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“I’d kill for a martini.”
“I’ll pass it on to Margie. That’s the flight attendant.”
Myra turned to Emerson. “If you don’t look a wreck. We’ve gotta get you some better people skills. Were you in another one of them bar fights?”
Riley’s eyebrows raised an inch. “Bar fight? Emerson?”
“I swear, him and Vernon were a trial when they were younger, and they aren’t much better now.”
An older man with coarse gray hair and bushy eyebrows was sitting in a single seat toward the back of the plane.
“Dr. Bauerfeind,” Emerson said. “Nice to see you again. Sorry about my appearance. We had some problems getting out of the gold vault.”
“Understandable,” Bauerfeind said. “I had some problems as well. Fortunately Myra came and rescued me just as the Grunwalds’ henchmen were breaking down my door.”
“There were only two of them,” Myra said, “so it wasn’t much of a problem.”
“She kicked one of them in the privates,” Bauerfeind said. “And then she sucker-punched the other in the throat.”
“Yeah, and then we ran like the dickens and jumped into the car and took off for the airport,” Myra said.
“Tell the pilots that the first stop is Des Moines,” Emerson said. “After that it’s back to D.C.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Myra said. “Everyone take a seat and buckle up. Soon as we’re in the air, Margie will get you all something to eat and we can take a look at the hole in the back of Emmie’s head.”
—
They were an hour out of Des Moines when Riley woke up and looked with longing at the iPad on the console next to her.
“Are we still off the grid?” she asked Emerson.
“Not effectively,” he said. “I’m sure they’re tracking my plane. Although it might take some time to determine exactly who was incinerated in the van.”
“I’d like to tell my family I’m okay.”
“I’d prefer that you wait until we’re on the ground in D.C. It would spoil my plan if we were met by armed guards at the airport.”
“You have a plan?”
“Of course.”
“Does it involve the memory card?”
“Not directly. The photographs are worthless without a gold sample. Unless we can trace the gold back to the Federal Reserve, we can’t prove any wrongdoing.”
“What about the fake gold that’s in the Federal Reserve?”
“I doubt they’re going to open the vault to us, and the chances of breaking in again are slim to none. However, there is another source of recast gold.”
They simultaneously turned and looked at Günter passed out on the couch.
“I think I’m seeing your plan,” Riley said.
“How many martinis did he have?” Emerson asked.
“Too many,” Riley said.
“I can get the information I need verified by Vernon,” Emerson said. “He’s babysitting the house.”
