The Baron shot into the clouds like a stone thrown through a waterfall, and his heart lightened instantly. The FBI chopper couldn’t see him now unless it had radar. And if he dropped to treetop level, it would take an air force AWACs with look-down radar to find him. He felt a brief chill as he remembered that Keesler Air Force Base was only a few miles behind them. There might be an AWACs in the air already, on maneuvers, and after his stunt at the Gulfport field, they might be glad to shadow him for the FBI. He needed to get down into the ground clutter as soon as possible.
“What about the house Joe took you to that night?” he asked. “By McComb. Anything else come to you?”
“No.”
“When the FBI raided the cabin, they found Huey’s truck. That means Huey and Abby probably left in another vehicle. Were there any other cars at the cabin?”
“I told you, I never went there.”
“But you must have heard them talking.”
“There’s a tractor there. I know that. Huey bush-hogs fields for part-time work.”
Will tried to picture Huey and Abby escaping from a SWAT team on a rusty John Deere. It didn’t seem likely.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about Joe’s family. Cars they’ve had. Come on…”
Cheryl shook her head in exasperation.
In the switchboard center at the Beau Rivage, a young operator sat reading the unabridged version of The Stand. When the hotel’s main line rang, he answered the way he always did: “Beau Rivage Casino Resort.” But when the caller asked for Suite 28021, he punched Alt-Z on his computer, executing a macro set up at the request of Remy Geautreau, the front desk manager. A digital connection was made and a forwarding number dialed. The operator verified that the macro had executed, then went back to his Stephen King novel.
Will jumped when the cell phone rang, but he dug it quickly from his pocket and checked his watch.
“I’m going to answer,” he said. “If it’s Joe, I’ll feel out what he expects and play it by ear. Hold the phone up to my ear, and hit SEND when I tell you.”
Cheryl held up the phone, but Will said nothing. He had just realized something. At maximum cruise, the Baron’s engines sounded like twin tornadoes, even with the soundproofing. Telling Hickey they were stuck in traffic near the Beau Rivage wouldn’t explain the roar. Hickey might even recognize the distinctive sound of airplane engines.
The cell phone kept ringing.
Will had two choices. Throttle the engines back to idle and hope they were quiet enough to be undetectable over the cell phone, or cut them altogether. Cutting the engines was far more dangerous, but only that would guarantee that Hickey wouldn’t hear them.
“Are you going to answer?” Cheryl asked.
Thankful that he had not yet dived for the ground clutter, Will pulled back to idle, feathered his props, and killed both engines. In the eerie silence, the plane began to fall.
“Shit!” Cheryl screamed. “What happened?”
“Hit SEND.”
Her face was bone-white. “Are we going to crash?”
“We’re fine! Hit SEND!”
He heard a beep, then the hiss of the open connection. “Joe?”
“How’s it hanging, Doc? You taking a nap up there?”
Up there? Will’s heart thudded. Then he realized that Hickey meant the hotel suite. He’d assumed Hickey would call Cheryl before he called the Beau Rivage, to verify that she’d gotten the money. But Hickey had clearly expected Will to answer this call. That meant Geautreau had successfully patched the call. It also meant that the “stuck in traffic” excuse was useless.
“Where’s Abby?” Will asked, trying to picture himself in the suite at the Beau Rivage rather than dropping toward the earth at a thousand feet per minute. “I want to talk to her.”
“Everything in its season, Doc. I’ll be talking to you soon.”
The phone went dead. Will dropped it in Cheryl’s lap and began his midair engine-start sequence.
“Start the engines!” she screamed. “We’re crashing!”
He felt a rush of exhilaration as the Continentals kicked off. He adjusted the pitch of his props and felt the plane leap forward as the blades bit into the air.
“Jesus God,” Cheryl whispered, when the nose of the Baron finally came level. “I almost puked.”
Will began climbing to regain the lost altitude. “Cheryl, I’ve got to know what kind of car Huey’s driving.”
“If you’d keep the damn engines running, maybe I could think.”
“You think like you’ve never thought in your life, goddamn it! We’re at seven thousand feet. We can glide for seven minutes without engines before we crash. Unless Joe gets talkative, we’re fine.”
“Why are you so mean?” she whined, her voice like a child’s. “I’m trying to help you!”
“Try harder.”
The cell phone rang in her lap.
“Who answers this time?” she asked.
“You. He just called me. He’s calling you to make sure I gave you the money.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“If he sounds surprised, tell him you came back to the hotel.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I shorted you on the money.”
She nodded.
“And try like hell to find out what Huey’s driving.”
“Okay.”
“Wait till I cut the engines.”
“Sweet Mary…”
Once again, Will pulled the engines back to idle, feathered his props, and starved the engines into silence.
Cheryl hit SEND as the plane began to glide earth-ward. “Joey?.. . Yeah, I’ve got it.” She gave Will a thumbs-up. “Three hundred and fifty thousand,” she said. “He tried to bribe me with it…Yeah. No problem. I think he’s about wasted by the whole thing… I’m on 110 now, headed up toward the interstate. Am I still going to the motel?”
Will heard a squawk from the phone, but he couldn’t distinguish words.
“Yeah, I remember…Uh-huh…What about Huey and the little girl?
… Joey, you’re not going to hurt that kid, are you?” She jerked the phone away from her ear. “I’m sorry…I know. I will. I’m on my way.”
She clicked off.
Will restarted the engines, and once again the Baron began to climb.
“What did he say about Abby?”
“He told me not to talk about it on the phone.”
“What else did he say?”
“Go to Paco’s place.”
“What’s that?”
“A club. It’s on the county line near Hattiesburg. I danced there for a while. They’ve got rooms out back for the girls.”
“He said the name of the club on the phone?”
“No. The name of the club is Paradise Alley. Paco just works there. He’s tight with Joey.”
Will pulled out a map. He knew Mississippi like the back of his hand, but he wanted to visualize vectors as accurately as he could. I-55 was the main north/ south artery, and it bisected the state. Jackson sat in the middle,
