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“He say his name?”
“No, no names.”
“I saw you delay when he drove away. Did you get the plate?”
“There is no plate. He’s got a Gadsden flag on there. Rattlesnake, the whole bit.”
“‘Don’t tread on me.’”
“Right.”
This told Ballard that the badge buyer was either claiming to be a sovereign citizen or posing as one. She knew from FBI bulletins and LAPD intel alerts that sovereigns were considered anti-government extremists who did not recognize any taxing, licensing, or law enforcement authority. The last alert she remembered stated that the number of sovereigns in the country had grown markedly since the twin ideological earthquakes of the COVID pandemic and the failed insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. The alert had concluded with the warning that all sovereigns should be considered armed and that law enforcement should approach with extreme caution. Because of this, most cops looked the other way when noticing the fake plates.
Ballard checked the van ahead and goosed the Defender to catch up and not be left behind at a traffic light.
“He has a bumper sticker on there too,” Bosch said. “‘Your Vaccine Is a Bioweapon.’”
“Nice,” Ballard said.
“These nutters like to stockpile weapons and they talk a good game, but they’re usually guys who just don’t want to pay taxes, whether it’s on income, property, or cars.”
“Not the case here, I don’t think. He’s up to something.”
“You sure?”
“No, but why buy guns illegally when you don’t have to? Why would a guy who supposedly doesn’t recognize the police as a legit authority buy a police badge?”
“There’s that.”
Both were quiet for a long moment as they contemplated the badge buyer and what he might be planning. Bosch finally spoke.
“I’m out of the lot now. I’ll hang back, but which way are you going?”
“North on Ocean. Coming up on Broadway now.”
“Okay, I’m five behind and will cut it to two.”
“Sounds good. Keeping the line open.”
Ballard kept her eyes on the white van, which was now about two blocks ahead of her in moderate traffic. She was watching the crosswalk countdowns and maintaining a pace that would keep her from getting stopped by a traffic signal.
She saw the van glide into the left-turn lane ahead and she prepared to follow suit. “Harry, he’s going down the California Incline.”
“Got it.”
Cars stacked up in the turning lane and Ballard ended up only three cars behind the van. She caught a glimpse of the badge buyer in the van’s rectangular side-view mirror. He was wearing sunglasses.
The arrow turned green and the van made the turn. Ballard followed, keeping the three-car separation. The traffic dropped down and the road merged with the Pacific Coast Highway. The van moved to the inner lane, indicating to Ballard that the guy would not be turning off anytime soon.
“On PCH, heading toward Malibu.”
“I missed the light at the Incline. You got him for now.”
“Not a problem.”
She thought about where the badge buyer might be headed. She knew that the sovereigns fit in nicely with most of the other extremist groups nowadays, from Aryan Nation to the Oath Keepers to the grabbag of other groups that had charged the Capitol three years before. That didn’t quite fit with Malibu, but beyond Malibu was Ventura County and towns like Oxnard and Fillmore, where such groups were known to have roots.
But the badge buyer stopped well short of Ventura County or even Malibu. Just past Sunset Beach, still within the city limits of Los Angeles, the van pulled to the side of the road across the coast highway from the beach at Castle Rock. The van eased into a spot behind a large RV that was parked in a line of other RVs, smaller campers, and vans below the cliff facings of the Pacific Palisades.
