“I am.”
“Very well then,” Fuentes said. “Climb aboard and we’ll get under way. My orders are to fly you to Talara at once.”
Aleksandra looked at the cockpit, then turned to the pilot. “There are only two seats.”
Fuentes shrugged. “I am lighter on fuel now. It will be tight, but you are small enough we can fit you in on Señor Quinn’s lap. Unfortunately, neither of you will be able to wear a parachute.”
“Then do not crash,” Kanatova said, giving the jet a sullen frown.
“As you wish.” The pilot smiled. “I will remove crashing from my list of things to do today.”
Aleksandra wrinkled her freckled nose, not amused.
Quinn worked his way into the Super Tweet’s right-hand seat, one leg on either side of a control stick matching the pilot’s. He was surprised to find the low sidewalls made him feel as though he was sitting on rather than in the plane.
“It’s interesting to see the Peruvian Air Force here in the middle of Bolivia,” he said, buckling in.
“Your friend Señor Palmer is our friend Señor Palmer.” Fuentes held Kanatova’s hand as she stepped gingerly into the aircraft. “He made a call to my commanding officer and my commander made a call to me. It is simple really.”
“But Peru?”
“Bolivia is landlocked.” The pilot shrugged. “My government has an agreement to give her access to our seaports. In return, she is friendly to us at times such as this when we need a little favor.”
Quinn put his arms around Kanatova, resting them on her thighs to keep them out of the pilot’s way. Though spacious for two pilots, shoehorning three into the cockpit wasn’t anywhere in Cessna’s specs. Quinn found himself hyperaware of the rudder pedals at his feet and the array of controls just asking to be bumped or flipped in the close confines of the cockpit.
“I used the extra tanks to get here from my base in Arequipa.” Fuentes nodded toward the wings once he was seated. “I have enough fuel to get you to Talara in time for your connecting flight.”
“What sort of connecting flight?” Quinn asked. Oppressive heat and humidity closed in around them and he was anxious to get into the air.
“I honestly do not know, señor.” Fuentes buckled his seat belt and turned before putting on his helmet. “I only know Señor Palmer wants you back in the United States as soon as possible. I am left to assume that, whatever it is, it will be extremely fast. Now, if you will excuse me, I must figure out how to make this airplane jump off the ground like a helicopter.” He pulled on the helmet, then pushed a button in the console to bring the Plexiglas bubble down over the cockpit.
Fuentes had plenty of swagger. He’d been able to set the plane down in the narrow jungle gash without a problem, but taking off with the added weight of two more people would prove much more difficult. He’d need every bit of his swagger — plus a healthy dose of skill and luck.
Quinn pulled Aleksandra closer in an effort to make them both as small as possible during the dicey takeoff. The smoky odor of the jungle clung to her hair.
Fuentes brought the turbofan engines to whining life, standing on the brakes as the entire plane began to shake and tremble, trying to move. When he appeared to be satisfied that all the instruments on the console were reading correctly, he released the brakes and let the plane jump forward, hurtling down the narrow strip. The jungle loomed ahead, dark trees growing quickly as the end of the bumpy runway screamed up to meet them. Three fourths of the way down, with less than five hundred feet to spare, he tugged back gently on the stick.
The little jet leaped into the air, engines screaming. Without warning, Fuentes fired two missiles at the trees in front of him. Each left its respective wing-pod with a hissing shriek. The little jet flew straight through the rolling ball of flames and black smoke.
“Did you do that to clear the trees?” Quinn said, surprised at the tactic.
Fuentes flipped up his dark visor, chuckling. He appeared relaxed now that they were safely in the air. “No, señor.” He grinned. “Far too much peace lately. I do not often have the opportunity to fire missiles.” He banked the airplane hard, coming around again over the little strip. “I think I will shoot a few more and give the drug lords a little surprise the next time they try to land.”
CHAPTER 68
Marie held the baby tight to her chest. She kept her back to the corner, her knees drawn up defensively. Lourdes stood across the room beside the doorway to the kitchen, swinging the hook and chain in front of her like a hypnotist’s watch. Bright red lipstick formed a wicked smirk across the darkness of her face.
Pete perched at the edge of his recliner. The lustful stare in his eyes said he was about to profit from something bad.
“It’s time to play our little game,” Lourdes said, speeding up the chain to make it whir through the air.
Marie shuddered. She was past the point of being sick. There was nothing left to throw up, nothing but worry and despair. Pressing her back against the wall, she pushed to her feet. “I’m not going to make this easy,” she said, amazed at the calm in her own voice.
Lourdes’s eyebrow twitched, rising to disappear beneath the stark black line of her bangs.
“Funny enough,” she said. “Pete and I had a wager that you would wet yourself when the time came.”
Pete stood up from the recliner, folding his arms across his chest. “And it just so happens that I win,” he said, leering at Marie. “You are braver than she thought you’d be. And that means you and me get to spend a little quality time together before…” He chuckled. “Well, you know.”
Lourdes leaned against the wall, yawning as if she was bored.
Pete shot her an annoyed glance.
“What? Are you gonna stay and watch?”
Lourdes threw up her hands, wagging her head. “Very well, I will take the worm for his walk in the woods and come back for Mommy after I am finished with him… ”
Jacques Thibodaux sat on the frozen ground with his back to the toolshed, a scant fifty feet from the back door of the red brick farmhouse. A stubby MP5 hung around his bull neck on a single-point sling. His Kimber rested comfortably on his right thigh so he’d have easy access while wearing his ballistic vest. A heavy patch, matching the rest of his black clothing, covered his right eye.
Palmer had wanted him to sit this one out, but he’d argued that a one-eyed Marine was worth two and a half mortal men and sitting out a mission was not in his skill set.
Palmer grudgingly agreed, assigning Emiko Miyagi and Ronnie Garcia to round out the team because of their experience working together.
Though she was rarely his fan, Miyagi had been the consummate professional from the start. Since Thibodaux had tactical command of the operation, she took direction as though he’d been her boss for years. Each had spent the last ninety minutes creeping up on the house, wearing white parka smocks and pants over their tactical gear so they would blend in to the snow. Kneeling just to the right of the back door, Miyagi had already placed two small charges of C-4 in the jamb and now knelt just to the right, MP5 around her neck, her finger on the detonator.
Ronnie lay belly-down in the snow beside Thibodaux, her eye pressed to the night-vision scope on an M4 assault rifle. Her razor-sharp intellect and tactical savvy made her a perfect third person for the team.
Thibodaux held an iPhone his hand, tilting it back and forth to maneuver a tiny, unmanned aerial vehicle next to the dusty living room window. Known as a Dragonfly, the UAV was not much larger than its namesake. It was intuitive to operate, using the phone’s gyro technology to control pitch, roll, and yaw and sliding a thumb up or down to climb or descend. A micro camera and laser microphone relayed video and sound back to the Bluetooth headsets of all three operators.