Free Criminal Mischief by Stuart Woods Page A

two.

19
    Stone was wrapping up for the day when Joan buzzed that Bob Cantor was on the line.
    “Put him through,” Stone said.
    “Stone? I’m glad I caught you.”
    “What’s up, Bob?”
    “I had a sneaking feeling about Zanian’s airplane, so I called all the FBOs in Aspen and found the one he was using. The manager told me they refueled and took off just as the snow was starting.”
    “Bound for where?”
    “I checked the records, and they filed for San Jose, California.”
    “That’s interesting,” Stone said, “but I don’t know why.”
    “Most private jets headed for the West Coast are going to file for Oakland, if they’re going to San Francisco, or to one of the L.A. area airports.”
    “Yeah, that makes sense. So, what reason would an aircraft’s pilot have for filing for San Jose?”
    “Well, San Jose is the last refueling you would have if you were headed for the Pacific.”
    “Where in the Pacific?”
    “Gotta be Hawaii. You couldn’t make Midway or Manila without a fuel stop.”
    “So, you’re telling me that Zanian could be headed for anywhere in the world’s largest ocean?”
    “As long as he keeps refueling. I mean, the Gulfstreams are perfect airplanes for the long-distance stuff, but they drink Jet A, just like everything else.”
    “What else of interest is in San Jose?” Stone asked.
    “Silicon Valley?”
    “So where do you think Zanian is taking off for?”
    “We won’t know that until he takes off.”
    “Stay on this, Bob, and let me know that destination.”
    “Okay.”
    Stone thought about it for a minute, then called Brio Ness.
    “Well, hello there,” she said. “Have you called to claim the reward?”
    “Not just yet,” Stone replied, “but I’m working on it.”
    “Tell me about your work.”
    “Well, Zanian’s airplane took off for Aspen.”
    “We looked into it and you were right. Didn’t he get snowed in?”
    “Wrong. They took off again before the snow became unmanageable, filed for San Jose, California.”
    “What would Zanian want in San Jose?”
    “Fuel for Hawaii,” Stone said. “He’s headed for somewhere inthe Pacific, but he’d have to refuel in Hawaii to make any of the other island destinations.”
    “Which airport in Hawaii?”
    “We won’t know that until he files his flight plan.”
    “You mean, the airplane hasn’t left San Jose?”
    “Not as of a few minutes ago.”
    “I’ll scramble a team,” she said. “Either we’ll pick him up in San Jose or in Hawaii.”
    “Yeah, but at which Hawaiian airport? There’s Oahu, the Big Island, Maui, maybe Hilo, probably more. Take your pick!”
    “I can’t cover half a dozen airports with the manpower we’ve got in the islands.”
    “Well, if I were flying the airplane, I’d file for some place like Oahu, then half an hour out of there, I’d call air traffic control and change my destination to another airport, say Hilo.”
    “You’re a big help.”
    “I’m doing the best I can. Is anybody else doing better?”
    “You have a point. I’d better call a raid on San Jose right now.”
    “Remember, there will be half a dozen FBOs there.”
    “What’s an FBO?”
    “A fixed-base operator. A filling station to you.”
    “How do I find out which one they’re at?”
    “I believe a gentleman named Bell invented the telephone some time ago. Surely the FBI has got enough nickels.”
    “I’ll get right on it,” she said, then hung up.
    Stone was locking his desk when Cantor called again. “Hang on to your hat,” he said. “They’ve filed for Hilo, and they’re starting engines.”
    “Any guesses on where from Hilo?”
    “Hilo’s the closest airport to the U.S., but I don’t think he’s going there. I mean, who goes to Hilo for anything but fuel? He’s got plenty of range for any airport in the islands.”
    “Where would he go from there?”
    “Midway, Manila, Christmas Island?”
    “Christmas Island? What the hell for?”
    “Fuel for Australia. It’s on the