45 MINUTES.
He cursed silently to himself, tucked the phone in his pocket, and resumed packing. Most of his equipment was already aboard the inflatable dinghy, and he could be off the boat and motoring to shore in ten minutes, but he would be cutting it close to reach the ranch in time. And Chen was not one to be kept waiting.
After lowering the last dry sack into the dinghy, he clambered forward to check on his anchor rode, ensuring he had calculated the scope correctly. Even without other boats in the relatively shallow anchorage, it wouldn’t do to have his anchor drag. Confident it would hold, even in the unpredictable winds, he moved aft and dropped down into the saloon to tidy everything up before departing.
At last, Wu Tian climbed back outside before closing and locking the hatch. He was about as remote as he could be, even though he was only fifty miles from the second most populous city in the United States with almost four million people, but he didn’t want to take any chances. With the boat secure, he climbed over the braided stainless steel safety lines and lowered himself into the dinghy.
Once he had untied the line that kept him connected to the sailboat, he sat down on the inflated side wall and cranked the outboard motor, listening to it cough quietly as he coaxed it awake. He reached up for the shift lever and moved it into the forward position, then twisted the tiller grip to propel the eight-foot tender away from the boat. With one more glance at the sloop, Wu Tian focused on the island and motored for the south end of the beach.
As isolated as it was, Santa Cruz Island was a popular destination for outdoor enthusiasts. Each day, the Island Packers catamaran carried hikers and campers to the island maintained by the National Park Service, but at over sixty thousand acres, it wouldn’t be difficult to find the privacy he needed.
Nearing the beach, Wu Tian saw the gentle waves lapping at the rocky shore. There were a few hazards he needed to navigate his way around, but within minutes he felt and heard the sand and water-worn pebbles scraping the underside of his inflatable floor. He quickly pressed the engine cutoff switch and lifted the outboard clear of the water, letting his momentum carry him aground.
Before coming to a complete stop, he swung his legs over the side and dropped down into the ankle-deep water. It was bitter cold but refreshing after sitting under the baking sun all morning. The sand was soft under his bare feet, and he moved confidently toward shore, stepping on the occasional smooth stone while tugging the boat higher up onto the beach. Clear of the water, Wu Tian tied the boat off to a sturdy rock, then made quick work of removing the dry sacks from the boat.
He glanced at his watch.
Ten minutes.
It might have been his ears playing tricks on him, but he thought he could already hear the distant thumping of helicopter rotors approaching the island. Putting that thought aside, he dried his feet and reached into the first dry sack for his socks and Asolo hiking boots, which he quickly laced up. Then he hefted the two dry sacks into a farmer’s carry and walked up the beach that would be teeming with recreational kayakers later in the day.
The beach opened up into a valley that stretched between grass and coastal sage scrub-covered hills on both sides. He found the dirt trail leading to Scorpion Ranch and lowered his head against the strain in his shoulders and walked steadily onward, ignoring the laughing and excited chittering from the visitors emptying the catamaran at the pier behind him.
There were few trees on that part of the island, but as he neared the Scorpion Ranch House, an oak woodland with varying species provided a wide canopy of shade from the midday sun. Passing the house made with island rocks held together by a lime-and-cement mortar, the trail opened into a wide gravel path where he heard the unmistakable echoing of an approaching helicopter’s rotors off the hills to his left. He grimaced and increased his pace.
At the far end of the settlement, he came to an intersection with trails stretching in each cardinal direction. He meandered off the trail and set the dry sacks down in the shade of a coastal pine. Squatting next to the sacks, he faced north and waited to see the woman he had traveled to the island to meet.
His phone chirped, and he removed it from his back pocket to read the message.
ARRIVED.
He tapped out a reply and hit send.
AT THE RALLY POINT.
There was still much work to be done before nightfall, but he enjoyed the moment of rest while he waited for Chen to make her way from the helicopter landing site a little over a quarter mile away.
Chen ducked as she stepped from the rear of the Sikorsky S-76 helicopter, carrying only a duffel bag full of supplies. Ten thousand dollars in cash had bought her the chartered helicopter for a ride to the island and was lucrative enough that the Louisiana-based company didn’t mind removing it from its regular schedule of ferrying personnel and equipment to Freeport-McMoRan oil rigs.
She passed a bright orange windsock at the edge of the grass helipad, then turned to watch the blue-and-white helicopter lift and turn back to the mainland. It had been a one-way ride, and the text she had just received from Wu Tian confirmed he was in place and that the sailboat was waiting for them to make their escape once the operation was complete.
The helipad sat atop a butte on the northeast corner of the island between Cavern Point and Scorpion Ranch. She slung the duffel over her shoulder and started down the dirt trail, descending the side of the hill toward a modern settlement of tan-colored prefabricated houses. Passing the National Park Service enclave, she continued south on the gravel road and spotted Wu Tian squatting patiently in the shade.
He stood when she approached and slipped a dry sack onto his back, then lifted the other off the ground and handed it to her. “Everything’s here,” he said.
Chen grasped the shoulder straps and swung the dry sack onto her back, cinching them down to distribute the weight evenly. “Did you have any difficulties transferring the equipment from the container?”
“None.”
She looked toward Scorpion Ranch and saw several tourists milling about in brightly colored outdoor recreation clothing. “Think they will give us any trouble?”
Wu Tian followed her gaze, then shook his head. “I take it you brought the supplies we need if they do?”
She patted the duffel bag, feeling the soft cases inside containing the Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine guns and enough ammunition to deter a squad-sized enemy force. “Hopefully we won’t need them,” she said.
“Agreed,” he said, before glancing at his watch. “Let’s get moving.”
He didn’t wait for her assent and turned to begin their trek. She was content letting the former Jiaolong commando lead the way, and she settled into a relaxed pace several yards behind him. The trail split when they passed a windmill that appeared functional high up on a wooden tower.
“What do you suppose that’s for?” she asked.
He glanced at the windmill and shrugged.
Without consulting a map, Wu Tian took the right fork and followed the trail up the side of the hill. It wasn’t a steep climb, but it offered a nice view of Scorpion Ranch to their left. After cresting a small rise, the trail angled south, and the anchorage came into view where she saw the naked mast of a sailboat resting offshore. “Is that her?”
He nodded. “The dinghy is at the south end of the beach.”
When they reached the top of the hill, Wu Tian took a trail that cut back to the west. There were no trees offering protection from the sun, and the wind hammered at them as they cut back toward the interior of the island. After walking another half mile, the double-track trail again turned south, and she found herself enjoying the hike despite her almost overpowering exhaustion.