She?d had to bully a young second lieutenant into clearing her to take the chopper without exactly going through all the proper channels.
Yes, the Cayuse felt good in her hands. The skills were still sharp. Flying had never been the problem. She?d resigned her commission for other reasons.
Increasingly, the military intelligence brass had been asking for her by name when they needed a pilot for a special mission, dicey insertions, extractions from hot zones, dropping black ops agents into politically volatile regions, and once blasting the Iranian embassy to smithereens in Jordan. She began to wonder how she?d been fast-tracked for so many important missions.
Then she found out her father had been pulling strings, calling in favors, even getting her assigned to missions in which he was the lead agent. He?d been behind the scenes, orchestrating every move, and his own daughter hadn?t even known. She?d been so proud, had thought she was making it on her own, ROTC at Texas A&M, head of her class, one of only three women at army flight school. And here was her father invalidating all of her accomplishments.
She quit the army, spun her life in a completely different direction.
But now, zooming through the sky, she fantasized about getting back in again. Maybe she could look up some of her old army contacts. Or maybe she could give the FBI a call.
No. It would never work. Even from the grave, her father?s shadow would loom over everything she did. Former Company chums would come out of the woodwork to help the daughter of an old-timer. She could go freelance like Nikki, but that just wasn?t her style. She liked to be part of a team. At school she enjoyed working with the other faculty, choosing textbooks, chaperoning events, marching bad kids to detention.
She checked the GPS and adjusted her course. She?d used the information Nikki had given her, accessed state and federal databanks, surveyors? maps, business licenses. She was looking for a cabin, a barn, and rows of grapevines. She?d plugged the longitude and latitude into the GPS, and she was getting close.
The helicopter cleared a ridge and swept past so quickly, Meredith almost missed the narrow valley tucked in between two hills. She circled back more slowly, spotted the barn and the cabin. A young boy ran among the grapevines.
She made a wide circle and lined up for a strafing run.
* * *
They?d already searched the front seat and backseat, finding only junk-food wrappers, an empty whiskey flask, an address book, and a used condom. Mike and Andrew Foley now stood looking into the open trunk of Enrique Mars?s Cadillac.
Andrew noted the various guns and other weapons and whistled. ?Looks like Rambo?s junk drawer.?
?Gather this up,? Mike said. ?It might come in handy.?
?Where are you going to dump the car??
Mike said, ?I?m thinking about it. Lots of back roads around here. We?ll take it out someplace this afternoon.?
Keone ran to within twenty feet of them and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. ?Hey, boss.? He pointed over his shoulder at the sky. ?Look.?
Andrew squinted into the sun, shaded his eyes with a hand. ?Crop duster??
?Listen,? Mike said. ?Helicopter. I don?t think they use them to dust crops, at least not around here. It might be a police helicopter scouting for meth labs.? Hell, they might even be looking for Keone?s father. Mike had seen choppers in the distance before.
?Could that be trouble??
?Just act nice and wave,? Mike said.
Keone ran skipping back into the grapes, jumping and waving at the helicopter.
Mike closed the Caddy?s trunk. ?We?ll get this stuff later.?
Andrew yawned. ?What now? We haven?t had any breakfast. I could go inside, put on some more coffee. You got eggs in there? I could do us some omelets.?
Mike wasn?t listening. He still watched the helicopter. He couldn?t see any markings in the sun?s glare, didn?t know if it was police or a news helicopter or what. It swung in low and got lower, lined up with Mike?s narrow valley.
