The Cobra swung wide to face the seaplane. It hovered in front of it, each weapon in its arsenal trained on the fuselage.
‘Set us down alongside,’ Payne said.
‘Negative,’ the pilot replied. ‘I can’t touch down, sir. Not on Mexican soil.’
The pilot was doing his best, given the circumstances. Flying into foreign airspace was one thing, but landing there was something else. He was willing to fly them in, but he worried that putting his Yankee on the sand constituted an invasion.
Payne understood the distinction. ‘Drop us in the water. We’ll come up from the rear. Put us directly behind him, the blind spot where he can’t see us coming.’ He opened the cargo door and grabbed the M60 machine gun from the gunner’s hands.
The rotor wash from the hovering Yankee caused a tornado of foam and spray. In the center of it, Payne and Jones jumped into the waist-deep water. Once they were clear of the skids, the pilot pulled the helicopter back to a tactical position above the seaplane.
Payne was surprised to see the pilot of the seaplane in the doorway as they crept into position. His arms were raised in surrender and he was shouting something, but his cries could not be heard above the rotors of the helicopters. Jones pulled the pilot to the ground as Payne cautiously peeked inside.
The plane was old and rickety. There were no seats, only loops of rope bolted to the interior wall for people to hold on to. Payne had seen this type of aircraft before. It was known as a coyote plane. The pilot would pack it full of illegal immigrants — each of whom had paid a hefty sum for the privilege — and smuggle them across the border into the United States. Sometimes the planes made it to land, but more often than not they touched down far off the coast and the passengers would swim ashore.
That was if they were lucky.
Payne had heard horror stories of pilots who, rather than risk being intercepted by the United States Coast Guard or other authorities, would simply fly miles out to sea and force their cargo into the water. Sometimes they wouldn’t even land the plane.
Today, however, there was no one on board.
‘Where are the passengers?’ Payne demanded.
‘No entiendo,’ the pilot insisted. ‘Qué está pasando?’
Jones was the more language-oriented of the two. He did his best to translate. ‘He doesn’t understand what you’re asking. He’s not sure what’s happening.’
‘Ask him about the two men from the beach. Where did they get off the plane?’
Jones translated the question and the pilot’s response. ‘He says they never got on the plane. He left them on the beach.’
‘What? Why would he do that?’
A moment later, Payne had his answer.
‘He says that was the plan. That’s what he was instructed to do. Wait for the man to come back down the rope, and when he gave him the signal from the beach, he was to take off and fly back to Rosarito. He only made it this far before the engine gave out.’
Payne was stunned. They had been tricked.
Masseri and Sahlberg had stayed behind on shore.
It was a risky plan, letting the plane leave as decoy.
But it had worked.
Masseri smiled. He had watched the plane take off from the relative safety of a cave at the edge of the rock wall. He had heard the arrival of the military helicopters, and he had laughed as they sped out across the sea, giving chase. Only after they had flown out of view did he deploy the small Zodiac he had hidden in the caves at the base of the cliff. The inflatable boat and its engine were prepped in under five minutes.
After loading his unconscious cargo, Masseri sped off into the darkness.
Now that he had secured his target, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He knew his mission was still not complete. He understood his ruse with the seaplane would only guarantee a head start, but for the first time in a long time he was comfortable with the situation. He was once again in control. He could dictate the next step. As long as he safely delivered his quarry, he was free to do as he pleased.
Masseri stared at Sahlberg and wondered why he was so important. The plan had been to keep him sedated with a steady stream of narcotics, but now Masseri wasn’t so sure.
It would be a long trip to where they were going.
He might enjoy the conversation.
And some answers.
54
Payne and Jones loaded the Mexican pilot into the helicopter while the gunner looked on with shocked disapproval.
‘Relax,’ Jones said, ‘he’s my gardener.’
It didn’t have the calming effect that he had hoped for. The gunner nodded, but the glance he shot the Yankee pilot wasn’t one of reassurance. It was more like, first a foreign incursion, now they’re taking prisoners!
As Jones secured the seaplane pilot, Payne grabbed the Yankee pilot by the shoulder. ‘Take us back to the estate.’
The Yankee pilot nodded and tapped his headset, indicating that Payne should put his on as well. ‘It’s the colonel. He needs to speak with you.’
Payne grabbed his headset, flipped it over his head, and adjusted the microphone. ‘Colonel Smith … I understand, sir, and we’re en route now. You’ll have your birds back within the hour … Yes, sir, heavy by one extra … Yes, sir, my responsibility, not yours … Sir, I need another favor. Our target is still missing. I need radar imagery of the original pickup location, starting ten minutes before our departure … It was a misdirect, sir. The target sent us after a decoy. The target and his cargo were extracted through other means, and I need to know how … Thank you, sir … Yes, sir, never again, sir.’
He pulled the headset from his ears and groaned.
‘What was that all about?’ Jones asked.
‘I think we’re starting to wear out our welcome,’ Payne said.
‘We? What the hell did I do?’
Payne ignored the question. ‘Call Randy. See if he can get us pictures of the abduction.’
The gunner no longer wanted any part of this adventure. He had no idea who Randy was and wasn’t sure if the abduction they were referring to involved the Mexican pilot they had just grabbed south of the border. If so, the last thing he wanted was to be caught on film.
‘Should I be worried, sir?’ he asked Payne.
‘About what?’
‘All this, sir.’
Payne stared at him. ‘That depends. Did you see anything, marine?’
‘No, sir. Not a thing, sir.’
‘Then you’ll be fine,’ Payne assured him.
Meanwhile, Jones used his cell phone to call Raskin. It was tough to hear inside the chopper, but they couldn’t risk talking to him over the chopper’s radio.
‘Research,’ Raskin answered.
Jones skipped the pleasantries. ‘I’m currently in the belly of a Yankee, heading toward shore. You remember the old man from the incline?’
‘Of course.’
‘He’s been taken.’
Raskin started tracing the call. ‘From where?’
‘We came to Cali to meet with some colleagues of his, and someone snatched him from the property.’
‘While you were there?’
‘Yes.’
‘How’s Jon taking it?’
Jones looked at his friend. The veins in Payne’s neck pulsed in anger and frustration. ‘How do you think? He’s pissed.’
‘What can I do?’ Raskin asked.
Jones gave him the same coordinates that had been given to Colonel Smith at Camp Pendleton at the start of the rescue mission. ‘Use your birds to zoom in on that position. You should see an expansive waterfront property with a rooftop patio and a long, narrow lawn.’