6:24 p.m.
1 hour 36 minutes until Cassandra’s deadline Dusk was over, night was here.
It took me a few minutes to locate Lieutenant Mendez, but finally I found her talking with one of the base liaisons. They’d spread out the blueprint of the building on the hood of an MP’s car.
I hurried to her. Just as I arrived, she finished her briefing with the senior chief petty officer and then gave me a quick rundown: No known casualties. The base had received an anonymous bomb threat two hours before the fire. They’d cleared Building B-14, swept for explosives, found none, and were just about to let the staff return when the fire alarms went off. Because of the bomb threat, there was some confusion about whether to send in the bomb squad or the firefighters. Ten minutes later, it didn’t matter. The building was in flames, and all they could do was try to control the blaze.
“He was really quite clever,” Aina said. “He got everyone out of the building, plus he created enough confusion to give the fire time to ignite.”
“You’re sure it’s our guy?”
“Pretty sure.” She drew my attention to the blueprint. “Fire started here, on the east wing, near the A/C center.”
I immediately saw why she thought it was our arsonist. “Fits the pattern.”
“Si.”
I traced my finger along the blueprint. “Just like the first fourteen fires, he used vents and airflow to direct the blaze.”
Aina picked up on my train of thought. “The building’s main air-conditioning vents blew directly on the fire, feeding it a steady stream of air, here-”
“Creating a giant blowtorch that shot the fire through the building’s air ducts. Building B-14 didn’t have a chance.”
“You think like an arsonist,” she said.
“No,” I said, turning to face the fire. “If I did, I’d know why he chose this building.”
Creighton Melice grabbed the new cell phone he’d bought half an hour ago. Time to leave the warehouse and meet with Hunter to make the exchange.
Well, to be more accurate: to get the device. There wasn’t going to be any exchange. There was only going to be a dead ex-SEAL.
He didn’t want to worry about Cassandra somehow escaping, so he double-checked the security of the cotter pins that locked the metal bars in place at the top of the tank. The pipes passed through holes drilled into the glass, and since the cotter pins that secured the pipes were outside the glass, there was no way for her to get out, even if she were able to break the chain.
“See you soon, Cassandra,” he called. “I hope I make it back in time to say good-bye.”
The water was up to her chest. Cassandra shouted at him, a muted, hollow cry, and spit at the glass. Creighton waited a moment to watch the saliva slide into the water, and then he left her, locked the warehouse door behind him, and stepped into the cool San Diego night.
While Lien-hua went to speak to some base personnel about the nature of the bomb threat used to clear the building, I met with Aina and Ralph to try and narrow down where Hunter might be hiding.
“He could be in the crowd,” Ralph said.
“We thought of that,” said Aina. “We’re checking on everyone who’s here.”
“No,” I said. “Not this guy. He leaves. Remember? The trolley system. He likes to disappear fast, and he knows how to do it.
He’s not going to stick around. Besides, he needs to get to shore.
He wants to save Cassandra.”
I tried to figure out what the best entrance and exit routes would be. How would I get off Coronado Island?
Obvious choice: drive. Either the Coronado Bridge or the Silver Strand, the narrow strip of land that leads from the island to Impe-rial Beach. Aina seemed to read my mind. “The military is treating this as domestic terrorism,” she said. “They’re stopping all traffic leaving the island.”
“Boats?” I asked her.
“Already on it. We took a few people in for questioning. It doesn’t look like anything though.”
I heard the sound of a chopper and noticed a news helicopter hovering above the shore of the mainland. Hmm. It was possible.
“See if there’s been any base air traffic in the last hour. Choppers especially.”
“You serious, Pat?” said Ralph. “You think he flew out?”
“Just trying to eliminate the possibility.”
Aina spoke into her walkie-talkie. “No air traffic,” she said.
“Not in the last two hours.”
“Then there’s only one option left,” I said.
“What’s that?” she asked.
I pointed to the dark ocean. “He swam.”
Austin Hunter threw his arm out of the water and grabbed the edge of the dock. It had taken him longer than he expected to get to shore, but he knew there would be too much attention drawn to this fire to get off the island any other way.
After he’d hoisted himself onto the dock, he slipped out of his swim fins and then yanked off his face mask and snorkel. Normally he would have used a scuba tank and a rebreather to eliminate bubbles, but tonight he’d needed to pull something with him.
In his black hybrid wet suit he doubted anyone passing by could see him, but he needed to make sure. He gave the area a quick visual.