[Quinn 03] - Shadow of Betrayal

“How long was I out?”

“A little over an hour.”

Quinn blinked several times, then looked out the window. Night still, but the massive Sierra Nevada mountains were gone. In the distance he could see the glow of a city on the horizon. He checked his watch. It was a few minutes before 4 a.m.

“Where exactly are we?” he asked as he stood up.

“Those lights out there are from Santa Maria. We’re about forty miles south, right where the pilot said he was to receive his next instructions. But there’s no sign of the others.”

“North,” Quinn said. “They’ll be on the other side of Santa Maria somewhere. As close as they can get to Hearst Castle without drawing any attention.”

“It’s a pretty tight perimeter up there. There’s a message on the radio warning of a no-fly zone starting south of Arroyo Grande. That’s only about fifteen miles beyond Santa Maria.”

“I need to see a map,” Quinn said.

“There’s one up front.”

•    •    •

There were only two seats in the cockpit. Orlando sat in the one on the left, the gun in her hand pointed at the pilot. He was sitting in the one on the right.

They both glanced over as Quinn leaned between them.

The look on the pilot’s face was tense. Quinn noticed sweat streaks running past his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Where’s the map?” Quinn asked.

“Behind my chair,” Orlando said.

Quinn grabbed it. It was a book kind of like the Thomas Guide he had in his car, only not quite as thick. He found the page showing the central coast of California, then traced a line along Highway 101 between Santa Maria and Arroyo Grande. There were a couple of smaller towns in between. There was also plenty of wilderness and hilly areas where a helicopter—or even three—could land unnoticed.

“We’ll go here,” Quinn said, pointing at a spot on the map and showing it to both Orlando and the pilot.

The place he’d chosen was just a few miles southeast of Arroyo Grande, on the edge of a town called Los Berros. He knew they were pushing it to try and get in that close to the no-fly zone, but he didn’t know what other choice he had. The other helicopters most likely hadn’t gone that far, so there was a chance Quinn might be able to get in front of them. A small chance, granted, but it was something.

The pilot banked the helicopter to the right, then flew north, bypassing Santa Maria and keeping several miles to the east of the highway.

Less than a minute later a voice came over the radio. “Aircraft traveling north-northwest nearing Nipomo, be advised we have you on radar. Please identify yourself.”

“That’s us,” the pilot said.

“Take us lower,” Quinn said.

“There are hills down there,” the pilot protested.

“Then try not to hit them.”

“Unidentified aircraft, please respond.”

The helicopter dove down several thousand feet until it was only a hundred feet aboveground.

“Hug the terrain,” Quinn said, knowing it would cut down on their radar signature.

“Unidentified aircraft, you’re instructed to head south-southeast to the Santa Maria Public Airport. You are to land and await further instructions. Please confirm.”

On the ground below, Quinn could see scattered homes. Most were dark at this hour, but a few had lights on.

“Two miles,” Orlando said.

“Unidentified aircraft. Please be advised you are nearing a no-fly zone. If you enter the zone, you will be shot down. Unidentified aircraft, please respond.”

“One mile,” Orlando said.

“Company,” Nate said.

He was standing behind Quinn and pointing over Quinn’s shoulder and out the front window to the left.

A black spot on the deep blue sky was rapidly approaching. Within seconds it buzzed by them.

“I’m turning around,” the pilot said.

Orlando raised her gun. “Nate,” she said, “you ready to take over?”

“Absolutely,” Nate said.

“Jesus,” the pilot said. “They’re going to shoot us down.”

“Shut up, and keep on course,” Quinn said.

“He’s back,” Orlando said. She motioned with her chin at the window beyond the pilot.