I said nothing.
“Think about it, Reacher. What if the device explodes? If it spews toxic gas into the atmosphere? If it’s radioactive? We have those risks on one hand. And a woman who put herself in harm’s way on the other. A woman you might not even be able to save, whenever we move the truck.”
Chapter 46
“Impossible.” The pilot looked at the place I was pointing to on the map and shook his head. “No. I refuse. I can’t do it. I cannot cross into Mexican airspace. Not without authorization. It’s out of the question. It’s not going to happen. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
I was surprised. A little disappointed. But not in any way confused. So I didn’t feel the need to reply.
A pair of mechanics was watching us. So was the agent who had driven me from the hotel to the airfield. They were hanging around, not so close that the pilot might feel inhibited about yelling at me. But not so far away they would miss anything he said. The mechanics were apparently studying something on a handheld computer screen that didn’t have a keyboard. The agent was fiddling with his phone. All of them were overcompensating. Pretending not to be aware of us. But clearly listening to every word. And enjoying the confrontation. The pilot was belligerent. Unnecessarily so, I thought. The three of them had picked up on that, too. They were waiting to see where things went from there. Whether the pilot would be satisfied with a verbal argument. Or whether an escalation was in the cards. To something physical. Something to spice up their evening.
“I’ll take you as close to the border as you like,” the pilot said. “Right up to it. But we will stay on the US side. I will not be party to an illegal border crossing. So do not ask me again. Are we clear?”
I said, “Fine. Los Gemelos it is. The US side. Let’s just get going.”
When I came up with this plan I figured I would have until at least 8:00 a.m. to carry it out. Maybe 9:00 a.m. at a stretch. That would be plenty of time. But if Wallwork’s guy insisted on moving the truck before morning, Dendoncker would know. I was certain of that. So he would also know that I’d double-crossed him. Not a problem for me. But a death sentence for Fenton. There was no longer a second to spare.
The mechanics quit gazing at their computer and drifted away toward the only hangar with an open door. The agent put his phone away and jumped in behind the wheel of his silver Chrysler. The pilot climbed up into the cockpit of the helicopter. Its silhouette was familiar. It was a Sikorsky UH-60M. The civilian version of the Black Hawk that the army uses. This one had more antennae than I remembered. It had wheels rather than skids. And it wasn’t dusty green. It was gloss black. Long and sleek and menacing. Like a predator rather than a workhorse. There was an index number on its tail but nothing to indicate which agency owned it. Just a discreet United States in gray letters toward the rear of its fuselage. I lifted my backpack into the rear compartment, climbed in after it, slid the door closed, buckled myself into one of the rear-facing jump seats, and put on my headset.
The pilot went to work on his preflight procedures and once the rotors were whirling and the aircraft was starting to hop on its suspension, eager to get off the ground, I heard his voice through the intercom.
He said, “Sorry about that little show. I needed to make sure those guys will remember me refusing to cross the border. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“You getting caught. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll attempt a landing, right by the barrier, just like I said I would. But we’ll be in the desert. The wind is unpredictable. At the last minute I’ll get blown off course. To the south. Just a few yards. The thermals happen to be patchy right there so we’ll drop. To about three feet off the ground. Then I’ll recover. Hold position for a couple of seconds. My wheels will never touch Mexican soil. No harm, no foul. But if you, without my prior knowledge or consent, take advantage of the situation and spontaneously jump out of the aircraft, there’ll be nothing I can do about it.”
“Will that work?”
“Of course. It’s the way we always do it.”
* * *
—
Including the walk through the tunnel it took a whisker over twelve hours to get from Dendoncker’s school HQ to the hotel in Big Spring. Including the two-mile walk from the illicit drop zone, it took a shade under five hours to get back. The time in the air was uneventful. The pilot knew what he was doing. He flew fast and smooth and straight. And I dozed as much as the rattling of the fixtures and fittings and the throbbing of the rotors and engines would allow.