The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [86]
“That is crazy. Forget I offered.” All she needed was the Federal Aviation Administration’s registration information for an aircraft with the identification number, N678ST. Trevor promised to call her back if she’d keep Eliot Ness for a month while he went on a dig to Turkey.
“Deal.”
***
Annie took the long MetroLink ride out to the gate at Terminal E, where a Hopper Jets tug had towed the King of the Sky. As she rode there, she called the Royal Coach night desk clerk. The same young man was on duty; he admitted cheerfully that her odd inquiries were the only interesting things going on at the motel. The strange customer, whom he’d told her about earlier, the man who’d cut off his pants legs and taken a swim and left the bloody towels, the man named Clark Goode? That man had stiffed the Royal Coach with a fake credit card. Annie gave him her card number to reimburse the motel.
“If he comes back, I’ll have to call the cops.”
“He won’t come back,” Annie predicted.
At the Hopper ground transportation desk, she told a female guard that she’d accidentally left a package in her plane. After examining all her paperwork, the guard walked her onto the tarmac and let her reenter the King.
Setting Malpy down in the copilot’s seat, Annie used her flashlight to search for any panel the key might fit. In the rear of the dark fuselage, near the tail, behind a quilted van pad, she located, to her surprise, a built-in panel that had a keyhole in it. The panel looked rusty at the hinges. After so many years of spending so many hours in the King, wasn’t it odd that she would never have noticed this panel? But then there had never been a reason for her to crawl to the far inside tip of the tail to examine the fuselage for hidden compartments.
She fit the key into the lock. It turned. But the section of the panel was stuck shut. Annie felt in the flight jacket pockets for her birthday present from Georgette—the little red leather case with the miniature tools in it. She used its screwdriver to pry loose the panel.
The beam of her flashlight illuminated a small rectangular case of shiny stainless steel inside the dark cavity. It was about a foot and a half long, eight inches tall. Between its two handles, it had a central combination lock with four dials of numbers.
Backing carefully out into the cockpit, Annie removed the protesting Malpy from his large cloth bag, shoved the courier case deep inside it and then put the dog on top.
With a jump down from the Piper’s wing back onto the tarmac, she waved at the guard, calling over, “Found it! Thanks a lot.”
Annie was back in the main terminal by the time Trevor called her. N678ST, he said, was the FAA identification number of a 1983 Cessna TU206 Amphibian, with a 1990 affidavit of ownership issued to a Florida Limited Liability Company named La Reina; La Reina had purchased the small seaplane at an auction of aircraft seized by the U.S. government. The two signatories were Clark Goode and Rafael Rook, both of 302 Ficus Avenue, Miami. The plane appeared to rent hangar space in Key West. “How’s that for helping you out in a hurry? I had to call in some favors.”
“Thank you very much.” Annie repeated, “Clark Goode and Rafael Rook.”
“Yeah. Rafael Rook’s that weird Cuban that called you?”
“Yes, Jack’s best friend.”
“And Clark’s your uncle, sort of.”
Annie air-spit indignantly. “Clark? Clark has no idea he’s been off buying amphibian planes and getting beaten up in motels. My dad just uses Clark’s name. So is this why the FBI’s involved? Is this why the government seized the aircraft? Did my dad and Rook really steal a gold statue called La Reina Coronada del Mar from Cuba? Trevor, I need you to find out about this Queen of the Sea.”
“You’ve got nothing left to trade.”
“I know. You have to do it for friendship.”
With a sigh, Trevor asked Annie to repeat details of the phone call she’d received from the Miami detective, Daniel Hart, about the Queen of the Sea. “I’ll find out what I can,” he promised. He’d also try not to get her father in worse trouble. He’d tell his contacts