Page 141 of King’s Ransom

Waiting for me at the Skyport was the sleekest helicopter I’d ever seen.

It was a Bell 525 ‘Relentless’ model, the best helicopter money can buy.

Powerful and fast, it could carry sixteen passengers in absolute comfort and had a range of 600 miles. This one was painted gunmetal grey.

A pilot stood beside it, dressed in a white shirt with epaulettes, a peaked hat and Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses.

He was in his mid-fifties and had a grey bushy moustache and a big friendly smile.

‘Dr Speedman?’ he called over the wind.

‘That’s me.’

‘Irv Murphy, but everybody calls me Murph.’ He shook my hand firmly. ‘We got a nice quick flight today, forty minutes, tops.’

‘Call me Sam. Where exactly are we going, Murph?’

‘To Mr King’s drone base down in New Jersey, out by the Sandy Hook peninsula. It’s an old artillery range south of the national park.’

He caught me looking uncertainly at the choppy waters and the bracing wind.

‘You flown in a chopper before?’ he asked.

‘A few times, yeah, but to be honest, they make me nervous.’

(I figured it wasn’t necessary to tell him about my chopper lessons and my recent—if brief—chopper flight atop 59West on December 21st.)

‘Bit windy today, but don’t you worry, son, you’ll be safe with me, I promise,’ Murph said. ‘I’ve been flying choppers for thirty years and this 525 is the best dang bird I’ve ever flown. Flies smoother than silk, she does. Jump aboard.’

Within moments, we were flying low over the bay, passing the Statue of Liberty as we headed south, out toward the Sandy Hook peninsula and the Atlantic Ocean.

I sat up front with Murph, wearing a headset.

He’d offered me a (huge leather) seat in the back, but I didn’t like the idea of sitting by myself in a space that could hold fifteen more people while Murph was up front, also by himself, flying the chopper.

Irv Murphy was a very nice man.

He was married with two daughters and was an ex-Navy pilot.

He was also very chatty, which we detectives like.

‘How long have you worked for Mr King?’ I asked.

‘Seven years now. Good gig, pays well, too. Mr King likes hiring ex-military types, as a thank you for our service. Stand-up guy, he is.’

‘Do you know his wife?’

‘Which one?’ Murph laughed.

‘The latest one, Yasmina. Full disclosure, I’m working for her, which is why I think Mr King wants to see me.’

Murph nodded. ‘Yeah, I heard about what she did, paying somebody to kill all those people in the tower. Gotta say, it surprised me. She seemed okay. A bit brusque, maybe, but she was always polite to me and the other staff—asking after my family and all that—not like the middle wife, Shelby. Man, she treated us like dirt. Don’t think she ever said a word to me beyond “Let’s go. I’m in a hurry.”’

‘Hmmm,’ I said.

As we reached the coast, we flew south down the length of the Sandy Hook peninsula.

The peninsula was a super-long sand dune-covered barrier spit that protected New York Bay from the Atlantic.