Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1) (63 page)

“
Maybe six months, maybe less. The feds are going to have a hell of a time tracking the skim. Even if they get to Black Chip. Hell, it
’
s owned by a number of offshore companies and trusts. They
’
ll have to do a lot of digging to get all the way down to us.
”

Pino chuckled
.
“
Y
eah, I think we covered out tracks pretty damn good. And besides, I could use a little vacation. It
’
s too bad we won
’
t be around to see the look on Chang
’
s face when he figures out he got fucked.
”

“
What
’
s he going to do?
”
Al replied.
“
He can
’
t go to the police.
Hell, there
’
s
nothing in writing
,
and how does he explain
sending
five mil in cash
to
the Outfit?
Are
you kidding me
? I
t
’
ll
smell
like a drug deal gone south.
Old
C
hicom Chang
,
ain
’
t g
ot a fuckin
’
prayer.
”

Pino was watching the technician fueling the wing tanks
.
He turned to Al.
“
He could decide to play hardball
.
”

“
He could. But if he does, we
’
ll hit him so fuckin
’
hard
,
he
’
ll no longer be a problem.
Capisce
?
”

Pino nodded and glanced
out the pilot
-
side cockpit window
at the man fueling the plane.

“
Al, lean over here and take a look at the guy fueling the plane. Does he look familiar to you?
”

Al leaned over
,
trying to get his bulk between Pino and the yoke
.

“
He does remind me of somebody I
’
ve seen before. But I can
’
t place him.
”

The technician topped of
f
the
port
wing tank and secured the cap. He looked up and saw Pino and Al looking at him. He gave them a
thumbs
-
up
and smiled.

“
Did you see that?
”
Pino asked
.

“
See w
hat?
”

“
Th
e
shit
-
eating grin th
at
guy gave us. It was the kind of grin you give somebody when you know something they don
’
t
.
”

“
Relax, h
e
’
s
probably some kind of idiot. Fueling planes all day long doesn
’
t require a PhD.
”

The fuel truck pulled away
,
and Pino
got up from the pilot
’
s seat.

“
Where you going, little brother?
”

“
I
’
m going to check the fuel for water.
”

“
Water? You think that little prick is working for Chang?
”

“
Hell, anything
’
s possible.
”

Al scratched his head
.
“
Jesus, I don
’
t think he could be on to us this fast
.
”
He paused for a moment
.
“
B
ut go ahead and check the fuel.
”

Pino went aft
,
opened the cabin door
,
and
lowered the stairway.
As he walked to the port
-
side wing, h
e
took a small
four
-
ounce glass vial from his shirt pocket
.
Kneeling
at the edge of the wing,
he depressed the fuel sump release and drained about three ounces
of
Jet-A fuel into
the
vial. He let the fuel settle for a couple of minutes
,
then
held it up against the sky
. Satisfied, he
dumped the fuel on the tarmac.

He repeated the procedure
for
the starboard
-
side wing tank.
Al was watching
from the co
-
pilot
’
s side
window. Pino looked up and gave him a thumbs
-
up and tossed the
second
fuel sample.

“
How
’
d she look?
”
Al asked
,
when Pino returned to the cockpit.

“
Fuel
’
s good
, b
ut something about that guy still bothers me.
”

Al nodded
.
“
D
on
’
t worry, brother. I never forget a face. It
’
ll come to me.
”

About two hours out of New Orleans
,
Al punched Pino in the shoulder.

“
I
’
ve got it.
”

Pino looked at his brother like he
’
d gone nuts.
“
Got what?
”

“
The guy at the airport. I know who he looks like. He
’
s a dead ringer for Sean Flannigan.
”

Pino nodded
.
“
You
’
re right. But he bought the
farm on Grand Cayman
. . .
didn
’
t he?
”

“
Yeah, went out like a fuckin
’
spy.
Ate a cyanide capsule, or s
o I heard.
”

“
Damn
,
that fuel guy could be his twin.
Flannigan
didn
’
t have a brother
,
did he?
”

“
You know, I heard Sean did have a younger brother. But
,
he was supposedly killed by the British in a shoot
-
out in
Belfast.
”

Al barely got the words out when the starboard engine starting cutting out.

Pino checked the fuel gauge, mixture
,
and throttle settings and looked over at Al.

“
All fuel settings are okay.
”

Then the port engine started sputtering,
rpm’s
dropping on both engines.

“
She
’
s acting
like we
’
re running out of fuel,
”
Pino said, tapping on the fuel gauges
, b
oth of which showed more than
half
a tank of fuel left.

“
Son
of
a
bitch! The fuel guy, whoever he is, did something to the fuel floats or gauges. We
’
re running out of gas.
”

Pino clicked his radio mike
and
call
ed
air traffic control in Houston. He
declare
d
an
emergency
,
and g
a
ve their position.

“
Jesus, can you put her in the water
,
dead stick?
”

“
I don
’
t know. Without power the controls are going to be very stiff, if not
. . .
”
Before Pino could finish his sentence, both engines quit.

“
Take the
co
-
pilot
’
s
yoke,
”
Pino said, his voice firm.
“
I may need your help to fly this tin can.
”

Pino put the King Air into a series of
wide
descending spirals.

“
When we get close to impact, I
’
ll flare to get the nose up and try and pancake her as best I can. It
’
s going to be pretty rough, big brother. So tighten your seat
-
belt as tight as you can. When I yell
, Flare!’,
b
race for impact.
”

Al nodded and looked at Pino.
“
Do you think it was Sean back at the airport?
”

“
Not unless the FBI faked his death and stashed him to testify against us.
”

“
Damn, I never thought about that. You know, the last time I talked to him
,
he was pretty cag
e
y. He knew I was pissed about him capping the detective at the strip club.
”

“
Yeah, and he also knew he was the only one who could t
ie
us to bombing Trueblood
’
s plane. Who the fuck knows? Help me with the yoke. Pull back just a tad. Okay, perfect. Here we go.
”

Their airspeed was too high and the surface of the gulf choppy.

“
Flare! Brace
!
”
Pino yelled
.

The initial impact was just aft of the wings. The nose of the aircraft then slammed forward into a good
-
size
d
wave
,
and
w
ater flooded into the plane. Pino looked over at Al
,
who appeared to be unconscious. A deep laceration on his forehead was bleeding profusely.

Pino reached behind his seat and managed to get hold of his flight bag. Water was chest high in the cockpit and
rising fast as
the bird
sank deeper into the Gulf.
He opened the bag and took out a snub
-
nosed .38 special.

As the water in the cockpit continued to rise, Pino looked over at his unconscious brother.
“
We ain
’
t going out like drowning rats,
fratello.
We
’
re going out like
La C
o
sa Nostra,
made
men.
See you on the other side, big brother
.
”

Pino raised the .38 and shot
Al once
,
in the side of the head.

He
took one more look around
the cabin
,
as the warm
,
greenish
-
colored water swirled
ever higher
around him
.
Looking aft down the cabin, h
e
smiled when he saw Wu
’
s briefcase floating
above the passenger seats.

“
Too bad, Chang
,
”
Pino
said with
a soft chuckle
.
“
L
ooks like
we
’
re both fucked.
”