"Turned which way?"

"There's no way I can tell that. Dammit."

Close your eyes.

Put yourself in Jeff's car.

"I hear a trolley. I think it just crossed in front of him."

"There's no rail service here."

"Not that kind. One of those orange-and-green Old Town tour trolleys you see driving around."

Lynch hit his left turn signal. "Orange Avenue is just ahead. It's the largest cross street near here. If you're really hearing a tour bus go by, it probably happened there."

Kendra continued to listen as Lynch completed the left turn. "Why this direction?"

"Just a guess. A right turn would take us to the water. This leads us to the heart of the island."

She listened for another moment. "I think you guessed right. It now sounds like he's behind the trolley, with more and more traffic around."

Lynch nodded. "Just like it is here."

"There's another sound..." She placed the device closer against her ear. "I could hear the tour guide on the trolley's PA system, but only for a second. It might have stopped somewhere along here, and Jeff pa.s.sed it."

Lynch pointed to a group of tourists adorned with cameras, baseball caps, and f.a.n.n.y packs, all seated on sidewalk benches in front of a pub. "I'd say that's the trolley-tour stop."

"Good." She didn't speak for an instant. "Now it sounds like he went through a busy intersection..."

"We're crossing it now," Lynch said. "Loma Street."

Her eyes widened. "He just put on his turn signal."

Lynch swerved to the right without putting on his own blinker. "It has to be here. Churchill Place." He looked ahead. "I hope you hear ocean soon, because that's where we're headed."

After less than a block, they pa.s.sed a gateway of palm trees and continued on to Ocean Boulevard, which ran alongside the island's west side. Kendra struggled to separate the pounding surf on her left from the sounds emanating from her phone.

She finally nodded. "Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

She said impatiently, "Yes, he was here."

Two minutes later, they found themselves on a large cul-de-sac that ended at a guard gate for the sprawling North Island Naval Complex.

Lynch spun around the cul-de-sac and stopped. "Did he go in there?"

Kendra shook her head. "No."

"Then what did he do?"

She listened for a moment longer. "He turned around just like you did. And he parked here on the street and continued his dictation." She stared thoughtfully at the guard gate. "He just sat here."

"As if he was staking it out, maybe waiting for somebody to come or go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. All I can tell you is what he did. Anything else is pure guesswork."

"Well, this location matches up with the cell-tower hit from Bergen's call. Whoever hired him to clean Jeff's apartment was probably behind those gates when he took Bergen's call."

Kendra looked at the entrance for a moment longer. "And exactly how many people are behind those gates?"

"Thousands. It's a veritable city."

"All naval personnel?"

"No. A fair number of civilian employees, too."

She picked up his binoculars and scanned the tightly cl.u.s.tered buildings visible on the other side. "I'd love to find out what in the h.e.l.l Jeff thought he could find out by sitting here."

Lynch motioned toward the beach. "I could think of worse places for a stakeout. Put down the car top, slather on the suntan oil..."

Kendra adjusted the binoculars' focus wheel and studied a two-story building with bold lettering on its side. She suddenly stiffened. "That's ... interesting. The Thatcher Center for Naval Medical Research." She handed him the binoculars. "The white building with gray trim."

Lynch took the binoculars and examined it. "So what?"

"Stephanie Marsh. One of the victims, the one who was killed in a parking garage. She worked for a surgeon who was a Navy physician. She was his administrative a.s.sistant."

"I remember." He frowned thoughtfully. "But I can't recall the place she worked."

"But Jeff was staking out an area that had a medical research center. Do you think it means anything?"

Lynch shrugged. "Remember where we are. San Diego is a big Navy town. There may be hundreds of medical doctors out there with Navy contracts. But it's worth verifying her place of employment." He pulled out his phone, punched a number, and put it on speaker so that Kendra could hear.

Griffin answered on the first ring. "Griffin."

"Lynch here. Kendra is with me. She's managed to put us outside Gate 5 of the North Island Naval Complex."

"And why would she do a thing like that?"

"Because Agent Stedler was staking out this spot not long before he disappeared," Lynch said. "Any idea why he would be doing that?"

He was silent. "Can't say that I do. You're sure about this?"

"Positive," Kendra said. "Well, as positive as I can be considering the-"

Lynch cut in. "We need some information on the employer of one of the victims. The name of the doctor who Stephanie Marsh worked for and her address of employment."

"I see where you're headed. Let me check records." Griffin paused. "Here it is. He's a well-known naval surgeon. Dr. Myles Denton."

"And why did he need an administrative a.s.sistant?"

"It's not that unusual. He's an important man. He's retired from active service, but they still call him in for difficult surgical cases since he's in the Reserves. He's evidently a superb surgeon."

"And what does he do when he's not being a superb surgeon?" Kendra asked.

Another silence while Griffin checked. "Research. Underwater pulmonary research. Several years ago, he came up with two medicines that expand lung capacity. It says that the SEALs use them on occasion."

"And he did this while he was in the Navy?"

"The first medicine he developed while he was still active, the second he created as a researcher for Thatcher Pharmaceuticals, which has a naval research center in San Diego."

"Bingo," Lynch murmured. "And that research center is within a stone's throw of Gate 5 at the base where we're sitting right now. And I'll bet Stephanie Marsh's employment address is Thatcher Medical Research Center."

"Right," Griffin said. "Holy s.h.i.t. Do we have something?"

"See if you can find any connection with any of the other victims to either Thatcher Pharmaceuticals or that surgeon. Can you shoot me a photo of Denton right away?"

"What about Charles Schuyler, the Thatcher CEO? There are several shots of the two of them all buddy-buddy at various conferences."

"Really? Interesting. Yeah, give us a photo of Schuyler, too."

"And check and see if they've been involved in anything together other than pulmonary research," Kendra was frowning thoughtfully. "Research. Pharmaceuticals. Deadly unknown substance. A link appears to be emerging."

"Are you going to go on the base and check them out?" Griffin asked.

"Not until we get a little more info from you," Lynch said. "I want to know what questions to ask. Just send us those photos, then-"

"Wait a minute. Santini is here trying to tell me something." There was the sound of voices in the background, then Griffin came back on the line, his voice triumphant. "I told you I had enough agents checking out that dermatologist, Kendra. We've got him."

"When? Who is it?" Kendra sat up straight in her seat. "What did he tell you?"

"Two hours ago Santini located Dr. Joseph Powell, who has a dermatologist practice on the south side of town. He recognized the victim as his patient, Leon Sanders, and gave us an address where he lived with his sister." He paused. "Are you ready for this? Santini got an ID from Leon Sanders's sister on the guy who shot at you at Ocotillo Wells and beat up your friend, Olivia. His name is Thomas Briggs."

"Tommy Briggs," Kendra said. "What did the sister say about Briggs?"

"Just that he was some kind of paid muscle who was supposed to protect her brother. She was pretty bitter when we told her Briggs had shot Leon."

"Paid by whom?" Lynch asked.

"She wasn't sure. She said Leon never talked about his work at Ocotillo Wells to her. She just got the impression it was drugs or something else pretty nasty. She said when he got back from London six months ago, he was boasting that this one risky job might set him up for life. He said it was so important, they'd a.s.signed him Briggs to guard him while he was working."

She asked the million-dollar question. "Does she know where Briggs lives?"

"Yes."

She inhaled sharply. "Where?"

"He has a Residence Inn suite where he stays when they're not in the desert. It's about ten miles from where Leon and his sister live. We have it under surveillance now."

"Is he there?"

"We think so. Santini left two agents to stake out the motel. There's a rental car in front of the unit. He's not going to leave without our knowing it."

"Unless he slips away."

"He's not going to do that, Kendra. We know what we're doing."

She was silent a moment. "I know you do."

"Good G.o.d, what an admission."

"It's just that this is so important. Briggs almost killed Olivia. He mustn't get away, Griffin."

"This case is more to me than revenge for your friend," he said quietly. "He may be the key, and I won't let him get away until I find what doors he can open."

"A favor," Lynch said. "Let us open those doors first."

"What?"

"Let me and Kendra be the first to talk to him. Alone."

Total silence. If Kendra hadn't heard Griffin's slow, measured breathing, she might have thought that he had hung up.

Griffin finally spoke. "You have a gargantuan pair of cojones, Lynch."

"They're absolutely magnificent."

He was silent again. "I'll let you in the room with him during questioning, but that's the best I can do."

"Come on, you wouldn't even be close to having him if it wasn't for Kendra."

"He's not ours yet."

"He will be, and it will all be because of her. Just give us forty-five minutes alone with him."

"You're asking? Not demanding? Not threatening to sic the Justice Department on me?"

"I'm asking. You want answers. I'll get you answers. It may not be according to the rule book, but it will be quick, and it might save lives."

Another silence. "The Residence Inn on El Miro Boulevard. Suite 42. You go in before we take official custody. I don't want to know how you plan on handling the interrogation. I did not give you permission to barge in and take over my case. I may even complain to the Justice Department about your actions. Everyone knows that you have no discipline and would be completely out of control in a situation like this."

"A wild card?" he asked softly. "Wild cards can be useful, can't they?"

Griffin didn't answer the question. "Forty-five minutes." He hung up.

Kendra let out the breath she'd been holding. "I didn't think he'd do it."

"Griffin isn't always predictable. I thought it was worth a shot." He put the car in gear. "He wants this case wrapped up and is willing to sacrifice us to nudge it along. Why not? His a.s.s won't be on the line."