Gitmo getaway, p.14
Gitmo Getaway, page 14
"Damn. Where can we obtain a light aircraft at short notice, no questions asked?"
"That'd be some trick," Evers chuckled, "Like I pulled with Jerry at DEA to take this Hummer. Pity it's not an aircraft."
Surely DEA snatches more than just vehicles?
"Do they have confiscated aircraft in your pal's DEA compound?"
He stared at Nolan, horrified at the way the conversation was going. "You're not serious? No way Jerry could pull off something like that. I mean, Jesus Christ, they'd go ape. An aircraft! Impossible."
"You could be right about that."
"Damn right," Evers confirmed.
"But we still need a plane, Danny. You have to get it for us."
"For Christ's sake, we're not even out of the desert yet."
"That's right. But soon these Border Guards will give up and go home to their wives, girlfriends, whatever. They'll assume they've lost us and end the search. They have people coming over the border all the time, so they won't waste any more time on us. When they've gone, we can leave and drive to this DEA compound. Do you have Jerry's cell number?"
He didn't answer for a few minutes, and Nolan waited him out. With a muttered, 'fuck this' he dragged out his satphone, found a place with line of sight reception through a hole in the netting, and put his finger on the speed dial. Nolan touched his arm to hold him back.
"One thing. Put it on speaker, so we can hear. There may be something he needs to know, type of aircraft, range, whatever."
He pushed a button, and they heard the dialing tone. He pushed another button, and the ringtone filled the interior of the Hummer. A voice answered.
"Agent Jackson."
"Jerry, it's me. Danny."
"Danny! How'd you make out with that Hummer? Pretty good off-road, right?"
"Yeah, real good. Listen, Jerry, there's something else I need."
"You? You mean you personally, or the Agency?"
A pause. "The Agency. The thing is..."
"Hey, listen. If it's Agency, just send in an official request. You know how it works."
"Yeah, but it's not so easy. We're in hot pursuit, Jerry. These are bad guys, terrorists, planning a big hit on US soil. There isn't time for a mountain of paperwork. We need to get to Miami real fast. If we miss them, we're looking at something worse than you can imagine. A lot worse."
"I hear you, Danny, but you know I stuck my neck out over that Hummer. I could..."
"If this comes off," Evers cut in, "think about it. There's a bunch of Islamic terrorists making their way across America, with a plan for a second 9/11. How do you think the White House will feel about the man who helped prevent it? You'll be a hero, Jerry, a real, live, walking talking hero. Lunch with the President, medals, you name it."
He's laying it on too thick, Nolan thought. It sounds like a con.
"I dunno..."
"Girls. They'll be falling at your feet. Pretty girls."
"Girls?"
"You'll have your pick, a real live hero, no question. What pretty girl wouldn't want to hang on your arm?"
"What do you need?"
* * *
An hour later, the sun was rising in the blue sky. It was a beautiful, clear day, and the searchers had given up and gone home. They stowed the camo net in the trunk. Evers started the engine and drove a few hundred meters along the gully until they came to a steep, sloping ramp, just enough for them to get out. The Hummer was indestructible. It climbed the steep gradient like a mountain goat, and soon they were roaring across the sand and scrub, heading for the outskirts of El Paso.
The DEA compound had once been a farm, confiscated when the owners fell behind with their mortgage and decided to change their crop to Mary Jane. There were several large wooden barns, and close to them the long, brown ribbon of a dirt strip. Evers saw Jerry Jackson standing outside the largest of them and stopped the Hummer close to him. He turned his head to speak.
"You guys wait here. This needs to be discreet. I mean, an aircraft! Fuck!"
Evers smiled, climbed out, and greeted his friend. "Nice to see you, Jerry."
Inside the Hummer, Brad Rose called out to Nolan, "Boss, how can we keep the theft of an aircraft quiet?"
He smiled. "I don't know, Brad. I guess the trick is to start the engine and don't look back."
"That sounds like some plan," he murmured.
Evers chatted to his friend, and they opened the barn doors enough to drive the Hummer inside. Nolan eased the SUV through the narrow space. Inside was like a dimly lit Aladdin's cave. He stopped the engine and climbed out to look at the spoils of the drug war. Vehicles, jeeps, a couple of limos, a WW2 vintage Willys Jeep, speedboats on trailers, even a helicopter, a Robinson R44. There was a couple of single engine Cessnas, four seats, cheap and plentiful for clandestine cross border missions. Even a Pitts Special, in classic bright yellow livery. Pretty, but sadly, they needed more than one seat. Behind the Pitts they could see a pair of props peeking out between the parked aircraft. The fuselage was hidden under a canvas tarpaulin.
"What's that over there?" Nolan pointed at the hidden aircraft.
Jackson squinted through the gloom and shrugged. "It's been there ever since I can remember. You want to take a look? I can go check the manifests, see what it's all about."
"Do that."
They threw the canvas off the fuselage and stood back to admire what had been hidden beneath.
"It's a Rockwell Twin Commander," Will said at once, "I flew a few hours in one of those. Except it was more modern. This must be fifty years old, if it's a day."
"Sixty one, to be precise," Jackson told them, reading from a manifest, "They had the bright idea of using it to fly people across the border. She can carry eight pax at a pinch, and they set out to make a packet of dough from well-heeled wetbacks. Trouble is, she came from the air force. They didn't remove the IFF electronics when they sold her on. The smugglers flew low to avoid our radar, but it made no difference. We were able to track her almost to the inch, poor dumb bastards."
"Does she still fly?"
"She flew in here, but that was," he consulted the book, "Yeah, two and a half years ago. That explains why I didn't know anything about her. I wasn't here then. But you can't take that one, no way."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" he looked bemused, "Because it's too dangerous. It hasn't been checked out. There could be a hundred problems with her."
"Dangerous," Will smiled, "You know we're going up against Ricardo Montez?"
"Danny told me, yeah."
"Believe me, that's what you call dangerous. We'll take her."
"If the engines start," Jerry Jackson warned, "and I'd give odds against that."
"A fair point," Will agreed, "but it's all you have here to carry six people to Miami, so we'll have to get the motors started, one way or the other."
"Seven people."
They looked around at Evers. "You want to come with us?" Nolan asked him.
He smiled sheepishly. "I reckon it's time to stand up and be counted. Yeah, I'm coming. Besides," he pointed at Vega, "If Granddad can make it, I can."
The Cuban gave him a macho, Hispanic scowl. Clearly, Evers had some work to do on his people skills.
"Rafael trained in Special Forces," Nolan pointed out.
"He did? Well, what about her?" he nodded at Eva, "She's a woman."
Another scowl.
"She's kills people, Danny. She's damn good at it."
He reddened. "Uh, right." An expression of fear betrayed his terror, but he fought it back and brightened, "So I need the experience. I'm coming along."
Will shrugged. "You want to join us in hell, it's up to you."
"I do."
"We are all sinners, and shall burn," John-Wesley grated, "The Lord said, 'then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death'. You should beware of what you wish for, Mr. Evers."
"Hallelujah," Brad murmured. Ryder caught it and glared at him.
"Praise the Lord," Will whispered. This time it was more 'sotto voce', so he didn't hear. Nolan grinned.
So did Eva. Later, while Bryce, Rose, and Ryder were checking out the control surfaces, she joined him in the cockpit where he was watching the gages. She brought with her a faint female odor. It was slightly arousing, even mixed with the familiar old aircraft tang of avgas, lubricants, leather, and rubber.
She’s probably the prettiest girl who's ever graced this shabby old cockpit, he thought to himself.
He was in the left-hand seat, which had an old flying jacket draped over the cracked leather squab. He looked away from the bewildering array of dials and switches, all of them analogue. Some of the glasses on the gages were cracked, and a few of the black Bakelite knobs were missing, leaving just a brass stub. However, so far as he could tell, everything that should work, did work.
"Your man, Ryder. He takes his religion seriously. Very seriously."
He glanced at her and read concern in her face. "He does that."
"You shouldn't take it too lightly. I saw the look he gave Brad."
"Me too. I think they know where to draw the line. I hope they do."
"Be careful of him. I wouldn't want him to kill you."
He looked up, surprised. "There's plenty have tried, and I'm still breathing. You shouldn't worry about me."
"But I do."
He astonished. "Why?"
For the first time she looked unsure. "I don't know, Nolan. I guess you're not a bad guy, as men go. Most of them are useless bullshitters. If we survive this, maybe one day we can go out on a date."
"A date! But, I thought..."
She was looking at him curiously. "You thought what?"
He knew his face was glowing red. "I, er, wasn't sure. I saw you in the bar with that girl. I thought, you know..."
"You saw me with my sister, yes. So what?"
The penny dropped, and her expression darkened. "You thought I was a dyke. You bastard!"
She slapped him around the face. It stung badly, and he expected a second blow, but it didn't come.
"You didn't hit me back." She was watching him, waiting for him to strike back.
"I guess I deserved it," he admitted, "I jumped to the wrong conclusion. So you're not...I mean..."
"A lesbian? No way. For even thinking that, you owe me dinner, Nolan. And it'd better be expensive."
He relaxed and smiled. "You can count on it. But you'll have to stop hitting me."
They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, and he realized how much he'd come to like this brave, feisty Cuban beauty.
Dinner, that'd be good. And then?
For a tiny moment, the awesome challenges they still faced seemed a little less daunting.
"Hey, Boss," Will shouted, breaking up the moment, "Take a look at this. The starboard engine."
They grinned at each other.
"Time to go to work."
She nodded. "I can wait."
* * *
"Where are we?"
Nasriri didn't reply to Hakim Baba, but Abu said, "In the middle of nowhere. We just drove past a town called Beaumont, in Texas."
"We're still in Texas? We've been in Texas forever."
"It is a big place, Hakim. I believe we are about half way to our destination."
"To New York?"
"Not New York, no," Abu replied, "We are heading to Miami."
He glared at Nasriri. "Omar, why did you not tell us of this change of plan?"
"I only tell you what you need to know when you need to know it, Hakim. Not before. Your job is to obey my orders, no more."
The young man stared at their leader for long minutes. It was fortunate Nasriri couldn't see him in the darkness. When he took his revenge, he wanted it to be a surprise, the last surprise of his life.
He had a moment of melancholy. A wave of depression rolled over him as he remembered why they were here.
What's the point? We'll all be dead before long. Revenge is a waste of time.
Then he thought of his family. Would they be proud, would they miss him? There was the girl he'd dated, just once, when she was able to get out from under her father's savage gaze. Her name was Ahu, meaning gazelle. She was well named, graceful, gentle, and vulnerable. Beautiful.
Is it too late for me to go back to Ahu, to change my mind? Omar would kill me if he knew. But what if he didn't find out? Even better, I could take revenge for the humiliations he has heaped upon my head and go back to Afghanistan.
It was a wonderful thought, and he felt the burden of his coming death less slightly.
But then, how can I escape and get back, with no money, no papers, no passport? Impossible.
He felt the crushing darkness over him and put it out of his mind.
The truck droned on, mile after mile, and hour after hour. A voice broke the silence.
"Omar, we have to stop. I need to go."
He glanced at Rashid. "Harun, you'll have to wait."
"I'm not going to shit myself like Hakim," the other man blazed.
Abu Bakr switched on a flashlight. "Give it a rest, Harun. Omar said you have to wait."
"Fuck Omar," he shouted, as he leapt forward at Nasriri, a curved knife held outstretched. The older man jerked aside at the last minute, and the blade scraped down his forearm. All he could do was defend himself, and he held up a book he'd been reading. Hakim noticed it was a copy of the Koran, and he smiled. Despite everything they'd been told, he doubted the Prophet would protect Omar if Harun's knife got past the thick leather bound book.
Rashid struck again, and Omar jerked up the Koran to block the strike. The other men were starting to wake up to the danger, and they made a grab for Harun as he tried to strike for a third time. Two of them managed to hold him, one gripped his knife arm, and the other threw his arms around his body to stop him going forward and committing murder.
Omar Nasriri had no such qualms. He saw his chance, snatched out his own blade, and before anyone could react, plunged it into Harun's guts. The young man doubled up in agony as the blade slid into him, and blood began to pour out of the wound onto the floor of the truck. Omar pulled out the blade, but instead of stopping the fight, he stabbed again, this time into the wounded man's throat. He gave out a sighing noise as air escaped from his ruined windpipe, threshed for a few seconds trying to suck in air, and then he slumped. Dead. The atmosphere in the truck changed, filled with the stench of feces from the dead man's bowels.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
"You didn't need to do that," Hakim shouted.
"He just wanted a crap," Hosni said hotly, "By the Prophet, Omar, that was unnecessary."
Nasriri blazed at them, sensing he was losing control. "I say what is necessary, and what is not. It is time you learned, all of you. We are on a mission from God, and I am his instrument. Nothing must interfere with our sacred task. Nothing." He held up his blade, dripping with fresh blood, "Does anyone wish to argue with me?"
They were silent. Finally, he nodded.
"Good. When we stop, we will toss out the body. Not before."
They stared at him, appalled. They faced the prospect of traveling with the dead body of their friend, together with the stench of shit. They looked at each other, but no one spoke. Abu clicked off the flashlight, and there was only the stink of feces to remind them of their predicament, and the peculiar metallic smell of fresh blood, which mingled with the feces, produced an odor that was even more sickening.
Unseen in the darkness, Hakim was thinking. He'd had enough. It was as well he'd seen Omar in action; the man was quick with a knife, very quick.
When I go for him, I’ll bear it in mind. Maybe it would be best to shoot him.
That cheered him up until he remembered the impossibility of getting home.
No matter what I do, I’m doomed, and there’s no way to avoid it. I’m going to die. We all are.
Chapter Eight
She sat on the grass, eating her lunch. For the past few days she'd spent her lunchtimes with Clay. Today, he'd cancelled because of an exam, so she was on her own. The sun shone, and although it was cold, she felt good. Alive! He'd promised to take her to the range tomorrow, and she could almost feel the butt of the pistol in her hand. The pistol she would use to kill Hidalgo.
She was no fool. She was just a girl, a college student, planning to attack a hardened killer. The odds were she would die in the attempt. However, she'd be free of him, one way or the other. One factor weighed heavily in her favor. Something of which she intended to make full use of. Hidalgo was a typical macho Latino; no way would he expect a mere girl to dare go up against him. Impossible! When the opportunity came to hit him unexpectedly, she'd take it. She'd only have one chance before he was forewarned. After that, she may as well put the gun to her own head.
She reached into her backpack to pull out a can of soda. Her hand came out empty.
Damn, I forgot to buy one in the cafeteria.
There was just time to go back for one, so she climbed to her feet, and jumped in surprise as grass and earth erupted between her feet. Something had sliced into the earth, leaving a narrow scar. Right where she'd been sitting.
What the hell?
The truth hit her like a bolt of lightning. A bullet. She turned in time to see a minivan moving away from the street that bordered the college grounds.
Hidalgo!
She ran inside trembling and hid in the bathroom. More than ever she needed Clay. Needed his guidance, needed the gun she knew he'd obtain for her. Needed to kill Hidalgo before he had time to try again.
I was lucky. He won't miss next time.
* * *
Will had removed the nacelle of the starboard engine and had his head inside the maze of aluminum, pipes, and cables, inspecting it with a flashlight.
"What is it?"
He removed his head and looked down at Nolan. "In a word, trouble. At some stage, they parked the aircraft without the nacelles. I'd guess someone sprayed a corrosive cleaning fluid too near the starboard engine. The internals are coated with corrosion."
