"Get the names and pertinent information, Major," Tyrell continued, giving the wallets and pa.s.sports to Neilsen. "Go inside and turn on a light."
"Right away, Commander." Cathy walked rapidly into the gla.s.s house.
"Major ... Commander?" cried the pilot. "What the h.e.l.l is this? Gunshots, a burning airstrip on a fancy estate, and the military? What did those sons of b.i.t.c.hes get us into, Ben?"
"Ahm a lieutenant," said Poole.
"d.a.m.ned if I know, Sonny, but if we get out of here, were taking our names off their list!"
"And just what list is that?" asked Hawthorne.
The flyers looked at each other. "Go on, tell him," said the pilot. "They havent a f.u.c.king thing on us!"
"Sky Transport International," said the copilot. "Its a placement service, sort of a cla.s.s-act employment agency."
"Ill bet it is. Wheres it located?"
"Nashville."
"Even better. All those country millionaires."
"Weve never knowingly flown a felon or any individual or individuals carrying illegal substances-"
"Yes, youve said that, Mr. Pilot. Outside of your legal expertise, where were you trained? The military?"
"Absolutely not," replied the copilot angrily. "The finest civilian schools, top graded by the FAA with a combined five thousand hours logged."
"You got somethin against the military?" asked Poole.
"The rigidity of the chain of command excludes individual initiative. Were better pilots."
"Now, just wait a hog-d.a.m.ned minute ...!"
"Hold it, Lieutenant." Catherine Neilsen came out of the radio house. "Any surprises?" asked Hawthorne, gesturing for the major to return the wallets and pa.s.sports.
"One or two," replied Cathy, handing their property over to the pilots. "Our fly-boys are named Benjamin and Ezekiel Jones. Theyre brothers. Theyve been traveling extensively during the past twenty months or so. Interesting places like Cartagena, Caracas, Port-au-Prince, and Estero, Florida."
"The lopsided rectangle," said Tyrell. "The last leg over the Everglades."
"Drop zones alpha through omega," commented Poole, disgust in his voice. "Pin-point releases the order of the day-like in OD, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Boy, did Ezekiel get the wheel!"
"Thats Sonny!" said the pilot.
"Can we get the h.e.l.l out of here?" Sweat poured down the copilots face as he kept glancing at the hedgerow fires.
"Oh, youre going to leave right away," answered Hawthorne, "and youre going to leave the way I tell you and do what I tell you. The lieutenant informs me that youve been cleared for Charlotte, North Carolina-"
"The departure times pa.s.sed and we havent confirmed a new one!" Benjamin Jones objected. "Wed never get clearance for that routing-theres traffic up there!"
"You boys better go back to one of those top-rated schools," said Jackson. "By the time you circle at a few hundred feet, Ill either have you a new routing or confirm the old one."
"You can do that, Poole?"
"Certainly, he can," replied Cathy. "So can I. That equipment reaches towers from Dulles to Atlanta. As Ben here said on the way up, Van Nostrand goes first cla.s.s."
"You expect us to fly right into a crowd of federals waiting for a pa.s.senger we havent got?" shouted Sonny-Ezekiel Jones. "Youre out of your f.u.c.king mind!"
"Youre out of yours if you dont," said Tyrell calmly, reaching into his pocket for a small telephone pad and pencil, courtesy of the hotel in San Juan. "Heres the number youre to call when you get to Charlotte. Use a credit card, because its in the Virgin Islands, and youll reach an answering machine."
"Youre crazy!" yelled Benjamin Jones.
"I really believe you should. You see, youll never fly a remotely legitimate plane again in this country if you refuse. On the other hand, if you do what I tell you to do, youre home free-with one proviso, which Ill get to in a moment."
"What proviso? What are we supposed to do?"
"To begin with, you wont be met by a crowd, but by Van Nostrands diplomatic escort-at best, one or two people. I want their names-you refuse even to speak to them until they sign a release."
"What release?"
"The date, time, and signatures that match their identifications, and the name of the specific individual who cleared your pa.s.senger and authorized the escort. They wont like it, but theyll understand; it goes with the territory."
"So we get the information, then what?" asked the brighter Ben Jones. "We dont have Van Nostrand to deliver!... Where is he anyway?"
"Indisposed."
"So what the h.e.l.l do we say?"
"That it was a dry run; Van Nostrands orders. They may even understand that better. Then get to a phone and call this number." Hawthorne shoved the small piece of paper into the copilots shirt pocket.
"Hey, wait a f.u.c.king minute!" Sonny-Ezekiel said. "What about our bread?"
"How much are you owed?"
"Ten thousand-five apiece."
"For a days work? Thats really inflated, Zeke. Ill bet its nearer two apiece."
"Well settle for four, thats eight, and its Sonny!"
"Tell you what, Sonny. Ill okay four thousand if you deliver the information in Charlotte. If you dont, its zip-zero."
"Words, Commander," said Benjamin Jones. "They sound pretty, but how do we get paid?"
"Easiest thing in the world. Give me twelve hours after your call from Charlotte. Then name a time and a place on that answering machine in St. Thomas, and a messenger will show up with the money."
"Words."
"Do I look or sound like a d.a.m.n fool whod give you a telephone drop you could trace?"
"Suppose no one answers," pressed the younger brother.
"Someone will. Look, were wasting time and you dont have a choice! I a.s.sume youve got the ignition key or whatever you call it."
"First thing I did," replied Sonny. "Only its a key to the pilots door; the plane operates with switches, groundhog."
"Then get going."
"Dont even consider s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us," said Benjamin. "We dont know what happened here, but if you think we bought that shooting-gallery bulls.h.i.t, think again, and the fact that our employer isnt on the plane makes us wonder. Ive read about this Van Nostrand-hes news, if you understand me. We could go public for a price."
"Are you threatening an officer of the United States Navy-naval intelligence, to be precise?"
"Are you bribing us, Commander? With United States taxpayers money?"
"Youre pretty sharp, Jones, but then, Ive learned that younger brothers often are-usually to their detriment.... Get out of here. Ill check St. Thomas in a couple of hours."
"Circle and radio me at three hundred feet," said Poole. "Keep your equipment tight to the area."
The brothers looked at each other. Sonny-Ezekiel shrugged, then glanced back at Hawthorne. "Reach that machine of yours, Commander. Then reach it again for our paycheck, only no check, hard cash."
"Ben," said Tyrell firmly, looking hard at the younger Jones. "Deliver Charlotte to me, or Ill track that Gulfstream to wherever you think you might sell it. And lastly, my proviso: Get out of the drug trade."
"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" muttered the copilot as both men turned and raced toward the lower hedgerow which had begun to burn itself out, now more smoke than flames.
"The fires are dying," said Cathy.
"The dry tops flare quickly," observed Jackson. "More light than heat so the green wont take."
"Its still got a way to travel," said Hawthorne.
"No, it doesnt," Poole corrected him, heading toward the door of the radio house. "Theres at least a hundred feet of s.p.a.ce between the bushes and the pumps."
"Thats why they wouldnt blow," observed Neilsen.
"I didnt care to be so specific, Cath.... Ive got work to do. I know the tower at Andrews, and theyll reach National for F.P. clearance before a computer can burp. That Gulfstreams on its way to Charlotte."
"Meet us at the house, in the library," Hawthorne said to Poole as the lieutenant disappeared into the tower. "Come on," he added, turning to the major. "I want to tear that place apart. Weve got to find a way to contact that other limousine. Bajaratts in it."
"My G.o.d! Are you sure?"
"Ill prove it. I hid the gatehouses entry log across the field. That limo you saw was the last car to enter; the proof is in the name, come on, Ill show you." Together they ran below and around the smoking, smoldering hedgerow to the area where Tyrell had concealed the thick, ringed ledger. Out of breath, Hawthorne knelt down to retrieve it.
It was not there.
Like a starving man searching for edible roots, Tye ripped up the earth, lurching from one side to the other, controlling his panic. He stopped, his eyes blazing. "Its gone!" he whispered, blinking, as rivulets of sweat rolled down his face.
"Gone ...?" Neilsen frowned, bewildered. "Could you have dropped it in the excitement?"
"I put it right there!" Hawthorne lunged to his feet like an angry cobra, whipping the .38 out of his belt. "And I dont drop things in excitement, Major."
"Sorry."
"So am I... I probably have dozens of times, but not this time. To begin with, its too big and too important.... Christ, someone else is here, someone we cant see whos watching us!"
"The cook? Guards from the gatehouse?"
"You dont understand, Cathy. Everyones left, theyve disappeared, even the cook-I let her out myself. n.o.body can be reached by phone, she told me that."
"Everyone?"
"Except for a guard who was killed, shot through the head at his desk."
"But if that entry log isnt here-"
"Exactly. Someone stayed behind, someone who knows Van Nostrands dead and wants to pick up whatever he can from an estate filled with high-priced goodies."
"Then why the gatehouse log? Its not silver or crystal or an art object."
Tyrell squinted, staring at Neilsen in the moonlight. "Thank you, Major, you just told me something I should have realized. Our illusive stranger is further up the totem than I considered. That log is worthless, except to somebody who knows how important it is. Ive really been away too long."
"What do you want to do?"
"Whatever it is, very carefully. Youve got a gun, dont you?"
"Jackson gave me the one he took from the radioman. I think its bigger."
"Thats better. Hold it out so its obvious and follow me. Do as I do-circle every few steps, countering my turns, if you can. Ill circle left, you circle right; that way all points are covered. Can you do that?"
"Can I handle a minisub I never saw before?"
"Its not the same, Major. Youre not handling a machine now, you are the machine. This is firing into a shadow that may or may not be human, and there cant be any excuse for not doing so. Our lives could be over in a moment of indecision."
"I read, speak, and understand English, Tye, and if youre trying to frighten me, youve succeeded."
"Good. Bravery frightens me; you can die from it." Moving carefully, the two circling figures crossed the vast lawn toward the great house; they reached the shattered library window, the subdued lighting inside emphasizing the jagged shards of gla.s.s within the frame. Tyrell hammered the barrel of his weapon along the bottom ledge to reduce the risk of cutting themselves when they climbed through. "Okay, Ill go first and pull you up," said Hawthorne as a nervous Catherine Neilsen stood behind him, facing the darkness, her automatic sweeping back and forth.
"Im not sure I even want to turn around," said Cathy. "I really dont like guns, but right now I feel very user-friendly with this ugly thing."
"I approve of your att.i.tude, Major." Tyrell leapt up, vaulting through the frame with his left hand, the .38 in his right. "All right," he continued, standing inside the window. "Put the gun-wherever you can put it-and grab my arm."
"My G.o.d, it scratches like h.e.l.l!" cried Neilsen, slipping the automatic into the top of her belted dress, and grabbing Hawthornes extended left arm. "Now what?"
"Put your feet against the side of the building and do what comes naturally as I pull you up. Its only a couple of steps, youll make it ... but dont put your feet on the ledge, if you can help it. You dont have shoes."
"I was wearing high heels, remember? They dont go with running for your life." The major did as she was told, her dress raised to her hips as she scaled the four feet to the window. "And modesty can go down the tube," she added, muttering, "if my underwear turns you on, thats your problem."
The bodies of Van Nostrand and his security chief lay where they fell; there was no sign that anything had changed, that anyone had been in the library since the gunfire that ended their lives. To make sure, Hawthorne crossed rapidly to the heavy paneled door; it was still locked.
"Ill cover us from the window," said Tye. "Check the telephone console; there should be a memory bank describing what numbers reach whom. See if there are speed dials to the limousines."