Stealing Gulfstreams by James Patterson & Max Dilallo

Author:James Patterson & Max Dilallo [Patterson, James & DiLallo, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780316465458
Google: 3BcxDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B01IN5B2IW
Barnesnoble: B01IN5B2IW
Goodreads: 36076406
Publisher: BookShots
Published: 2017-09-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

I spend the rest of the weekend fretting over this latest run-in with Mr. León.

Because it just isn’t making sense.

First he calls me at work, to spook me and tell me he’s going to need some more planes—soon. Next he shows up at a poker tournament, to make it clear he’s watching my every move, no matter where I go. But then he almost mows me down outside the stadium, just to remind me to keep my mouth shut or else?

Right—because I’d been planning on blabbing to the whole world that I’m guilty of multiple counts of felony aircraft theft.

I’m still thinking about all this as I speed down US-6 toward my office on this warm desert morning. All the windows of my Camaro are down, and the highway air feels refreshing and invigorating as it blasts my face.

I take the exit for Tonopah Airport. I pull into the main entrance.

And I immediately slam on my brakes.

Oh, my God. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Parked in front of my hangar is a black SUV—with government plates. Arturo and some other crew guys are being interviewed by a man and a woman in dark suits, with gold badges and holstered sidearms clipped to their belts.

The feds?

Stay calm, Jack. If the government was raiding the place, taking us down, even just executing a search warrant, there’d be a whole throng of them. Right? A SWAT team. A chopper. But I only see two. Asking questions, looking around, taking notes.

Not a great sign, don’t get me wrong. But way better than the alternative.

I consider pulling a U-turn and driving away. Coming back later after they’ve left. But one of the agents turns and sees my vehicle. Oh, well. It’s probably smarter to act cool and cooperative anyway rather than edgy and evasive. So I pull my Camaro up to the hangar, put it in park, and casually step out. Don’t screw this up, I tell myself.

“John Flynn?” the male suit asks, sizing me up. He’s fairly tall, trim, with square-rimmed glasses framing a stern oval face.

“John was my father,” I say. “I go by Jack. How can I help?”

“I’m Special Agent Aaron Laurito, FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Jessica Weiss. We’re investigating a string of private corporate jet thefts over the past few months. Most recently, one was taken outside Seattle. At gunpoint. Witnesses say the two pilots bore a striking resemblance to you and your younger brother.”

Oh, shit. Maybe this is why León warned me to keep my mouth shut?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, cool as can be, “about the plane and the coincidence. I can assure you, Cole and I had nothing to do with it.”

I gesture to Arturo and the others. Many of them have served time in prison and understand the value of a solid alibi. I know they’ll have my back in a heartbeat.

“Ask any of these guys,” I continue. “They’ll tell you I’ve been working alongside them just about all day and night for months.

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