heard in the background.
    “ Well, I checked the public flight
plan database and it’s not there. Looks like he had his plane put
on the BARR list, which means his flight plans won’t be publicly
accessible in this database. But I have a buddy who’s been working
on a program to pull the audio between the planes and the air
traffic control towers. They run it through this program which
translates the audio file data into text, saves it to a database,
and posts it to this website he set up. You wouldn’t believe it –
there’s this whole sub-culture that records this stuff for all the
major airports and they share it online. He just downloads it
and…”
    “ Darby,” Silas interrupted. “I
just need to know where the plane was headed.”
    “ Yeah, o.k., just a minute,”