“Renée, what’s wrong?” Bosch repeated, his voice rising.
“Nothing,” Ballard said. “I walked into a wet towel on, like, a clothesline. It’s gross. But I’m in the back and I’ve got my phone light on. Let me know if you see it through the curtains.”
She did a quick sweep with the light across the rear of the van. “Anything?” she asked.
“Not really,” Bosch said. “But I’m a lot farther away than the people in the fire circle.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“What do you see?”
She swept the light across the space slowly.
“Queen-size mattress at the back,” she said. “Looks like it’s on top of a built-in box. A large plywood box for storage. The bed’s not made. There are clothes and other shit hanging in nets on the side walls.”
She moved toward the back. There was a sheet hanging off the unmade mattress and over the edge of the wooden box. Ballard swiped the sheet away to see if there was a latch or handle for opening the box.
There was a padlock.
“Shit,” she said.
“What?” Bosch responded, panic in his voice.
“The bed sits on this built-in storage unit. But it’s got a lock on it.”
“Did you bring picks with you?”
“No, but it’s a combo.”
“You see any hinges?”
“Hold on.”
She put the phone down on the carpeted floor of the van and moved to the bed. The mattress was no more than four inches thick. It was easy for her to push up and roll back so she could examine the top of the wooden box.
There was a seam halfway back on the top of the box and two metal hinges. She put the light close to one and saw three screws holding each side of the hinge.
“Two hinges, three screws each,” she said. “I need a Phillips-head.”
“That’ll take too long,” Bosch said. “Just get out of there. We’ll figure something else out.”
Ballard swept the light across the full rear compartment of the van. On the floor under the back of the driver’s seat there was a red metal box that was either for tools or first aid. She crawled over, pulled the box out, and flipped the lid open. The box contained tools, and there was a Phillips-head screwdriver clipped to the top of it.
“I have a screwdriver right here, courtesy of our badge buyer.”
“Just be quick, Renée, okay? I’m going to change position to see if I can get a direct look at the circle jerks.”
Ballard smiled. “I’ve got six screws to remove,” she said. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”
She moved back to the box and went to work. It was a homemade job, and the screws anchoring the hinges to the plywood had loosened over time from the repeated opening and closing of the lid. They turned easily and Ballard had all six out in less than five minutes.
“How are we doing?” she asked. “Screws are out and I’m going to open the lid.”
“I’ve got eyes on the circle,” Bosch said. “I can’t see everybody, but I’ll be able to see if anybody moves toward the van.”
“Good.”
“But don’t waste time. See what’s there and get the hell out.”
Ballard didn’t respond. She held her phone light up with one hand and raised the lid with the other. She folded it down over the padlock.
The box was filled to the top with haphazardly folded clothing. She swept the light across. There were several pairs of jeans, jackets, and shoes. Still holding the light up, she started grabbing clothes and pulling them out of the box, digging down to the bottom.
Soon she saw the glint of metal and began uncovering weapons. There were rifles, handguns, boxes of ammo, combat knives, and more.
“There are enough weapons here to start a little war,” Ballard said, “but he still needs four machine guns. This guy’s—”
She stopped talking when she flipped over an assault vest with metal plates and saw LAPD stenciled across the front and back.
“What?” Bosch said. “I lost you.”
“He’s got an LAPD SWAT vest. What the fuck is this guy up to?”
“We’ll figure it out. What about your badge?”
“Not here, as far as I can tell.”
“Okay, then, why don’t you get the hell out of there. Now, Renée.”
“I can’t just leave it like this. He’ll know we’re onto his ass. I need to put everything back like I found it.”
“You’re going to give me a heart attack here.”
“I’m fine, Harry.”
“For now. Just hurry it up.”
“Yes, Dad.”
She put the phone down next to her knee so she could put everything back into the box. She had to carefully refold some of the clothes so they would look the way she had found them. She closed the lid and started screwing the hinges back into place.
She had just moved to the second hinge when she heard Bosch’s voice in her earbud.
“Renée, listen to me. He’s coming to the van. He and another guy. It’s too late to get out. You need to hide.”
“Hide? It’s a van, Harry.”
“I know, but they’re right there. Hide. Now.”
Ballard abandoned the hinge and flipped the mattress back down. She grabbed her phone and killed the light, then climbed onto the mattress, bunched an insulated blanket into a ball, and propped the two pillows on either side of it. She slid down between the pile and the back doors of the van. In the darkness she looked for a handle she could use to open the back doors if she needed to escape, but she saw nothing. The handle was beneath the level of the built-in storage box.
She reached down, slid the left leg of her jeans up, and pulled her Ruger out of her ankle holster.
She heard the voices of two men outside the van. The front doors opened and the men got in.
17
If the two men in the front of the van knew that Ballard was hiding in the back, they didn’t give any sign of it. Neither opened the curtain to look. The engine started, and Ballard felt the van jerk into motion. The driver pulled out onto the coast highway and started heading north. Ballard heard Bosch’s panicked voice in her ears.
“Renée, I’m right behind you in the Defender,” he said. “Can you speak? Probably not. What about text — can you text? I need some kind of a signal from you or I gotta stop this. I’ll figure out how to do it. If I don’t get something from you in three minutes, I’m going to stop the van, even if I have to run it off the road.”
Ballard raised her head slightly and looked over the pile of bedding to the front of the van. The curtains were still closed, and judging from the banter between the driver and passenger, they didn’t know of her presence. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked that it was set to silent mode, then texted Bosch an all-clear message.
Code 4. Don’t stop the van.
She waited for Bosch to acknowledge.
“Okay, I got your text,” he said. “But if you say my name, that will be the signal for me to make a move. Anything goes sideways, just say my name. I don’t know if you can see where they’re going, but right now it’s north — actually, I guess it’s more west now — on PCH through Malibu.”
Ballard knew what he meant. Most of Malibu’s coast had a southern exposure as the coastline jutted out. It was what made several of its beaches good surfing breaks.
She thought of something and sent Bosch another text.
I can hear them when they talk. Send him a text about the SIGs, get them talking.
Bosch acknowledged verbally and she waited for his text to land. Soon she heard a phone ping, and the men up front started talking.