Blue Gold

She swung out of the garage and headed to her condo in Culver City. She stopped off at a shopping plaza and picked up a bottle of California Zinfandel. Cohen was coming over later to talk about wrapping up loose ends, and she had promised to whip up a pot of pe

Starting the car, she pulled slowly out of the plaza, then gu

"You come any nearer, and I'll blast your private parts off," she said.

He made no motion. If anything, the grin got wider.

She wondered how he had got there ahead of her. Of course. He must have known her address. While she was zigzagging in an attempt to lose him, he had simply driven directly to her apartment. That didn't explain how he had got into the building. The management was going to get an earful about the lack of security. Maybe she'd even do a story on it.

Still keeping the pistol leveled, she fumbled in her purse for her keys, opened the door, and quickly shut it. Safe at last. She put the pistol on a small table, snapped the deadbolt and chain lock, and put her eye to the peephole in the door. The creep was standing just outside, his face distorted even more grotesquely by the lens. He was holding her bag of groceries as if he were a delivery boy. The nerve of him. She swore lustily. She wasn't going to screw around with Cohen this time. A straight call to 91 1 to report she was being stalked. She suddenly had the odd feeling that she wasn't alone.

She turned from the door and stared with unbelieving eyes, frozen with fear.

The man with the metallic teeth was standing in her way. Impossible. He was out in the hall. Then the answer came to her in a flash

Twins.

The epiphany came too late. As she backed against the door he began to walk slowly toward her, his eyes glittering like black pearls.

Cohen sounded frantic on the phone.

"Joe, for Godsakes, I've been trying to reach you for an hour!" "Sorry, I was out," Zavala apologized. "What's wrong?" "Sandy's disappeared. The bastards have got her."

"Calm down for a minute," Zavala said evenly. "Tell me who Sandy is and these bastards you're talking about. Start from the begi

"Okay, okay," Cohen replied. There was a pause as he pulled himself together, and when he spoke again it was with his nor mal composure, although it was clear from the tenseness of his voice that panic lurked close to the surface.

"I went back to the paper. I just had a fu

"Who had access?"

"Just the members of the team. They're all solid. The only way someone could get them to open the files is if they had a gun at their head. Oh, God," Cohen said as the implication of his statement sank in.

Zavala could sense that he was losing Cohen.

"Tell me what happened next," he said.

Cohen took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. Sorry. Next I checked the computer disks. Nothing. You needed a password to get into them. Everybody on the team was aware of it. We backed everything up at the end of each working day. We took turns. Sandy Wheeler, one of the reporters, took the disks home with her today. I got a message saying some guy was following her. She was in a parking lot near her condo. We were supposed to have di

"There's no sign of her?"

"Nothing. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could."

A thought came to Zavala. "What about the other reporters on your team?"

"I tried to call them. No answer. What should I do?"

Cohen probably saved his own life by going to Sandy's apartment and then leaving quickly. Those who were rolling up the investigative team had already been there, but they might check back.

"Where are you calling from? I hear music in the back ground."

"I'm in a leather bar near Sandy's condo." Cohen nervously laughed through his fear. "I ducked in here when I thought someone was following me and wanted to be in a public place."

'Anyone follow you inside?"

"I don't think so. This is pretty much a biker crowd. They'd stand out."

"Can you call me back in five minutes?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, but make it fast. There's a tall transvestite giving me the eye."

Zavala looked up the number Gomez had given him. Gomez answered the phone on the third try. Zavala brushed off the usual greetings.

"I'm in L.A.," he said. "I've got someone who needs to be out of circulation. Can you help? No questions now, but I promise to fill you in as soon as I can."

"Does this happen to have anything to do with the business you were involved in down here?"

"That and more. Sorry to be so mysterious. Can you help?"

Pause. Then Gomez's voice came back, all business. "We maintain a safe house in Inglewood. There's a caretaker there. I'll call and let him know to expect a package." He gave Zavala directions to the safe house.

"Thanks. Talk to you later," Joe said.

"I hope so," Gomez replied.

The phone rang as soon as he put it down. He rattled off the address Gomez had given him and told Cohen to take a taxi there. "Leave your car," he cautioned. "It might have a transmitter on it."

"Of course. I never thought of anything like that. Oh, jeez. I knew this thing was big. Poor Sandy and the others. I feel responsible for them."

"There was nothing else you could have done, Randy. You didn't know you were playing well out of your league."

"What the hell is going on?"

"You had it right the first time we talked," Zavala said. "Blue gold."

Chapter 27

The black rubber ball was only a meteor blur, but Sandecker had anticipated the bounce, and his light wooden racket flicked out like a serpent's tongue. The quick backhand sent the ball speeding with a sharp thwack against the right wall. LeGrand lunged, but he had misjudged the spin and his racket swiped clumsily at thin air.