‘Take her inside and alert security. No one leaves the house until we’ve cleared the grounds. Is that understood?’
‘I can help,’ Fell insisted.
‘You’re right, you can — by following my orders.’
Fell nodded. ‘Understood.’
As Payne approached the bench, he could see that the rappeling line was taut, which meant someone was still using it. He peered over the edge, but his view was blocked by a rocky outcropping some twenty feet below. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the rope in his hands and used it to lower himself down to the ledge. There was no harness, no safety line of any kind. It was only Payne’s upper-body strength that kept him from tumbling to his death.
When he reached the ridge, the rest of the journey came into view. Far below him, two shadowy figures were about to make the final drop to the beach. Payne could see their destination: a small seaplane anchored just off shore. He leaned as far out over the cliff as he could, hoping for a clear shot at the plane’s engine. He fired once but missed.
He steadied himself and aimed again, but he knew it was a next-to-impossible shot with his pistol. That wouldn’t have been the case with his sniper rifle. Using the Barrett and its Trijicon optics, he could have accurately gauged the distance and overcome the outside factors of wind drift and the effect of the waves. Unfortunately, that gun was still in its metal case in the house. There was no time to get it now.
He fired twice more with his pistol.
This time he hit something.
The silhouette closest to the wall looked up and spotted Payne on the narrow ridge. He quickly drew his own weapon and started firing.
Rocks splintered all around Payne as Masseri’s bullets missed him by inches. Making matters worse, he knew he couldn’t return fire. There was too great a risk of hitting Sahlberg in the exchange. For the moment, his only choice was to pull himself back to the top of the precipice. He grabbed the rope with both hands and began his ascent.
Thirty seconds later, he reached the top of the cliff. He was helped to his feet by Jones.
‘What were you shooting at?’ Jones demanded, unable to see anything below due to the ledge and the fading light.
‘There’s a plane anchored along the shore. I tried to take out its engine.’
Suddenly the seaplane roared into life. This time it was Jones who reacted. He ran further down the lawn, as far as he could go until he reached a thick wall of shrubbery that signaled the end of the property, and tried to read the registration numbers on the side of the plane. Gray smoke poured from beneath the plane’s manifold, but it wasn’t enough to stop the aircraft.
‘Anything?’ Payne yelled.
‘He’s smoking but Oscar Mike,’ Jones shouted back.
It was military slang. Oscar Mike meant on the move. It was Jones’s way of saying the seaplane was still able to take off. Thankfully, it also reminded Payne of his options.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the commanding officer at Camp Pendleton, who he had emailed on the flight out to let him know he would be in the area. ‘Colonel Smith, this is Jonathon Payne … Yes, sir, I told you I might call … No, sir, the honor is all mine … I hate to ask, but I need a favor. I need to borrow a Yankee, and I need it right now. I’ve got an unknown runner carrying one of ours, flying southbound from my location, and pursuit is essential …’
He paused as he waited for a response.
Jones hustled back to his side.
Payne covered the mouthpiece on the phone. ‘Where are we?’
Jones glanced at his watch. Along with the time and date, it also provided an array of information such as ambient temperature, elevation, and global positioning coordinates. He read off the longitude and latitude, which Payne relayed into his phone.
Thirty seconds passed before he got his answer.
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. The honor is still mine.’ He grinned and hung up the phone. ‘We’ve got ten minutes. They’re sending a Bell Venom to pick us up.’
Jones laughed. ‘Just like that?’
Payne nodded. ‘I guess saving his son’s life finally paid off.’
‘It’s about time,’ Jones said as he remembered the incident in Afghanistan, ‘because his kid is a real asshole.’
53
The Bell UH-1Y Venom, known by soldiers as a Yankee, touched down on the lawn and was quickly boarded by Payne and Jones. Not only had Colonel Smith come through with their transportation, he had provided a gunner as well, just in case. Hovering above them was their support craft, a Bell AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter.
Payne strapped on the headset to hear the gunner’s explanation. ‘Captain Payne, the colonel insisted on the Cobra. It’s the best he could do at such short notice, but we can have Apaches in the air by zero one hundred if needed. Your call.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Payne replied.
The pilot pulled back on the controls and the helicopter lifted off the lawn. He pointed it south — the same direction the seaplane had traveled — and gunned the throttle. In an instant the aircraft were roaring across the water in pursuit.
‘We’ve got your aircraft on radar,’ the pilot informed them. ‘Looks like he’s limping along, trying to make a run for the border.’
‘Can you catch him before he gets there?’ Jones asked.
‘It’ll be close,’ the pilot answered.
Two minutes later, the Mexican border came into view, and there was still no sight of the plane.
‘Sir, he’s entered Mexican airspace,’ the pilot confirmed. ‘Looks like he’s set down about ten miles beyond the border.’
‘Show me,’ Payne insisted.
‘Sir, we don’t have authorization to follow beyond the NOLF at Imperial Beach. We need a certified flight plan in coordination with the Mexican government to pursue any farther.’
Payne was familiar with the protocol. NOLF stood for Naval Outlying Landing Field, an auxiliary field used to handle overflow air traffic. Apart from being essentially the largest helipad in the country — it was often labeled the Helicopter Capital of the World — Imperial Beach was also the southernmost occupied point along the west coast. Beyond it was roughly a mile of wildlife refuge and then the US — Mexico border. Flying farther than the field at Imperial Beach risked straining relations between two governments, whose border was already guarded by razor wire and armed patrolmen.
‘Show me the plane, or get out of the chopper,’ Payne stated bluntly. He turned toward Jones. ‘You can fly this thing, right?’
‘Affirmative, Captain,’ Jones deadpanned. ‘Can the pilot swim?’
‘We’re about to find out,’ Payne answered.
The young pilot didn’t know Payne or Jones personally, but the colonel had instructed him to defer to their instructions. He also knew sincerity when he heard it. Rather than risk a cold, dark swim to shore, he decided it was in his best interests to proceed with Payne’s request. He dimmed the cabin lights and dropped the Yankee only a few feet above the water. ‘Be advised, we are continuing our present heading.’
In response to his statement, the Cobra dipped low and took a lead position in front of the Yankee. Without its running lights, which had been turned off the moment it had crossed into Mexico, the attack helicopter was virtually invisible against the dark sky.
Fortunately, the undocumented trip into foreign territory didn’t require them to travel far. They spotted the seaplane as they rounded a small point a minute after crossing the border. It had landed near a small bay and had ridden the swell all the way to shore. The high walls of the coastline and the desolate beach meant there was nowhere for anyone to hide and very little chance they could have made an escape in the brief time since their arrival.