CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
1:15 a.m. – Pacific Time
Los Angeles International Airport
The airport was quiet.
A handful of people moved here and there under the soaring four-story ceilings. Airport service personnel, people who had come in on late flights, people who were stuck on layovers, waiting for early morning flights. The distant whine of a vacuum cleaner came from somewhere.
Pierre and his daughters had landed just moments ago. The girls were sleepy, and with good reason. It was a long flight. He held each of their hands as they stumbled along, eyes half open. They were flanked by Secret Service men and women. Red caps pushing their baggage in carts followed along behind.
An advance Secret Service man in a blue suit approached.
“Mr. Michaud? I’m Agent Ferguson. Sir, the cars are se
