She punched the phone off and returned to the interior of the helicopter to find the interpreter, who had been relaxing on the back bench.
“Pete? See that jet over there? I need you to help convince that soldier that I have official authorization to look at that aircraft.”
Pete Phu’s eyes grew large. She held up a hand and smiled. “Just tell him I love that type of plane, Pete, and I just need an excuse to look at it.”
After a moment he nodded his head. “I think… I can do that.”
The soldier was appropriately suspicious for only a few seconds as Pete explained in Vietnamese the official role of the American woman he was escorting.
“Big, important official from the United States. Hanoi has provided this helicopter, and me, and is asking everyone to cooperate.”
The soldier nodded as he stepped aside.
The main entry door was locked, as she expected, and with no ground power hooked up for air-conditioning, it was undoubtedly too hot inside for anyone to be hiding in the cabin. The crew and occupants didn’t seem to be anywhere around.
Kat walked casually beneath the tail, cataloging the fact that there were no external rails from which a missile could be fired. Must have been fired from a boat below, or another airplane, she thought. She found the production plate and memorized the serial number as she smiled and pretended to be enjoying the experience of seeing such an aircraft up close.
The aircraft appeared to be standard in every way — except for the registration numbers on the sides of the fuselage. Up close, it was obvious that a portion of the original number had been painted over, and new numbers added. The job was sloppy, and she could almost make out the original N-number beneath.
The baggage compartment was locked as well, and she drew a startled look from the soldier when she tried the latch. She smiled back and waved at him as she nodded to Pete and headed back to the Huey, which now had a fuel truck in front of it. It would take a few minutes to fill the tanks, and she had a decision to make.
Kat glanced back at the Global Express, torn between returning to look for MacCabe and any other survivors, or staying to find a way into the Global Express. She paused to lean against the tail boom in thought, weighing the options. Whoever had flown the jet into Da Nang had undoubtedly followed Meridian and knew exactly where the 747 had crashed. There was probably a pile of evidence aboard, and maybe even the target designator. The key to a dangerous mystery might be no more than a hundred feet away.
But there were also survivors moving through a hostile jungle, possibly being stalked by whoever had occupied the business jet.
Kat thought about the alternatives that would have faced the Global Express crew around dawn. If they were truly the assassins of Meridian 5, they would be desperate to finish the job by going directly to the site, which they couldn’t do by road.
Kat stood upright suddenly, watching the Vietnamese fueler. She moved to the cabin and caught Pete’s attention again, motioning him close.
“Pete, I need you to do something else for me.”
He nodded hesitantly.
“Would you go ask the guy fueling us when the people from the jet we just looked at will be returning in their helicopter? If he acts like he knows what you’re talking about, ask him if it was a Huey like this.”
Pete Phu climbed out and engaged the fueler in conversation, the colorful tones of the Vietnamese language wafting in the door, accompanied by spurts of laughter. In a few minutes he was back, leaning toward Kat.
“He says he doesn’t know, because they took the helicopter just about sunrise. And he said yes, it’s just like this one.”
Kat thanked him and pulled out the satellite phone again to pass the information to Jake.
Arlin Schoen stood momentarily exposed in the broad expanse of the jungle clearing and tried to spot the helicopter they had just finished camouflaging.
Good job! he told himself. By turning the machine nose-on to the heart of the clearing, they only needed a little greenery to make it blend with the background.
He checked his watch and looked up, calculating how fast the quarry would have been walking. The river had them neatly boxed on one side, and with the highway on the other side of the river making itself known with every truck and car that rumbled past, the survivors would probably move along the south bank to look for a place to cross.
And the bridge a thousand yards downstream from where he would be waiting could be seen a half mile up the small gorge, which meant, he concluded, that as soon as they spotted the bridge, excitement would outweigh caution, leading them right into his trap.
Perfect.
He turned back to the hidden helicopter, covering the distance in a quick jog, in a hurry to prepare the weapons.
Less than a mile to the east, Robert MacCabe motioned for the others to stop as he stepped toward the riverbank to peer down the river.
Dallas Nielson had been guiding Dan Wade with her arm around his shoulder, while Steve Delaney helped Graham Tash. They came to a halt and waited, emotionally and physically exhausted.
“Ah… Dan, Graham here.”
They all turned at the sound of his voice. “Do you… ah… need another shot?”
Dallas looked at the doctor in surprise. Good, she thought. He’s beginning to reach outside himself.
Dan shook his head slowly. “I may just be too numb, Doctor, but I’m not hurting much right now. Not my eyes, at least.”
“Okay, ah…” Graham sighed. “Let me get Susan and…” Graham’s eyes fluttered open at the recognition of what he’d just said, and the loss of his wife crashed in on him again. He staggered back slightly and sank in uncoordinated confusion to the ground, his head down and shaking back and forth. “I’m… sorry. I’m…”
Dallas knelt beside him quickly and put an arm around his shoulder. “It won’t be easy, Doc. But you’ve got to hang with us.”
Robert reappeared, his hair standing on end from brushing under a branch. “I think I see a bridge way down there,” he said. “That’ll be our ticket out of here. There’s been enough traffic on that road.”
Dallas started chuckling, and the spontaneity of it startled Steve into the beginning of a smile.
“What?” Robert asked, looking suspicious.
“You look like you just plugged your finger into a light socket,” she said, grinning broadly as he reached up and smoothed his hair.
“Good grief, Dallas,” he replied.
“Well, you did look funny.”
“For crying out loud,” he said. “I hardly see what’s funny—”
“I guess,” she said, her smile receding, “I guess I’d rather laugh than cry, and that’s the first thing even remotely funny I’ve seen today.”
Robert paused, then nodded, his eyes on Dan and Graham. “I understand.”
“But seriously, we’ve got to get out of here, and I’ve got a question for you,” Dallas said. “If we walk out on that road and flag someone down, how do we know we’re not flagging down our killers?”
“They had a helicopter,” Steve interjected.
“Which they could have traded for a truck by now,” Dan added.
Robert took a deep breath. “What are you thinking, Dallas?”
“Well,” she began, “Stevie here said that radio of his can transmit our precise coordinates and a voice message. Maybe we should stop short of that road, stay hidden, and turn that thing on. Any real rescuers can come right to us, provided the bad guys can’t get that information.”
“It’s digital,” Steve said. “It goes to a special satellite.”