“Noble told me that they had some sort of special customs and immigrations deal, where their members can fly in directly from any foreign airport.”
“That’s unusual,” Jackson said. “Normally, when an aircraft enters the U.S. from another country, it has to land at a port of entry—an international airport—where the airplane is subject to search and the crew’s and passengers’ documents are examined. That’s what I’ve had to do when I fly back from the Bahamas. I land at Fort Pierce, clear customs and immigration, then fly to Orchid airport.”
“You fly?”
“I’ve got a license, but I don’t own an airplane. I belong to a flying club out at the airport, and I can rent their machines.”
“Why don’t we go have a look at Palmetto Gardens from the air?”
“You think they’ll shoot us down?”
“Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER
32
Jackson used a card with a magnetic strip to open the security gate at Orchid Beach Airport. This was Holly’s third trip there, but now they drove past the terminal building with its tower and stopped a quarter of a mile down the runway at a low, concrete-block building with a windsock on top. A number of light aircraft were parked outside. Jackson led the way in.
“Hey, Doris,” he said to the woman behind the high desk. “Is 123 Tango Foxtrot available for a couple of hours?”
“You’re in luck, Jackson, we had a cancellation.” She put the keys and a printed document on the desk for him to sign.
“Doris, this is Holly Barker, our new chief of police.”
“Acting chief,” Holly corrected.
“Well, hey there, honey,” Doris said, standing up and offering her hand. She was a buxom woman, pushing fifty, in tight pants with a pile of peroxided hair on her head. “Welcome to Orchid. I was real sorry to hear about Chief Marley’s death. Anything new on that?”
“Nothing so far, but we’re working on it,” Holly said.
“He was a nice man. Say, can I interest you in some flying lessons?”
“You might be able to a little further down the road, when I get my feet on the ground,” Holly replied.
“We’re about getting your feet off the ground,” Doris said.
Holly laughed and looked over Jackson’s shoulder.
“This is a document,” he said, “which commits my entire net worth to the flying club if I bend the airplane, and makes Doris my sole heir if I kill myself in it.”
Doris laughed. “How else can I ever retire?” she asked. “The way Jackson flies, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m beginning to reconsider this trip,” Holly said.
“Oh, he’ll get you back alive, honey,” Doris said. “I taught him all he knows about flying.”
“And most of what I know about life,” Jackson laughed. He picked up the keys and a clipboard. “Let’s get out of here.”
Holly followed him outside to a yellow-and-white airplane. “I’ve never been up in one of these,” she said.
“A Cessna?”
“In anything smaller than one of Delta’s jets, except for army helicopters.”
“This is a Cessna 172, the most popular airplane ever built,” Jackson said. “Come on, we’ll preflight her together.”
She followed him around the airplane while he wiggled things, peered into holes and checked the oil and fuel. “How much experience have you had at this?” she asked.
“I’ve got nearly five hundred hours,” he replied. “I’m working on my instrument rating right now, and I ought to have that soon, then maybe I’ll buy a good used airplane.”
“Five hundred hours sounds like a lot,” she said, seeking reassurance.
“Not really. A couple of thousand is more like a lot.” He helped her into the airplane and showed her how the seat belt worked.
“Have you ever carried a passenger?”
“Oh, sure. The airplane is a great seduction tooclass="underline" by the time you get them back down, they’re so grateful to still be alive, they just fall right into bed with you.”
“Let’s see if it works,” Holly said.
Jackson climbed into the little airplane, switched on the ignition, pumped something, and turned the key and the engine started. He picked up a checklist from the floor and talked himself through it, flipping switches and adjusting controls; then he handed Holly a headset and showed her how to wear it. Five minutes later, they had been cleared for takeoff and were rolling down the runway. The airport was on the mainland, and as they climbed they could see the barrier island stretched out before them a few miles away. Jackson turned right, headed for the middle of the island, and when he reached it, turned north, flying at two thousand feet.
“How low can we fly?” Holly asked, hearing her own voice clearly over the headset.
“A thousand feet AGL—that’s above ground level—in built-up areas. Since Orchid is about twelve feet above sea level, that means about a thousand feet.” He pulled back the throttle and began a descent. “There’s Palmetto Gardens up ahead,” he said, pointing. “See the golf courses?”
“Got it,” Holly said.
“Jesus, look at the length of that runway,” he said, pointing at the airfield.
“Barney said it was six thousand feet.”
“That’s longer than the Orchid airport. We’re at a thousand feet, now.”
Holly looked around. “It runs from A1A to the river,” she said, “and a long way north and south. It’s a lot bigger than I thought.”
Jackson circled over the development. “Huge houses,” he said. “They must be on at least five acres each.” A foursome of golfers was looking up at the airplane.
“Uh-oh,” Holly said, pointing out her side.
Jackson turned the airplane in that direction, dipping a wing. A white Range Rover had stopped and the driver had gotten out and was looking up at them. He reached into the vehicle and came out with a pair of binoculars. “Okay, let’s see if he shoots at us,” Jackson laughed.
“Are we invading some kind of private airspace?” Holly asked.
“Of course not. They may have themselves an exclusive club down there, but up here belongs to everybody.”
“Fly on north, and let’s get away from that security guard. Look, that’s a hell of a big greenhouse. They must grow a lot of their own plants.”
“Looks like they grow their own vegetables, too,” Jackson said. “And there are some stables and a riding ring.” He pointed. “What do you suppose that is?”
Holly followed his finger and found a two-story building with a forest of antennae on its roof. “Looks like a NASA substation,” she said. “I count four dishes of varying sizes and there are at least a dozen other kinds of antennas. And look at that giant dish in back of the building. That thing must have a diameter of at least fifteen feet.”
“I visited CNN headquarters in Atlanta, once,” Jackson said. “They had dishes like that.”
“Okay, we’re at the northern extremity; let’s turn and fly south again,” Holly said.
Jackson turned the airplane and headed back for the golf courses, which were at the center of the development. The Range Rover was on the move again, headed toward the airport. “There’s the runway up ahead,” he said. “Let’s do a touch-and-go.”
“Are you nuts?” Holly demanded.
“Aw come on, what can they do about it? You think they’ve got antiaircraft missiles?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Holly said.
He had the nose of the airplane down, now, and the runway loomed large in the windshield. The word PRIVATE had been painted in huge letters in the middle of the asphalt.