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53.
Jack was still pleading with her as she saw Cleve's patrol car slowly riding up out of the hidden parking lot below. She ducked down so he wouldn't see her. He was driving slowly enough, but faster than she could run. She would need to scramble back down the hill, get her car, and then find him. She watched to see which way he turned as he left Balboa Park. He turned right on Balboa Park, which would take him somewhere in the direction of the harbor.
Rather than scramble down the hill, she called Louise Trost. "Can you get me a chopper—STAT?"
"What's going on? I was just talking with your husband. You Simons are not Simple People."
"Louise, cut the crap. I need a chopper. I just saw Cleve put a tube in a social worker's neck and suck her life away."
"Ordinarily I would hang up about now, but after talking with your husband I'm convinced you can't both be nuts. After all, you come from different family trees. Where are you?"
"Balboa Park, the Park Boulevard entrance at Presidents' Way. There is a huge lawn here for a chopper to land on."
"Let me check. Hang on." She was silent a moment. "I'm on an emergency network, and I have priority."
"You talking to me?" Linsey asked.
"No, honey, I'm talking to the Highway Patrol. They have a chopper up over Highway 163 at Richmond Street, and it will be landing next to you in the next five minutes. That's the best I can do at the moment."
"Thanks, Louise. You are a doll."
"Just doing my job. Which way is Cleve headed? Give me the details and I'll have every cop in that part of town including the Navy and Marines on his case."
"Louise, hold off. I want to follow and see where Cleve goes. There must be a nest around here where those mushroom people hang out when they're not sucking on people's necks."
"Good idea, Linsey. Keep me informed."
As Linsey gave the number of Cleve's black and white, a chopper landed beside her. Linsey waved her gold badge. The chopper was an open four-seater with two men in jump suits and blue-gold helmets with shiny visors at the controls. They wore aviator sunglasses and had throat mikes.
She clambered on board, and the copilot checked she was securely buckled in. "What are we doing, Lieutenant?"
"You're following a black and white Harbor Police patrol car being driven by an officer who is to be considered out of control. He has a woman with him, African-American in a red business outfit, very fancy shmancy, probably unconscious. Both are to be considered armed and very dangerous. We need to locate them so we can quarantine them. We don't want to ourselves away, but we need to find out where Officer Bartlett is going."
As the chopper veered this way and that in strong, steady moves that left Linsey's lunch suspended in various places in mid-air, the co-pilot sat with his boots up on a steel bar and looked down with strong binoculars. He kept toggling from a medium field to a sharp focus, the same way Linsey used the little finder scope and larger viewing lenses of her telescope on the patio to locate a planet and then zoom in for a closer look.
"There he is," said the co-pilot. He pointed down among the tree crowns. She spotted the white roof and markings of Cleve's car and felt a lurch in her gut that made her want to cry. If only he could come back and have coffee and donuts with her—but those days were gone forever. A lot of things had suddenly changed for many people, she was sure.
"Just follow," she said.
The pilot nodded and hung back. He kept high enough so that the driver below would not notice the whine of his turbine engine or rattle of his powerful rotors.
"He is headed toward 32nd Street," the co-pilot said.
Lima Voyager, Linsey thought. The main nest. If not the main one, then the original one.
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