Full Black - Brad Thor [93]
CHAPTER 38
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
Like most in the Special Operations community, retired or otherwise, Hank McBride was incredibly resourceful. He had managed to track down everything on Luke Ralston’s list. With Southern California the home to SEAL Teams 1, 3, 5, and 7 under Naval Special Warfare Group One, Hank had probably done it with one phone call, two at the most.
The motorcycle was a red 2007 Yamaha YZF. It was a bit much for Ralston’s taste, but no one gave flashy street bikes a second look in Southern Cal. It was fast and maneuverable, which was what he had asked for. If he needed to weave through traffic or outrun the police, the Yamaha would do the job perfectly. Using a motorcycle also meant that he could wear a full-face helmet and be able to better conceal his identity.
The pistol was a cold “drop piece” that one of Hank’s buddies always took with him when he drove down to Mexico. It was a Colt Anaconda with a four-inch barrel, chambered in .44 Magnum. Ralston hadn’t expected a revolver, especially from a SEAL, but he was happy to have a firearm, any kind of firearm, and he tucked it into the backpack Hank had given him, along with the other items.
It had been a big gamble meeting Alisa in Manhattan Beach the day before. It was an even bigger gamble traveling up to L.A. now. Broad daylight was not the environment Ralston wanted to operate in, but he’d been given no choice.
Alisa’s father had refused to help her unless she told him who the favor was for. She was asking for a very dangerous introduction—one incongruous with the legal dealings of an entertainment attorney. He’d already lost one daughter because he wasn’t able to protect her from violent criminal elements. He’d be damned if he was going to lose another.
With no choice, Alisa had filled her father in on the entire meeting she’d had with Ralston. Martin Sevan wasn’t happy. He told her he’d have to think about the favor Ralston wanted the Sevan family to do for him.
Two hours later, Martin called Alisa back and told her to have Ralston come and see him the next day at noon. Ralston had no idea if the man was going to help him or not, but the fact that he had asked him to come to the house and not the office was a good sign, and Ralston had decided to go prepared.
He arrived two hours early. After driving by the front of the house and not seeing anything that gave him cause for concern, he found a place to park his bike and then secreted himself in a ravine along the side of the house. He had a perfect vantage point from which to surveil Martin’s property as well as that of his immediate neighbors.
Ralston didn’t know how much animosity, if any, Ava’s father harbored toward him over her death. For all he knew, the man despised him and was planning to set him up and hand him over to the police. He had to accept that as a possibility. He could very well be walking into a trap. From his vantage point, though, the only people he had seen in or near the house were the gardener and the housekeeper, both of whom he had met before. That was it.
At a quarter to twelve, a black Aston Martin Rapide pulled into the driveway and stopped near the entrance to the house. Ralston watched as Martin Sevan exited the vehicle, retrieved his briefcase from the backseat, and walked inside. His movements were calm and unhurried. He didn’t glance around furtively as if trying to pick out nearby police spotters who might be poorly hidden and who could give the entire sting away. He looked like any businessman who might have come home for lunch. So far, so good, thought Ralston.
He decided to remain in the ravine a little while longer. Five minutes later, a white Acura pulled into the driveway and parked right behind Martin’s Aston Martin.
From behind the wheel, a heavyset, middle-aged man wearing a dark suit climbed out of the car. Unlike Sevan, this man was a bundle of nervous energy. He was visibly uncomfortable. He took a long, slow