“The terrain is not my primary concern. I’ve flown under far worse conditions. I’m more concerned about ground security. We may draw unwanted attention.” He checked his gauges and slowly descended as they approached the town boundaries. “I don’t think Sean realizes this is like finding a needle in a haystack.”
They’d discussed strategy during the flight. Noah mapped the coordinates surrounding the greater Spruce Lake area and planned to fly in a circular pattern while Lucy monitored the thermal imaging camera. Barns or warehouses that might be growing marijuana would be easily spotted because of the extensive light needed to grow the crops indoors, which generated plenty of heat.
“Why didn’t ATF inform the local FBI? That’s protocol,” Lucy said.
“Because they do whatever they damn well please.” Noah shot her a glance. “A lot like your boyfriend.”
“Is this going to be pick-on-Sean day?”
Noah grinned. “That might be fun.”
Noah’s phone rang. He glanced down at the center console. “It’s Stockton. Answer it. I’m going to stay at this altitude so we don’t lose him.”
“Sean has a built-in cellular thingy,” Lucy said, feeling stupid that she didn’t remember the technical name.
Noah laughed, for the second time that day. “Why am I not surprised?”
Lucy answered the phone. “Lucy Kincaid.”
“Hello, Lucy. Rick Stockton.”
“Noah is flying. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Where are you now?” Stockton asked.
Noah said, “We’re fifteen miles from the town proper. I’m beginning a circular rotation, starting wide. Lucy has the Argus. We’re at the upper range of this unit’s capabilities, but I still have visibility for the next forty minutes and can lower altitude if we see a potential hot spot.”
“Good. I spoke to the ATF operations director in Brooklyn. Took me nearly two hours to reach him-I could have flown to New York and met him in person faster. He bullshitted me for the requisite ten minutes while trying to figure out what we knew, so I pulled my ace out of the hole and informed him that his operative shot at a federal agent who was on vacation and if he didn’t give me everything he had, I’d make his life a nightmare.”
“It worked?”
“As planned. But it’s not good news. They have one deep undercover agent in Spruce Lake. Omar Lewis, going by the alias Omar Jackson. He’s been in deep cover for thirteen months.”
“That long?”
“A civilian contacted the DEA in January of last year regarding what he believed was an extensive marijuana farm. DEA was going to go in but ATF caught wind of the report and asked for leadership on it because one of the names in the file, Gary Clarke, was a known gunrunner with ties to the notorious Sampson Lowell. DEA stepped aside and ATF went in.”
“Thirteen months is a long time.”
“Yes, and there is no backup. Lewis reports weekly, and last asked that a team be ready within one hour on his call. Brooklyn has a team in Syracuse, which is two hours away. They informed Lewis, but he hasn’t responded that he got the message. They’re moving the team to Canton, but Lewis has yet to call them in.”
“Anything else?”
“He’s sending the files via courier, refuses to fax them. I swear, he’s the most paranoid agent I’ve spoken with.”
“Sir,” Lucy said, “do you have a description of Agent Lewis?”
“Of course.” The sound of flipping papers. “Thirty-nine, fourteen-year veteran of ATF. African-American-wait, I should say Jamaican-American. He was born there, came to the U.S. when he was three. Wears his hair very short or shaved, five foot ten, one hundred seventy pounds.”
“The cook.”
“You know him?” Stockton said.
“Omar is the cook at the Lock amp; Barrel. Sean and I saw him Thursday night. He stood out because he was the only black man we’d seen in town. No one paid him any attention, though. Reverse psychology-stand out so they don’t think you’re a cop.”
“It worked. According to his boss, he’s in with the number-two bad guy. But these past couple weeks, information has dried up. Lewis thinks there’s a new player, but everyone’s tight-lipped, so he didn’t call in the cavalry yet.”
“Did he report shooting at two civilians?” Noah asked.
“He didn’t know, but isn’t going to let his man get hung out to dry so refused to comment.”
“Understood,” Noah said. “Can he get word to Lewis about our presence?”
“He’ll try.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s good enough.”
Lucy said, “Who was the civilian who made the original report?”
“Joseph Hendrickson.”
She glanced at Noah. “I think we-” She stopped as something flashed in the thermal camera. “Noah! Look!”
Noah glanced at the screen. “Bingo. Mr. Stockton, sir, we found our warehouse full of weed.”
“I’ll wait for your report.”
Lucy shut off the cell phone and adjusted the camera. The red, orange, and yellow glowing colors over the external structure of the warehouse told them that it was well heated with high-wattage lights. “Wow. I didn’t realize it would be so noticeable!”
Noah made a note on a pad attached to the console. “I got the location. We’ll swing around and take another pass, then-”
“No-go north. Look at this.” She pointed at the ground where there were clearings ahead.
As Noah headed north, one warehouse gave way to another about one hundred yards apart.
“Two warehouses?” Lucy asked.
“I think you’re right.” Noah looked at his map and the terrain below. “We’re approximately four miles northeast of the town center. The population center is in town, and most of the larger-acreage properties are south and west.”
“Could there be more?”
“Anything’s possible, but look at the size of those buildings.”
Trees dotted the area, which was relatively flat, but didn’t provide a complete canopy. The warehouses may have once been barns-they were the same relative size and shape-but they’d been completely renovated. Likely insulated to keep down the cost of the electricity and heat. It would still cost a small fortune to run the facilities.
“I’m going east to follow that road down there,” Noah said. “It appears that both those warehouses are accessible from it.”
The road dipped into a valley and ended before the mountain began to rise again on the far edge of the Spruce Lake area, opposite from the Hendricksons’ and Callahans’ properties. Four new buildings were nestled in the valley, each half the size of the large barns they’d passed a mile away. A rambling ranch house spread out on the far side of the property, at the base of the mountain.
“Two of the buildings are possibles,” Lucy said, showing Noah the screen. “The other two are dark. The house-very small thermal signatures.”
Noah glanced. “People. We need to get out of here.” He started his ascent and turned away from the property at the same time that three men ran from the house, and a fourth came from one of the buildings.
“They have semiautomatic rifles,” Lucy said, sliding the camera back into its case.
She heard the rapid fire of the guns even over the plane’s engine, sounding more like comic pops than weapons fire.
Noah increased speed and continued to climb. The window behind Lucy cracked. “Those are fully automatic,” he said grimly.
A sharp metallic bang was followed by alarms in the cockpit and the small Cessna dipped dangerously to the left. Noah’s hands gripped the yoke, fighting to control their descent.
