The President didn't try to conceal his irritation. "Bud, let me allay your concerns. You can have all the money in the world, but if you've got a gun barrel jammed against your head, you get into compliance posthaste."
Tidwell darted a glance at the Secretary of Defense before he answered. "Yes, I see your point."
After an early-morning jog in the drizzling rain, Steve Wickham showered and dressed in slacks and a sport coat, then went down to the restaurant to meet Susan and Marcus. He found them having coffee and gazing out at the miserable weather.
"Good morning," Steve said and slid the packet of photographs on the table.
"You're bright and cheery," Marcus observed and automatically turned to look at the large envelope.
"Theresa had these developed last night," Wickham informed them and pulled a vacant chair toward the table. "After looking at them, I discovered another interesting anomaly about the home with the camouflage wind sock."
Callaway opened the envelope and spread the enlarged photos in front of him while Steve sat down and ordered his usual hot tea.
Susan leaned over for a closer look. "Considering the weather, these turned out a lot better than I expected."
"Look at these two prints," Steve said excitedly and shoved them directly in front of Susan and Marcus. "Have you ever seen a tennis court without a fence around it?"
The Bureau agents carefully examined the photographs and then exchanged glances. The tall, imported trees that surrounded the court were bunched together, but the trunks were too far apart to stop a misguided basketball, let alone a tennis ball.
"You're right," Callaway finally agreed, "but you would never know it from the road. The trees block everything except the view from higher up on the ridgeline."
"And no one lives up there as far as we know," Susan Nakamura added, remembering the terrain that sloped upward behind the isolated home.
"That's right," Steve commented and turned the photo around for a better view. "The tennis court is a perfect helipad, and it's totally concealed except from above."
Marcus had a sudden thought. "Think about all of the fly-in communities from California to Florida. Many of the homes have attached hangars that are cleverly disguised as part of the main structure."
Susan and Steve nodded in silent agreement.
"I remember one case in particular," Callaway went on enthusiastically. "A guy we finally put away, who happened to be involved in an elaborate counterfeiting operation, owned a gigantic home at a fly-in subdivision in Florida. The place had a hangar that appeared to be part of the home. The hangar doors — one on the front and one at the back — were operated by remote control from the airplane. He could taxi in the back after he landed, then taxi out the front when he was ready to fly."
Thinking back to the arrest of the eccentric forger, Marcus grinned. "The front door — the doors were the bifold type — had windows that matched the ones at the other end of the home. That hangar was really elaborate."
Steve tilted one of the photos upward and then looked at Callaway. "Do you think there's a hangar concealed in this home?"
"I wouldn't bet against it."
Susan carefully inspected the photographs and sat back in her seat. "Why would someone have two jackhammers near the pool area? The house appears to be finished as far as I can tell."
"To mask the sounds of a helicopter's rotor blades," Marcus casually offered without looking up. "Throw in the screech of a power saw, or something equally loud, and it sounds like you're still building the house. The racket might not conceal the sounds of a big military chopper, but it sure would disperse the noise from a JetRanger."
Steve paused to look at the prints and form a mental image of the view from the highway. "You can't tell what's happening from the lower terrain, so who would question the sounds of a construction crew?"
Susan glanced at Wickham and gave him a lazy smile. "It does look suspicious, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he answered and hesitated while a customer walked past their table. "When you put everything together, including the guy you saw carrying a rifle, the oddities do raise a few questions."
She studied him with wondering curiosity. "More than a few questions, in my view."
"I may be wrong," Steve conceded, "but we won't know until we investigate."
"Let's take both cars," Susan suggested while she pointed to the tennis court, "and begin with this place. If we don't find anything there — or at the other two homes with heliports — we can split up and start canvassing the area."
"I'm ready," Steve declared while he finished the last sip of his tea and shoved the photographs into the packet.
After the trio walked out of the airy restaurant, a slight, nondescript Japanese diner who had been sitting with his back to the agents slowly adjusted his bow tie and reached for his check.
Chapter 13
Steve and Marcus slowed to a stop along Highway 83, north of Punaluu Beach Park, and examined the dog-eared aerial chart Theresa had given Wickham.
Susan followed them to the side of the road, then raised her binoculars and carefully studied the steeply rising terrain. The monotonous rain had finally stopped and the clouds were dissipating, leaving only the top of the slopes obscured. She examined the general area they had previously flown over, but was disappointed when she couldn't find a trace of the grand estate.
"I'm sure this is the right spot," Steve said confidently, pointing to the circled area on the map. "I guess we're going to have to do some reconnoitering to find the road up to the house."
Callaway studied the chart at length and then looked up toward the distant ridgeline. "If we're at the right place, which I'm sure we are, that house is definitely well concealed."
"This is the right place," Wickham said quietly. "I remember that point of land that juts out into the ocean, and I know the lot for the homesite had been leveled by a bulldozer."
"Okay," Marcus said. He placed the car in gear. "Let's go take a look."
Susan fell in trail while Steve and Marcus tried two different roads that went in the general direction of the hilltop home. Each promising avenue eventually turned into a narrow, muddy path that abruptly ended.
Wickham listened to the constant chatter over the FBI radio frequency. Susan and Marcus had agreed not to add to the communications problems unless it became a necessity.
"Dammit," Steve swore to himself. "I wish I'd paid closer attention when we flew over the place."
"Don't worry about it." Callaway gave him a cheerful look. "We'll find it in a few minutes."
Steve was about to suggest they call Theresa and see if she could fly to the house, then trace the road to its origin, when he noticed a secondary road leading into a thick forest. Many of the trees had been cut and were piled along the side of the road.
"Marcus, let's try that one."
Callaway cast a cautious look at the muddy trail. "I hope we don't get stuck in that mess."
"Have faith."
"Right."
With Susan close behind, Marcus negotiated the steeply rising drive for three quarters of a mile. At that point the soft surface widened into a paved roadway.
"It looks like we're onto something," Callaway suggested and glanced in the rearview mirror. Susan was right on their bumper.
A half mile farther they spotted the elegant home after the winding road suddenly turned into a long, stone and brick driveway.
"This is it," Wickham announced. He reached into his battered canvas bag and extracted a 9-millimeter M9 Beretta.
Callaway casually glanced at the handgun. "Let's hope we don't need any weapons."
"Yeah," Steve said while he checked the fifteen-shot magazine and slid the pistol into a specially made holster that attached to the back of his belt.