Tracer, page 5
Korso zoomed in further. He figured twenty-five minutes’ flying time would have easily taken them over the Caribbean Sea. Theoretically, at least. ‘Since it’s only been six weeks, I assume the official investigation is still ongoing?’
‘Yes. The Guyana Civil Aviation Authority is working alongside their Ukrainian counterparts, the State Aviation Administration. So far they haven’t been successful. There are no clues. No debris. We have a source in the SAA investigative unit who says unlawful interference by a third party can’t be ruled out, but the current line of thinking is the plane was lost at sea due to either pilot error or sudden mechanical failure.’
‘Do you believe that?’
Natasha smiled. ‘Mr Nikolic doesn’t believe it, and that’s all that matters. He thinks it all far too convenient to be an accident.’
‘In this case, I agree with him. What about the emergency locator transmitter? If I remember correctly, most aircraft are fitted with at least one ELT. Often more. Don’t tell me this plane was one of the exceptions.’
‘It wasn’t. There were two automatic fixed ELTs permanently mounted aft, programmed to give off continuous distress signals on 406 megahertz the moment the aircraft became immersed in water or impacted against something solid. But there have been no SOS signals on that frequency, or any of the alternative frequencies. We have a man listening at all times, as do the SAA, but it seems the ELTs either malfunctioned or were tampered with before the plane left the airport.’
‘The latter seems more plausible, don’t you think?’
‘Well, I discovered on reading up on previous air disasters that there are reported difficulties with ELT signals in deep water, but I admit it seems unlikely in this case.’ She frowned as Korso continued deleting files from his laptop. ‘Why bother with all that? Just revert to factory settings or destroy the hard drive and you’ll get the same result.’
‘I like to be thorough, especially where my own security is concerned.’ In a casual voice, he said, ‘Out of interest, does Sardoca use one of these or does he prefer to do everything on his smartphone?’
‘He mostly does his business on a laptop,’ she said, pulling a packet of gum from one of her pockets. ‘He says it’s more secure. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m the curious type. And it’s always good to know your enemy’s habits.’ He leaned back in his chair and frowned at the ceiling, thinking. He vaguely heard Natasha unwrap a stick of gum and put it in her mouth. Minutes passed as he mentally ticked off the numerous possibilities that occurred to him, one by one. There were a lot of them.
‘Have some gum,’ Natasha said. He turned to her and took the proffered spearmint stick. ‘Share your thoughts, please.’
Korso unwrapped the stick, stuck it in his mouth, started chewing. ‘It wasn’t pilot error or mechanical malfunction. The plane was hijacked, for want of a better word.’ He looked at her. ‘But you already know that.’
Natasha gave a single nod in reply.
‘After that last transmission,’ he continued, ‘the pilots, who had to be in on it too, most likely dropped their altitude to beat the radar, and then either doubled back or flew on to a pre-arranged site. Lot of islands in that part of the world.’
‘Yes, that makes sense. Although it’s possible only one of the pilots was involved in the plan, and he forced the other to go along at gunpoint.’
‘Granted. But what’s definite is that this was an inside job. It had to be. At the very least, somebody from within your organisation leaked the information about that shipment to an outside party. And don’t write off this Borozan either. It’s possible he could have been in on it too.’
Natasha made a face. ‘I agree with the first part, but not Borozan. He was never much of a thinker.’
‘I don’t see what difference that makes. At this stage, everyone’s a suspect. Which leads us to the next obvious question.’
‘Who was behind it?’
Korso shook his head. ‘You’re jumping the gun. The big question is, did they know about that special tin of Nikolic’s? If this was just some opportunist heisters looking for quick money by stealing a shipment of black-market caviar, then that’s one thing. But if they knew this asset was on board as well, that opens up a whole host of further possibilities. And none of them good.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Can I assume this mysterious asset is extremely valuable, and can be sold on the open market or auctioned off to the highest bidder?’
She paused. ‘From what Sardoca has intimated to me, very much so.’
‘Good. Because that suggests the thieves aren’t aware of its existence, that it’s just the caviar they’re interested in.’
‘Really? How can you know that?’
‘I can’t, not for certain. But I do know Nikolic has an information network that would be the envy of most countries if they knew about it. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere on this planet, and if there was even the slightest rumour that his prize was up for sale, he’d be aware of it within seconds.’
Natasha was already nodding.
‘So that narrows things down a little. But we still can’t rule out the possibility of this asset being the primary target. For all we know, they could be waiting for things to die down before off-loading both it and the caviar. What about this man who gave you the tin at Poltava Airport, this Yuri? Has he been questioned by your people?’
‘Sardoca wanted to, but Mr Nikolic said he’d take care of that end. That was a week ago, so I can only assume he’s been cleared of suspicion, or we would have been told.’
Korso sighed. ‘I really enjoy working in the dark like this. It makes my job so much easier.’
‘That’s the way things are with Mr Nikolic. You know this.’
‘All too well.’ He shook his head, brushing his irritation aside as though turning a page. With every job, essential information was invariably denied him. Often for no reason. It was always the same. He simply worked with what he had, and did things the hard way. ‘Let’s go back to the two pilots. What are their names?’
‘Alex Azevedo and Dominic Palma. I can email you their dossiers if you wish.’
‘Good,’ he said. Natasha pulled out her phone and began tapping. ‘Who compiled these dossiers?’
‘A large private investigation firm in New York which Mr Nikolic owns a part of. Although they’re unaware of this, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘We use them often for background information, personal histories and such. Mr Nikolic likes to be thorough in all things. Like you. There, it should be in your inbox now.’
Korso entered his email site and checked. Attached were two PDF files. He opened the one marked Palma and was greeted with a professionally compiled history of the man from the age of eighteen upward. Jobs, employers, finances, family, friends, lovers, close family members, relationships, and more. Everything of note was in there, and all in chronological order. A forty-five-year-old man’s life compressed into half a dozen pages of small bullet points. It was impressive. He went through it all quickly, but nothing jumped out at him. Not that he expected anything to. It was never that easy.
He opened Azevedo’s file next. This pilot was younger by eight years, so fewer pages. Again, nothing unusual. Various jobs with different airlines. Married young. No kids. Currently divorced. Several overseas girlfriends to break the monotony. A spell in the local jail at age twenty-two on a drunk and disorderly, but nothing came of it. More interesting was the man’s finances, which always seemed to be in the red. Korso was scanning the final page, the one containing details about various family members, when a name made him pause. It was like a feather landing on the back of his neck. Barely a tickle. But there.
Natasha sensed the change in him. She came over and looked at the screen. ‘Something?’
‘His younger sister, Amelia Azevedo, was a real maneater before she finally got married ten years ago.’
‘It would seem so. Eighteen boyfriends in the space of three years, according to this. Which one interests you?’
‘Don Kujan. At the bottom of the list there.’
‘I see it. Do you know him?’
Korso shook his head. ‘But that name… Kujan. It’s an odd name. For some reason, I get the feeling it’s connected to a robbery. Maybe. But where? When?’ He closed his eyes and concentrated, chewing his gum and tapping his fingers lightly against his forehead. A minute passed. He opened his eyes, went to Google, and typed some words into the search box. He pressed return and got a page of results immediately. He clicked on the second one and was taken to an archived story from the South China Morning Post website.
‘Something,’ he said.
Natasha leaned in to look. ‘Six arrested after thieves steal $2 million US in cash from KLM cargo plane on tarmac in Brazil,’ she said. ‘Quite the headline.’
Korso said nothing, just scrolled slowly down, speed-reading the fifteen-year-old story as he went. The article told of how a group of thieves entered Viracopos International Airport’s freight terminal late one Sunday night, using a pick-up on which they’d placed stickers identical to the runway security company’s logo. The KLM plane had been making a brief stop at Viracopos with Amsterdam as its final destination. The heist was completed in a matter of minutes. The thieves threatened the security agents with guns, but no one was hurt. The police had quickly arrested six suspects, but all had been released through lack of evidence. Surprisingly, three of those suspects were actually named in the story.
And one of them was a Don Kujan.
‘You either have a very good memory,’ Natasha said, her face close to his as she stared at the laptop screen, ‘or you must read a great deal.’
‘Guilty on both counts,’ Korso said, suddenly aware of her closeness and the faint scent of sandalwood. He shut it off like a faucet. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s the same man, but that surname is pretty unusual. And as vague as it is, it’s the only connection we have.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
Korso shrugged. ‘It’s all theory at this stage, but it’s possible that Azevedo met this Kujan while he was going out with his sister, right? And since one’s a pilot and the other’s familiar with airports, it’s also possible that they talked shop a little, maybe over a beer or two. So what if Kujan said a little more than he should have, such as intimating how he was possibly involved in a certain high-profile robbery at a Brazilian freight airport a couple of years before? Azevedo could have filed that information away for future use. And then when he heard about this valuable caviar shipment he was due to transport, maybe that name came back to him and he remembered this guy who knew a thing or two about taking planes for profit. If I were in Azevedo’s shoes, and I had larceny in mind, I might give him a call.’
‘To help organise the robbery.’
‘That’s what I mean. Azevedo always seems short of money, but he’s a pilot, not a planner. And if Kujan claimed to have previous experience in this kind of thing, why not?’
Natasha made a face. ‘It sounds thin.’
‘It sounds skeletal,’ Korso said, ‘but I’ve worked with less. Look, when you’ve exhausted all other possibilities, as you claim to have done, that’s when you have to take chances. And in case you’ve forgotten, we’re on a deadline here.’
‘I’m unlikely to forget that.’
‘So there you go. What other leads have you got?’
‘None,’ she said.
‘Exactly. When your options are reduced to zero, every choice you make from then on is the right one.’
‘So our next step is to find this Kujan’s last known address.’
‘It would be a starting point, at least. Maybe that private investigation firm of yours could help with that. Give them a call.’
While Natasha went to the kitchen to make her calls, Korso packed. It didn’t take long. He already had an emergency bag prepared for such contingencies. It contained US$15,000 in cash, a handful of pre-paid burner phones, disposable razor, toothbrush, and some spare clothes. To these he added the Graves passport, two of his notebooks, a flash drive, a gun that wasn’t really a gun, a set of precision wrenches, a couple of fibre-optic scopes he always took with him on assignments and a black windbreaker he’d barely worn.
As for the laptop, he’d already restored it to its factory settings. He’d take it along, but there was now nothing on there to lead back to him if he discarded it. The realtor could resell the motor scooter again if she wanted. And he’d read all the books on his shelves. Maybe the next tenant would find them useful.
When Natasha found him in his bedroom, he was ready. All he needed was a destination.
‘Tijuana, Mexico,’ she said, looking down at her phone. ‘Downtown.’
‘Go on.’
‘Specifically, Zona Norte in the Hong Kong section.’
‘The red light district,’ Korso said.
She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Apparently, Kujan’s last known address is an apartment on one of the back streets in that area. The agency was able to give me the specific address, but I’m not sure it will do much good. This information is three years old. He may have moved on since then.’
‘I’d be surprised if he hasn’t. But it’s a start. The rest is simple legwork. Can that agency email you headshots of the two pilots? And Kujan too, if possible.’
‘The pilots, yes. The other, I’ll ask.’
Korso nodded his approval. One of the benefits of Natasha accompanying him was the huge network of information to which she had access. Alone, he could probably accomplish the same, but it would take a lot longer. And the Dog’s services didn’t come cheap. This way was better all round.
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
‘What kind of expense budget have you got?’
‘As far as transport’s concerned, almost unlimited. For anything else, if it’s necessary to the job, I can use my own judgement.’
‘Good,’ he said, zipping up his bag. ‘In that case, we’ll charter a private jet to Mexico, and keep it on standby for the next four days. There are a few business charter firms near the airport, but the one I’ve used before should suit our needs. They’re expensive, but discreet.’
‘One always goes hand in hand with the other.’
‘It does seem to. Let me use your phone.’
She passed it to him.
‘I hope you’ve got a good credit limit on your card,’ he said, keying in a number. ‘You’ll need it.’
Nine
83 hours, 45 minutes and counting…
‘We will be landing in thirty minutes.’
He came awake immediately at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was sitting opposite him in a matching leather seat, sipping mineral water. There were six more identical seats in the small, luxurious cabin. There was also a large settee and galley up front, and a decent-sized bathroom set aft. The sound insulation was excellent. All he heard was the muffled hum of the Cessna’s twin turbofan engines and the faint clinking of ice cubes in Natasha’s glass. Back in Bermuda, they had chartered the Cessna Citation for four days, along with the two pilots currently working the cockpit. The price was $4000 per flying hour. The rate was substantially less when the plane was idle, but still exorbitant. To her credit, Natasha had handed her Platinum Visa card to the charter firm’s night manager without batting an eyelid.
‘What time is it?’ he said.
She looked at her phone on the table between them. ‘Two-fifteen, Pacific Standard Time.’
He made some quick mental calculations. After all the paperwork had been completed and the plane fuelled up, they’d finally lifted off from Bermuda at a quarter to midnight. The flight time for the 3000-mile journey was six and a half hours, five of which he’d slept through. The four-hour time difference meant it was still early morning on Mexico’s west coast. Korso thought that might actually work in their favour. Often he got the best results during the hours of darkness.
‘I don’t think Mr Nikolic will be happy when he sees my expenses,’ Natasha said, rubbing her earlobe as she stared out the window at the blackness beyond.
‘Men like Nikolic are never happy,’ Korso said. He was studying her profile carefully. ‘Are they?’
She turned to him, her brows together. ‘You’re asking me?’
‘You’ve spent a lot of time with him. You must have seen first hand how he is.’
‘That’s a strange thing to say. Not once have I ever given any indication that I spent time with Mr Nikolic.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ He rubbed his own earlobe between thumb and index finger. ‘He used to do this a lot when he was thinking. Probably still does. I’ve noticed you doing it three times now. I guess when you’re in close proximity to someone powerful, it’s natural to start appropriating some of their mannerisms.’
She sneered at him. ‘And you think that’s what I’m doing? Mimicking my employer’s habits? I have always done this.’
‘If you say so.’
He suspected there was more to it than that, but now wasn’t the time. Stifling a yawn, he undid his belt and got up and walked back to the bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later, he grabbed a small bottle of coke from the fridge in the galley area, and took it back to his seat. He took a long swig and immediately felt more awake.
Frowning at the drapes separating the cockpit from the cabin, he said, ‘How much cash are you carrying?’
‘Enough.’
‘Let me have a thousand.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Why do you always answer a question with a question? Expenses.’
She looked at him for a moment, then reached over to the adjoining seat and grabbed her flight bag. After rummaging inside for a few seconds, she pulled out a manila envelope and carefully extracted some notes from within. She passed them to him. ‘Should I bother asking for a receipt?’
‘Not this time,’ Korso said as he counted the twenty fifty-dollar bills. ‘This is strictly off the books.’
