Political Suicide (34 page)

“Given what’s at stake, I’m sure of it,” Lou said.

“Actually, I have his cell number. I can call him.”

“Be careful, lady. I mean it.”

“Same to you guys.”

Lou could not bring himself to say good-bye.

After the call ended, Cap tapped Lou on the shoulder. “You know, you two sound like an old married couple.”

“I would say more like we’re inching up to the discovery phase. Do you think one of you would be willing to fill in for me with Officer Lemon?”

“You bet,” the two men called out in near unison.

For ten minutes, the three flew in silence. Then Papa Steve dropped down to 250 feet and announced he was making a stop.

“What for?” Lou asked. “We’ve got to get there.”

“We’ve also got to do something about that gun we worked so hard for.”

Without any further explanation, Papa Steve landed effortlessly on the fairway of the ninth hole of a golf course Lou knew well—38.84783,-76.73744, the Sharpton Hills Golf Club. Using tools from an emergency repair kit under the pilot’s seat, he quickly removed a piece from the passenger-side control panel and slid in the pistol that had probably been used to murder Elias Colston.

“Lou, do you have the number of your friend Sarah’s office?”

“Right here in my wallet.”

“Call and leave a message for the boss and one for Sarah, telling them where the gun can be found.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her while we were talking?”

Papa Steve’s bittersweet expression answered the question. “You tell me,” he said.

“You don’t think we’re going to survive this, do you.”

“You want me to answer that? I was going to leave the gun with your friend Officer Lemon, but I don’t know her well enough to trust her. And unfortunately, I do know Brody. Then I passed on just burying it here on the golf course. That would be time consuming and just plain sloppy to try in the dark, especially with the ground nearly frozen. So this is the best I can come up with.”

“There is another option,” Lou offered. “Cap, if you just say the word, we’ll drop you off right here with the gun. You can make your way home and get it to someone you trust.”

“Tell me what you would do if our situations were reversed. I’m stayin’.”

“Up we go,” Lou said. “I’ve got Sarah’s office number right here.”

“Make sure to leave a detailed message,” Papa Steve said. “My best friend and the daddy of my godson was killed with this weapon. I’m not going to allow the man who pulled the trigger to walk away.”

Lou replaced the repair kit as the Huey smoothly lifted off, and then made the call to Sarah’s office. Papa Steve was right. The odds favored none of them surviving this night. He smiled ruefully, thinking about the irony of Gary McHugh being the only one to make it alive. It was dumb to try to stop Operation Talon—childish and naïve.

“Last chance, Cap,” he said. “Just say the word and we’ll set you down right here.”

“I’m here to serve and protect, my friend. At the moment, there are only three guys I’m the sponsor for. It wouldn’t look good for me to lose a third of them.”

The next forty-five minutes were spent with each man lost in his own thoughts.

“Hey, gentlemen,” Papa Steve suddenly announced, “we’re approaching Dover. Make sure your seat straps are secured and your tray tables are in their upright and locked positions. And, oh yes, hold on tight.”

“Do we have permission to land?” Lou asked.

Papa Steve lowered their altitude to 750 feet. Ahead of them, the dim lights of the airfield glowed like distant stars.

“Not yet,” he said.

“So that’s your plan?” Lou sounded concerned. “You’re just going to wing it and see what happens?”

“I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of guy.”

“Or, more precisely, a get-shot-in-the-seat-of-your-pants type of guy.”

As if on cue, the radio began to crackle. Then air traffic control took over and announced that they were being monitored and needed to turn around. Papa Steve handled the brief, tense communication smoothly and with class, keeping the copter flying slow and level.

“It’s a no-go on landing,” he said. “The air base is shut down to incoming traffic. Orders.”

“Tell them to ask Brody for permission,” Lou said quickly.

Papa Steve looked over at Lou, perplexed. “Not sure about this, Doc.”

“Tell them to relay this exact message to Colonel Wyatt Brody, Mantis Company: Dr. Lou Welcome knows all about Manolo, and he’s going to go public unless we get permission to land.”

Papa Steve hesitated for a moment before sending the message back to the tower. A stream of chatter ensued. After a tense few minutes of waiting and circling, the helicopter made a sudden and rapid course change.

“Where are we going?” Lou asked.

“We’re landing,” Papa Steve said. “I guess your message worked. We’ll be touchdown in a little over twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Why do we have to circle for so long?” Lou asked.

“I guess they have to prepare the welcome wagon for our arrival. Brace yourself, boys, I think we’re going to get more chop on the ground than we did in the air.”

CHAPTER 46

Ten minutes after ending her call with Lou, Sarah drove over a pothole at forty and did not hear a sound from the trunk of her Mercedes. Not a cry. No shift in weight. Nothing. They had secured Bryzinski as best as they could. His handcuffs seemed too tight, so they went to clothesline, wrapped several times around his wrists and ankles. It seemed there was no way he could bang for attention. They left the gag on him, too, and crossed their fingers that he wouldn’t vomit and choke to death.

It was time to find Hogarth.

Sarah called. The phone rang several times. She believed Hogarth would be at Dover, which was the direction in which she now was driving. If Operation Talon was as big as Lou had said, then Hogarth would want to see the fruits of his and Brody’s labors take flight.

Three rings, and Sarah heard a satisfying click.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Secretary Hogarth, it’s Sarah Cooper.”

Hogarth’s hesitation was long enough. Bryzinski had either failed or not made his move.

“Yes, Counselor.”

“We need to talk.”

Did she hear him suck down a nervous breath? It was hard to tell over the thrumming of her car tires and the spotty cell reception. But if Sarah ventured a guess, then Spencer Hogarth, for a fleeting moment at least, believed he was conversing with a ghost.

“Sarah, are you calling to thank me for the wine?”

“Not the wine, Mr. Secretary. I have a new deal to make.”

“Talk to me now. You seem to have a way of getting my attention.”

“No, this has to be done face-to-face.”

“Now? I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Your choice. Meet me now or I’m going to begin a hatchet job on your career. You know I can do it, too.”

“Well, when you put it that way, what choice do I really have?”

“None.”

“In that case, I’m at Dover air base. Can you find it?”

“My car can.”

“I’ll meet you at the main gate. Call me when you’re ten minutes out.”

“See you soon.” Sarah ended the call. “He’s at Dover,” she said to Edith.

“You knew he would be. Did he suspect anything?” Edith clutched her hands tightly in her lap, rubbing them together as she bit down at her lower lip.

“No,” Sarah said. “And he can’t. For our plan to work, Hogarth must believe that the killer cop he hired never made the hit—at least not yet. I’m sure he’s calling Bryzinski right now.”

“Will he hear him in the trunk?”

“Not the way we tied him down. But still, I’ll pull over and double-check as soon as we see a safe place. Any peep from Bryzinski would give Hogarth enough reason to have us both killed on the spot.”

“Or do it himself,” Edith said.

*   *   *

TWO HOURS
later, Sarah arrived at the front gate to Dover air base. They had stopped twice and noted with relief that Bryzinski was lying on his side, breathing easily. The air base was an impenetrable fortress of barbed wire and tall fencing. Armed guards with rifles at the ready stepped in front of Sarah’s car as she slowed to a stop.

Please don’t open my trunk,
she was thinking.

Sarah lowered her window as one of the guards approached. From high above, she heard the chop of a helicopter, its rotors whapping against the cold and windy air.

Lou, is that you up there? Is it you? Please be careful.

Another guard approached her car, this one shining a bright flashlight into Edith’s face. The light, reflecting off Edith’s dark glasses, evoked absolutely no response. The guard with the flashlight whistled for attention.

“She’s blind,” Sarah said.

Edith looked out Sarah’s window. “Hey, I’m blind,” she said, removing her dark glasses. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Ma’am,” the guard said to Sarah, “that’s fine, but this is a restricted area. You’ll need to back your vehicle away right now.”

“I’ve got a meeting with Spencer Hogarth. He’s supposed to be here.”

“Secretary Hogarth? You know him?”

“Look, we don’t want to make trouble for you guys, but he’s expecting us. You can send us away without trying to reach him, but I promise it won’t go well for you.”

“The Americans with Disabilities people can be pretty tough adversaries,” Edith added.

“One minute, please.”

The guard left and two others took his place. They each carried powerful automatic weapons. Sarah took in a breath and held it. She didn’t dare even to look up. At her girlfriends’ insistence, she had gone on a few dates over recent years, but there was never any spark. Now there was a man who was getting to her, and he was up there. Getting ready, along with his friends, to risk his life to stop twenty young soldiers who were riding into their own Little Bighorn. He was totally maddening, but he was also totally good. And thoughts of him were gnawing at her chest.

The only person she knew who rivaled Lou’s persistence was herself. Now, if she could not get Hogarth to turn on Brody, then Lou’s life, and the lives of Cap Duncan and Papa Steve, would be in the gravest danger, to say nothing of Edith’s and her own.

As if reading her thoughts, Edith reached across and took her hand. “Hang in there, babe,” she said, her jaw fiercely set. “We’re going to do this.”

The first guard returned, and for a moment—something about his eyes—Sarah thought they’d been denied entry.

“We need to check IDs first,” he said, “then we’ll escort you inside.”

Sarah exhaled a relieved breath.

From above them, she again heard the steady thrum of a helicopter.

CHAPTER 47

A strong updraft wobbled the landing skids of the Huey, but Papa Steve, cool as ice on an igloo, adjusted the controls and brought the helicopter to a smooth touchdown on the helipad. He then cut the engines and waited until the persistent whapping of the rotors had come to a complete stop before announcing that it was okay to release their safety harnesses.

Cap came forward and joined the other two in the cockpit. His pistol dangled loosely in his hand. The rest of his knapsack lay on the metal floor, empty except for the tools he had used to break into Wyatt Brody’s office and gun case. All three were looking out the front windshield into total darkness. No lights. No movement of any kind. Lou unbuckled his harness and rushed to the back of the helicopter, glancing out the rear windshields. Here he could see only runway lights. Otherwise, the surrounding grounds appeared to be completely deserted.

“What now?” Cap asked.

“Now we go outside,” Lou said.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, pal,” Cap said.

“I can’t see a soul out there,” Papa Steve said on his way from the cockpit to the cabin. “My gut says trap.”

“Oh, they’re out there, all right,” Lou said.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is we take our chances in the lion’s den.”

“Just my luck,” Cap said with a frustrated sigh. “I get partnered with two guys who fly by the seat of their pants.” He hung his head and made the sign of the cross.

“Um, Lou … I think—”

Before Papa Steve could finish his thought, Lou had the side door open and had jumped out of the cabin and onto the tarmac. Cap and Papa Steve followed. The trio stood in a tight circle, surveying the darkness, breathing in the quiet. A row of blue lights, shimmering like gas flames, stretched down the length of a long runway, casting a weak glow on the massive transport aircraft parked there. The airplane’s engines rumbled at low volume like the snore of a sleeping giant.

In the distance, tower lights barely reached that remote section of the air base where air traffic control had directed Papa Steve to land. The shadows of a row of massive snowplows loomed like steel monsters. A steady, biting wind whipped at the men’s faces.

Off to one side of the runway, Lou could see the three Chinook helicopters from Mantis, silent and dark. Maybe the men of Mantis Company were already aboard the transport aircraft. If so, it might be too late for anybody to stop Operation Talon.

“I’d like to up that bad feeling to a
really
bad feeling,” Cap said.

As if on cue, blinding headlights from the snowplows all came on at once. Lou and the others squinted and crouched low, shielding themselves from the glare. When they straightened up, they could see shapes—shadowy figures that had seemingly materialized from the night. Another blink, and the figures came into sharp focus. Soldiers from Mantis Company stood before them in a straight line, like a firing squad, their rifles at the ready. The men from Mantis, rigid as stone columns, appeared impervious to the cold. Their weapons were locked on the three intruders.

A man emerged from between two of the soldiers. He wore a thick down parka and hid his eyes beneath a broad-brimmed camouflage cap.

Brody.

Brody was followed by a taller officer in nearly identical dress, who Lou felt certain was Coon, the second in command he had heard at Mantis base. The two men entered the beams of the snowplows’ headlamps as though they were stepping onto a Broadway stage.