that makes you money,' she said.
'So… I guess this is the ultimate good-news, bad-news thing,' Rex said. 'The good news is we have a helicopter; the bad news is we have a helicopter.'
Laughter cut through some of the tension.
'This one's okay?' I asked Jasmine.
'Well, it just has to be, doesn't it?'
'Enough gas?'
She nodded.
'How about the stuttering from the engine?'
'Sounded like a fouled plug,' Jasmine said. 'I'll check once we excavate Rex's tools.'
The moon had started to dip below the trees as we piled out of the Suburban, pulled on dark coveralls and boots.
'One more thing,' Jasmine said. 'The 47 is a lot slower than the Jet Ranger. We can cruise around seventy- five knots… eighty-two or eighty-three miles per hour. It'll add another ten or fifteen minutes to the flight time.'
Time had become our enemy and this latest news urged us on faster. We used the bolt cutters to get rid of all the chains and padlocks, then rolled the light helicopter off the trailer with surprisingly little effort.
Rex and I unloaded the Suburban and tried to figure out what we could strap to the skids, under the fuselage, and to the forward portion of the tail frame. We soon realized we'd need to leave a lot of the gear behind.
While Rex and I struggled to sort out the gear, Tyrone and Jasmine unbolted the pesticide hoppers and removed the spray boom. With help from Anita, they hot-wired the simple ignition circuit, then patched the SuperNova spotlights' coiled power wires directly into the helicopter's twelve-volt electrical system.
Rex and I rigged a makeshift net from half-inch climbing rope and strung it from the front to the rear of the skids on both sides in roughly the same places the old M*A*S*H choppers carried the wounded.
The makeshift net also offered Rex and me a safer platform from which to ride the skids, necessary because the cockpit held only two people.
'Careful of the right side where the rear skid frame meets the tail,' Jasmine warned us. 'The exhaust pipes get really, really hot.'
The moon sank from sight as our watches raced toward 4:00 a.m. Dawn would follow soon. We'd be toast if we hadn't finished before it was light. Then, shortly before 4:15 a.m., we rolled out the floppy strip of metal-grid reinforcing wire used for light-duty concrete pavement like sidewalks and driveways. It was a good twenty feet long and eight feet wide. We stiffened it lengthwise with three lengths of half-inch steel rebar cable tied to the grid. Then we connected two 'vees' of rope to each side of the metal grid and a single piece of rope from the apex of the vees.
Rex and I climbed into our safety harnesses, checked our packs, and put them on. We put on our red helmets, as did Tyrone, who was our loadmaster and might have to climb out on the skids to hand us equipment depending on what transpired. He had put on his safety harness and helmet earlier.
I had the dead blond woman's H amp;K automatic in a thigh holster and spare magazines in the cargo pockets of my coveralls. Rex had a worn, nickel-plated. 38 °Colt automatic pistol with white grips my mother had left him in her will. Jasmine and Tyrone had the matching. 357 Ruger revolvers. They also had the M21 between them, but I doubted it would come in handy. If we got into a firefight, we were doomed.
As Jasmine fired up the helicopter's engine, Anita gave Rex a kiss and a hug, then drove away.
Rex and I slipped on our goggles and stood next to the metal grid as Jasmine lifted the helicopter about five feet off the ground. Her hover was unsteady at first, then grew more and more solid.
Using the walkie-talkies, Rex and I had her hover over the wire grid as we attached the ropes to the skids of the chopper. Then Rex made his way over to the left side of the craft. I climbed aboard my side and snapped my safety harnesses to the tail frame and radioed for Jasmine to lift off. I held on tight as she lifted slowly up into the dark sky.
'Hold a minute,' Rex's voice played in my radio earpiece. An instant later, brilliant light shot from his side. The SuperNova light on my side was snapped to one of the grid ropes with a carabiner. In the illumination of Rex's light, I spotted the metal grid spinning about, trying to keep time with the rotor downwash.
We landed for an instant to fix stabilizing lines from two of the metal grid's corners.
It was 4:30 A.M. when we took off again. I lay almost prone on top of the gear, head forward, legs splayed for bracing.
I pulled the night-vision spotting scope from my overalls and trained it ahead to keep an eye out for power lines. It made me wonder what other unseen terrors waited in the dark.
CHAPTER 80
David Brown leaned against the windowsill of the commandeered office on the fifth floor of the federal office building in Jackson, Mississippi, and looked down at the nearly deserted stretch of Capitol Street. A newly lit Marlboro hung from the corner of his mouth. 'Where the hell are you, you thieving pig-frigger?'
Brown drew on the Marlboro and let the smoke drift out his nostrils. A knock sounded on the door behind him, then he heard it open.
'What now?' Brown mumbled without turning. In the window's reflection, he saw his assistant's silhouette outlined by the light spilling in through the open door.
'I may have something'
Brown turned around. 'What kind of something?' He took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at his watch. It was 4:32 A.M. The sky would be brightening soon with the predawn glow.
'Call records from Stone's phone Verizon wouldn't release them without a subpoena.'
'Worthless bastards.' Brown sucked the Marlboro down to his nicotine-yellowed fingers. 'We've got to be able to get what we need without having to get some bleedingheart judge involved.'
'Yes, sir, well… We found calls to someone here in Jackson, a man named Rex, last name undetermined.'
'Come on! How can someone have Undetermined as a last name?'
Brown's assistant shrugged. 'He's a cipher. He's a contractor and took care of the maintenance on the apartment building where Stone's mother last lived.'
Brown scowled as he dropped the Marlboro on the polished linoleum floor and crushed it out with his shoe. 'Tell me something useful for a fucking change.'
'This Rex character is married to a doctor who works at the VA where Talmadge is being held. The MPs on Talmadge's floor spotted her this morning.'
Brown smiled broadly. 'We've got that cocksucker now! Let's make that bastard pay for all the trouble he's caused, him and that nigger bitch.'
The assistant turned his face away from the slur.
'Get moving!' Brown barked. 'Tell the VA to double the guard. Move Talmadge to another room; get the Jackson cops out there. Warm up our troops and let's make sure these slimefucks have a properly warm reception.'
CHAPTER 81
With Tyrone navigating by her side, Jasmine homed in on the Garmin GPS waypoints set the previous afternoon. I clung desperately to the makeshift rope netting with one hand and with the other kept the night-vision monocular trained ahead to keep us from snagging anything but air. Down on the right, the brightly lit parking lot of the Mississippi Highway Patrol headquarters sailed past. The VA loomed larger, dead ahead.
I pressed the transmit switch on my radio.
