Page 75 of Vaquero
“Jesus Bloody Ch-Ch-Christ,” she hissed, now on her knees with her wrists cuffed behind her, and drooling face-first into the molded seat. She’d dropped the tranquilizer pistol, but her body was mostly on the floor. “You… sh-sh-shot me?”
There was no need to answer that stupid question. Of course, he’d shot her. He was just surprised she was still coherent enough to talk after being hit twice at close range. By his Beretta M9, no less. She might’ve been using tranq darts, but Julio’s nine-millimeter should’ve knocked her out. That must be some tactical vest she was wearing.
Hurriedly, Julio scrambled to secure her weapon. Emptying the chamber of its loaded mini-syringe, he carefully extracted the other two darts, then stuffed them into an overhead compartment. He settled her pistol at the small of his back. Meanwhile, the bird was slowly losing altitude. Spinning in wide, out of control circles, they were going down. Guess that cruise control didn’t last very long.
Hotrod flopped sideways out of his seat, held only by his harness. His helmeted head lolled on his shoulder. Still out cold. Not good.
Swiftly, Julio pushed Hazelton prone to the floor, face up, then patted her down to make sure there were no more hidden surprises behind that trench coat. Just as he’d suspected. The coat had hidden the set of sleek, ultra-modern, state-of-the-art tactical plates he found beneath her blouse. This was why he hadn’t wanted Meg on this bird.
Julio loosened the ties to Hazelton’s plates. When he log-rolled her to slide the plates out from under her, he went stock still. He’d found a small, rectangular device taped between her shoulder blades. A satellite messenger device. And it was broadcasting.
Hazelton moaned when Julio ripped the tape holding the device off her skin. Too bad.
Since satellite messenger devices relied on global satellite networks instead of cell coverage and the limited reach of cell towers, they worked worldwide. Some models allowed GPS navigation and communication options, including two-way texting. But more importantly, they tracked the wearer’s exact location, which meant that someone knew precisely where Doctor Hazelton was right now. Fortunately, they had no way to know she was out of commission.
Quickly, he activated the screen to reveal Hazelton’s last text. The time sent display showed that she’d communicated with someone just before takeoff.
Her text read:I have what you want.
Unknown contact:How many will be with you?
Hazelton:Two men. Don’t worry. They’ll be out of commission by the time you show.
Unknown contact:Are you sure?
Hazelton:Trust me. I’ve taken down better men than these. They won’t cause any trouble.
Unknown contact:Where can we meet?
Hazelton:The usual. Are you nearby?
Unknown contact:Always.
Hazelton:My boss wants payment this time.
Unknown contact:We’re on our way.
Julio swallowed hard. That comment, instead of an answer to Hazelton’s question, spelled trouble. Unknown contact had been waiting somewhere nearby, possibly for days. They’d known where she was all this time, even during retrieval of the plutonium. And now, they were ontheirway.
Hazelton lifted her head just high enough to look at Julio. She wasn’t nearly so put together now, not with her blue eyes crossed, her hair askew, and a thin string of drool sliding off her bottom lip. “You… you know h-h-how to f-f-fly this b-b-b-bird?”
Julio wasn’t in the mood to answer. Thisb-b-b-birdwas now going down fast.
Unlocking the side door, he slid it open and let the wind into the helo. The cool slap in the face and the smell of saltwater in his nose filled Julio with purpose again. He remembered who he was. One of Sullivan’s best and the man who loved Meg Duncan.
Cocking one arm back, his pistol still in his other hand, he fast-balled Hazelton’s GPS locator out of the helo and into the ocean. Let Unknown contact track that. Next, he tossed the empty syringes, but kept the unused ones, not that he expected she’d left any fingerprints on them. Most likely, she didn’t have any if she was who he suspected.
Stalking back to where Hazelton lay on the floor, Julio lifted her into one of the passenger seats and buckled her in. She was unconscious by then, not going anywhere. He checked on the four small cases she’d brought with her. For a second, he debated tossing them overboard too, but didn’t. Recovery would prove too risky, and there was always a chance foreign powers might reach them first.
He retested the straps holding Hazelton’s cargo in place. Satisfied they weren’t going anywhere, Julio hurried up front. Back in the cockpit, he loosened Hotrod’s harness and transferred him quickly into co-pilot position. Julio strapped him in and made sure he was breathing. Hotrod’s face was flushed and his breaths were coming in short pants, but other than that, he appeared none worse for wear. He’d be okay.
The helo’s rotors had now pitched forward, sending them into a dive that, if steep enough, would slam them cockpit first into the Atlantic. But they hadn’t pitched that far forward yet, and swimming was plain not in the cards today.
Julio strapped himself in as pilot and quickly checked what displays and readouts he could read. Current cruising speed wasn’t even close to this bird’s top speed of two hundred miles per hour. He hoped that was a good thing. The SilentKnight multimode radar display was flashing terrain-following and terrain-avoiding data faster than he could make sense of it. There was no way he could fly this bird.
His heart pounding now, Julio adjusted his mic and dialed ground control at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, on the helo’s radio. He desperately needed simple, user-friendly instructions on how to fly and land this technical bird. He got Army Air Traffic Control Specialist, Jaxon Buttars, on the first ring.
After listening to Julio’s brief explanation as to what had happened with Hotrod, Jaxon said in one of those calmly, professional voices all air controllers used, “Sure wish I was smart enough to talk you through this, Agent Juarez. But I’ll be frank. You’re in a tough spot, and I’m no helicopter pilot. You need help. Hold please.”
