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it.  That one was up in his other safe.  This one was off the books, but was identical except for the serial number.
    “Just the two,” he muttered softly to himself having decided a long gun wouldn’t be needed this time, and let the door swing closed.  Then he latched it closed and moved the heavy toolbox back into place to help hide the opening. 
    He walked to the Toyota, and placed the pistols into the small carrying case in the trunk.  Everything else he needed was already in the car, including one of his fake ID kits in the glove box.  He climbed in and started the engine, then backed the car out into the open air where he gave it a moment to warm up while he thought through his intended actions.  After several minutes, he pressed the remote control for the automatic door to close up the garage, then pressed his foot down on the accelerator, turning away from his house and headed for the freeway that would take him to the airport.
    The drive to the airport only took fifteen minutes.  His plane, a very nice Cessna Corvalis TTX, was parked at an FBO (Fixed Base Operator) on the eastern edge of the Reno-Tahoe International Airport.  He was well known to the staff there, and flew at least once a month.  Learning to fly and buying the plane had become a necessity when he’d decided a few years ago to pursue these kinds of matters by himself.  He needed to cover large distances, sometimes quickly, and he couldn’t travel commercially with the kinds of weapons he needed to bring along.  The private plane had been the obvious solution.
    “Local, or a bit further?” Ted asked when Jake walked through the entrance to the small business on his way to the parking area where the planes were kept.
    “A bit further today,” Jake admitted.  “Thought I’d fly down to Vegas for a couple of days.”
    Ted grinned.  “I wish I could come with you, but some of us have to work.”  Jake’s semi-retired status was well known among the small group that worked at the airfield.
    Jake waved as he continued through the small building, carrying the small case that contained the pistol and the single bag with spare clothes and other necessities.  He walked onto the blacktop and turned to the right where his Cessna was kept.  Once there he used his key to open the storage area, and placed the items inside, the case latching in place to a special pre-fitted restraint he’d built in some time earlier.
    After a careful preflight inspection of the aircraft, Jake strapped in and set one of his radios to the clearance delivery frequency.
    “Reno clearance delivery Cessna seven three three six November,” Jake broadcast.
    “Cessna seven three three six November, clearance delivery,” was the response.
    “Cessna seven three three six November requests IFR (Instrument Flight Rules ) clearance  to Las Vegas McCarran.”
    “Cessna three six November, clearance on request.  Advise when ready to copy.”
    “Cessna three six November is ready to copy,” Jake said.
    “Cessna seven three three six November is cleared as filed to Las Vegas McCarran via left turn after departure to heading zero nine zero, intercept victor one zero five, climb and maintain one two thousand.  Expect one seven thousand ten minutes after departure.  Squawk 4130, departure frequency one one nine point two.”
    Jake wrote the clearance on his knee pad in shorthand, and then pushed the mike button on the side of the stick controller and responded.
    “Cessna seven three three six November is cleared as filed to Las Vegas McCarran via left turn after departure to heading zero nine zero, intercept victor one zero five, climb and maintain one two thousand.  Expect one seven thousand ten minutes after departure, squawk 4130, departure frequency one one nine point two,” Jake said as he finished repeating back the instructions.
    “Cessna three six November read back correct,” came back to him from the air traffic controller.
    “Three six