Shadow of Betrayal (43 page)

Peter had seen what Quinn already knew. A little more than another hour north of Santa Maria was the small coastal town of San Simeon. And just beyond San Simeon, Hearst Castle. Not a castle, really, but about as close to it as you got in the States. It was a colossal home built by the late newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, and was the inspiration for Xanadu in the old Orson Welles film
Citizen Kane.
For
decades now it had been run as a tourist destination by the State of California.

Usually it wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar. Nothing to draw the attention of someone like Quinn or Peter. But as Hardwick had pointed out to Quinn, Hearst Castle was playing host to a group other than tourists this week. In fact, no tourist had been allowed near the place for the last ten days. Its remote location yet luxurious setting made it the perfect place for this year’s G8 summit meeting—a meeting of the heads of state from all the “Group of Eight” nations.

The meetings had begun in the mid-seventies with only six participating nations. They grew from the need for a more global stance to the oil shortages and recession of the time, then continued to grow and expand in the following decades until it had become arguably the most important international meeting of the year.

Every year the meeting would rotate to another of the member nations: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. It was designed to provide an opportunity for the leaders of some of the world’s most powerful nations to discuss whatever issues were deemed important at the time. And this year, it was the U.S.’s turn to host.

“Impossible,” Peter said. “The government’s got the whole area sealed off. Highway 1 is closed just north of Cambria and south of Gorda. No way anyone can get close even by air. And bringing a bunch of kids with them? Not a chance.”

“Check the schedule.”

“Hold on.” The line went silent for several seconds. “Nothing. There are meetings all day for the next two days. There
is
a dinner each night.”

“Entertainment?” Quinn asked.

Peter paused again. “Yes. But nothing matching your group of children. Yo-Yo Ma tonight and Harry Connick, Jr., tomorrow.”

Quinn frowned. “It doesn’t matter. We know basically where they’re going. You should be able to pick them up on radar, and if not, you get a large enough force out there, you’ll find them before dawn.”

Peter said nothing.

“What is it?” Quinn asked.

“I can’t get ahold of my client at the Agency.”

“What?”

“He’s dropped out of sight. Not answering his phone.”

“Then call somebody else.”

“I’ve been
trying
, but no one is taking my calls.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Peter? You’ve got a ton of people you can reach.”

“The Office has been shut out,” Peter said. “The word has gone out not to deal with us.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Because the goddamn Assistant Director of the NSA told me right before he hung up.”

“You’ve got to keep trying,” Quinn said. “My team and I can’t do this alone.”

“I realize that.”

“Then stop talking to me and do something about it.” Quinn ended the call.

He looked out the window. Where the black mass of the mountains didn’t block out the sky, he saw stars. He stared at them, his mind going blank.

“You should try to get a little sleep,” Orlando said. “You’ve been going almost twenty-four hours. Even thirty minutes will help.”

“You’ve been going as long as I have.”

“Took a nap at the hotel when I thought you were just on a little scouting mission.”

It was hard to miss the sarcasm in her voice, and it wasn’t the funny kind, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The opportunity to get in came up, so I had to take it.”

The left side of her mouth turned up in a smirk.

“All in all,” he said, “it looks like it was a good decision.”

He knew she couldn’t argue that. Still, she looked like she wanted to put up a fight.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Sleep. Don’t sleep. I don’t care.”

She got up and walked to the other end of the passenger hold.

Quinn wanted to go after her, but he thought maybe it was best not to. Despite her nap, she had to be as tired as he was. She just needed a little space, he thought.

He slumped in his chair and stared at the floor. At what point his own eyes closed and he fell asleep, he had no idea.

“We’re here.” It was Nate’s voice, very close to Quinn’s ear.

Quinn opened his eyes. The cabin was dim, but he could see Marion Dupuis stretched out on the other side of the cabin.

The roar of the engine was unchanged, and from the way everything was still moving up and down, side to side, Quinn knew they were still in the air.

He sat up. “The pilot,” he said.

“Orlando’s watching him.”

“How long was I out?”

“A little over an hour.”

Quinn blinked several times, then looked out the window. Night still, but the massive Sierra Nevada mountains were gone. In the distance he could see the glow of a city on the horizon. He checked his watch. It was a few minutes before 4 a.m.

“Where exactly are we?” he asked as he stood up.

“Those lights out there are from Santa Maria. We’re about forty miles south, right where the pilot said he was to receive his next instructions. But there’s no sign of the others.”

“North,” Quinn said. “They’ll be on the other side of Santa Maria somewhere. As close as they can get to Hearst Castle without drawing any attention.”

“It’s a pretty tight perimeter up there. There’s a message on the radio warning of a no-fly zone starting south of Arroyo Grande. That’s only about fifteen miles beyond Santa Maria.”

“I need to see a map,” Quinn said.

“There’s one up front.”

•    •    •

There were only two seats in the cockpit. Orlando sat in the one on the left, the gun in her hand pointed at the pilot. He was sitting in the one on the right.

They both glanced over as Quinn leaned between them.

The look on the pilot’s face was tense. Quinn noticed sweat streaks running past his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Where’s the map?” Quinn asked.

“Behind my chair,” Orlando said.

Quinn grabbed it. It was a book kind of like the
Thomas Guide
he had in his car, only not quite as thick. He found the page showing the central coast of California, then traced a line along Highway 101 between Santa Maria and Arroyo Grande. There were a couple of smaller towns in between. There was also plenty of wilderness and hilly areas where a helicopter—or even three—could land unnoticed.

“We’ll go here,” Quinn said, pointing at a spot on the map and showing it to both Orlando and the pilot.

The place he’d chosen was just a few miles southeast of Arroyo Grande, on the edge of a town called Los Berros. He knew they were pushing it to try and get in that close to the no-fly zone, but he didn’t know what other choice he had. The other helicopters most likely hadn’t gone that far, so there was a chance Quinn might be able to get in front of them. A small chance, granted, but it was something.

The pilot banked the helicopter to the right, then flew north, bypassing Santa Maria and keeping several miles to the east of the highway.

Less than a minute later a voice came over the radio. “Aircraft traveling north-northwest nearing Nipomo, be advised we have you on radar. Please identify yourself.”

“That’s us,” the pilot said.

“Take us lower,” Quinn said.

“There are hills down there,” the pilot protested.

“Then try not to hit them.”

“Unidentified aircraft, please respond.”

The helicopter dove down several thousand feet until it was only a hundred feet aboveground.

“Hug the terrain,” Quinn said, knowing it would cut down on their radar signature.

“Unidentified aircraft, you’re instructed to head south-southeast to the Santa Maria Public Airport. You are to land and await further instructions. Please confirm.”

On the ground below, Quinn could see scattered homes. Most were dark at this hour, but a few had lights on.

“Two miles,” Orlando said.

“Unidentified aircraft. Please be advised you are nearing a no-fly zone. If you enter the zone, you
will
be shot down. Unidentified aircraft, please respond.”

“One mile,” Orlando said.

“Company,” Nate said.

He was standing behind Quinn and pointing over Quinn’s shoulder and out the front window to the left.

A black spot on the deep blue sky was rapidly approaching. Within seconds it buzzed by them.

“I’m turning around,” the pilot said.

Orlando raised her gun. “Nate,” she said, “you ready to take over?”

“Absolutely,” Nate said.

“Jesus,” the pilot said. “They’re going to shoot us down.”

“Shut up, and keep on course,” Quinn said.

“He’s back,” Orlando said. She motioned with her chin at the window beyond the pilot.

Pacing them a hundred feet to the east was an Apache attack helicopter.

“Unidentified aircraft, this is Captain Muñoz of the U.S. Army. I’m here to escort you back to Santa Maria. I’d advise not trying anything stupid. Do you understand?”

“Now
what do you want me to do?” the pilot asked.

“Tell him you understand,” Quinn said.

The pilot hesitated a moment, then keyed his mic. “I understand, Captain.”

“You will make a one-eighty-degree turn to the left, then fly south to Santa Maria.”

The pilot looked at Quinn, who nodded back.

“Roger,” the pilot said.

“First let’s get you some altitude. Take her up to a thousand feet on my mark. Okay?”

“There,” Quinn said. He pointed at a clearing just ahead. It looked like someone’s field. Perhaps a place for horses. There were several houses in the area, and a thick grove of trees lining two of the sides.

“Did you understand my instructions?”

“Tell him yes,” Quinn said. “But when he tells you to go up, I want you to take us down fast into that clearing as close to the trees as possible.”

“I’ll need at least a hundred feet of clear space.”

“Make it fifty,” Quinn said. “Any more and I will kill you the moment we’re on the ground.”

“Did you understand my instructions?” the voice on the radio repeated, now without any trace of friendliness.

“I understand,” the pilot said.

“Nate,” Quinn said. “Go back with Marion. Secure for a rough landing.”

Without a word, Nate was gone.

“All right,” the captain in the Apache said.

The clearing was close now.

“Let’s take her up,” the captain said.

Quinn could feel the helicopter rise. Just a few seconds more.

“Now!” Quinn yelled.

The Superhawk immediately switched direction, heading straight down for the ground.

“Unidentified aircraft, cease your descent!”

“As close to the trees as possible,” Quinn reminded the pilot.

The ground was rushing up at them.

“Pull up,” the captain said. “Pull up now!”

With a loud
whap
, they hit the ground. Quinn, who’d been holding on to both seats, tumbled forward, landing halfway in the pilot’s lap. He pushed himself up, then yelled, “Everybody out!”

The pilot started to unbuckle himself.

“No,” Quinn said. “Not you.”

He punched the man hard in the face, stunning him.

In the main cabin, Nate already had the door open and was helping Marion to the ground. Orlando was right behind them. Quinn was pleased to see the pilot had put them even closer to the grove than he’d hoped.

“Go,” he said as he jumped out. “Into the trees.”

Above and behind him, he could hear the Apache coming in for a landing, but he didn’t look back. With a crew of only two, no one from the Army helicopter would be following them. At least not on foot. If the helicopter went airborne again, it might be able to spot them. But that’s where leaving the pilot of the Superhawk behind came in. He would occupy them, at least long enough for Quinn and his team to get away.

“Head west,” Quinn said as soon as they were all under cover. “Better chance we’ll find a ride in that direction.”

But the noise of the helicopters had woken everyone in the area, and several people were outside trying to see if they could figure out what was going on. It forced Quinn and the others to keep to the trees, slowing their progress.

After a couple of minutes they reached a blacktop road heading east to the hills and west toward Highway 101. The highway was where they wanted to be, so they moved westward parallel to the road, staying under the cover of the trees. They passed a couple of hills, then a short bridge above a dry creek bed.

That’s when Quinn heard the Apache power up again.

“Back, back,” he said. “To the bridge. Get under.”

Nate and Orlando understood why at once. But Marion looked confused. Quinn grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her with him down into the dry creek.

There was only about four feet of clearance under the bridge. After Nate and Orlando scrambled underneath, Quinn pushed Marion’s head down and all but shoved her in after them. He could hear the helicopter rising into the air as he ducked down and joined his team.

“What are we doing here?” Marion said.

“Thermal imaging,” Nate said. “They’d be able to spot us even in the trees.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Marion,” Quinn said, “I need you to stay focused. If you want us to save Iris, we need you to do this. Okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just didn’t know, okay?”

Quinn stared at her for a second, then nodded.

Outside they could hear the Apache flying in a circle, looking for them.

“Nate,” Quinn said, “I noticed a house not far down the road on the left. You see it?”

Nate nodded.

“After the next circuit, when the Apache is heading away from us, I want you to sprint over there, but keep low. You think you can get there before they look back in this direction?”

“I think so.”