BAD DEEDS: A Dylan Hunter Thriller (Dylan Hunter Thrillers) (42 page)

“And to have millions of dollars to spend.”

“That, too.”

He parked the car, grabbed a small bag from the back, and walked with her to his Cessna 400. He had changed into jeans, boots, a dark pullover sweater, a lined leather jacket, gloves, and a black wool watch cap. She’d changed, too, into outdoor clothes that she’d left at the house after their recent weeks in the forest.

She stayed close beside him as he made a circuit of the plane, checking it out. His eyes were intense and his hot breath puffed little clouds into the cold air. It made her think of that cold morning when they had left for the diner—when he had paused outside the cabin to set his tell-tales, and she could see his breath. How long ago had that been? She was startled to realize that it had been barely a month.

“Do you think this can really work? It’s so complicated.”

“Are you kidding? Remember who’s running this op.” He bent to examine the landing gear.

“Am I allowed to be scared?” she said.

He stood. She looked up at his reassuring smile as he embraced her.

“I’m used to walking into traps involving bombs, you know. And surviving.”

“Oh, Dylan!”

“Don’t worry. The only one who’s going to die tonight is Zachariah Boggs.” He softened his voice. “I love you, Annie Woods.”

“I love you, Dylan Hunter.”

He hugged her tight. “I needed to hear that.”

“I needed to say that.”

He pulled back a little. Lifted a brow.

“Does this mean we’re going steady again?”

She laughed, in spite of herself.

He bent and kissed her.

Then he climbed up into the cockpit. He gave her a little wave and wink, then pulled down the gull-wing door. It thumped shut with the sound of finality.

She stood at the car as the Cessna’s wheels left the runway. Its flashing wing lights rose over the Chesapeake. She watched the space between the lights narrow as the plane receded from her into the distance, gaining altitude. It banked right, heading north over the Bay Bridge. Then its engine noise faded into the background of distant traffic noise. Then the blinking wing lights became one.

Then it vanished, too.

A gust of icy wind hit her in the face.

She turned to the side and checked her watch: ten twelve.

She took off a glove, took out her cell, and poked in the familiar series of numbers.

“Yes, Annie.”

“Grant, please tell me you were able to do what he asked.”

“Almost.”

“What do you mean
almost
?”

“Let me explain. First, I’m using the pretext of an impromptu night-training mission, to test our emergency rapid-response capabilities to a sudden terrorist act. So far, everyone has bought it. On that basis I managed to commandeer one of our MQ-1 Predators out of Quantico.”

“So we have a drone, then.”

“Don’t let their pilots hear you call them that. The official term is UAS, Unmanned Aircraft System.”

“
Whatever.
The point is: Can it get there in time and do what Dylan needs?”

“Absolutely. I borrowed a UAS pilot and two sensor operators from the al Qaeda targeting team. They’re in their command center next door, running it under my direction. The bird is already well on its way, and it should be on site in … let me see … another seventy minutes. Or 2330 hours. This one is unarmed—not that we could lob a Hellfire against a domestic target in any case. But its infrared cameras can track a person on the ground, at night, from ten thousand feet. And it also carries the experimental ASIP-IC package.”

“English translation, Grant.”

“Sorry. ASIP can monitor cell calls, radio transmissions, and a lot more. So we’ll be able to watch everything on the big screens here while we monitor the commo, too. That takes care of Dylan’s intel.”

“Great. Now, what about getting a SOG operator out here, to pick up—”

“That’s where the
almost
comes in,” Grant cut in, his voice suddenly grim. “I’m afraid all our SOG guys are either deployed or unable to get here in time. So that means—”

“I
know
what that means, damn it! It means you’ll be watching him with your fancy drone cameras while he walks into a trap and gets blown up!”

“Annie, hold on. There is another option.”

She took a breath. “All right. I’m listening.”

“Using the same pretext, I called the commander of the 12th Aviation Battalion at Fort Belvoir. An old light colonel buddy of mine. He’s sending a Bell 429 chopper out to you. That’s a brand-new model, not even in production yet. We’ve been testing it for possible addition to the Agency’s fleet, because it’s small, fast, and quiet. He told me the pilot is former 160
^th
SOAR—a Night Stalker guy, combat-experienced and extremely capable. He should be there in another five minutes.”

“So he’ll pick up the gear from me and do this, then.”

Grant was silent a moment.

“No. He will pick up the gear
and
you.
You
are going to do this.”

She couldn’t speak.

“Annie, listen to me. This pilot hasn’t been briefed on what’s really going on, and he can’t be. Besides, he has to stay with the bird. But you’ve been through all the tough training at the Farm, including night insertions. You also had extra training when you worked in the Security Office.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’ You can handle this as well as anyone. All we have to do is fly you there, and all you have to do then is get close to the house. That’s it. No big deal.”

She found herself trembling.

“But if I can’t—”

“Annie, you can. There’s nothing to it. I’ve looked at the satellite imagery of the site. The ’copter will drop you just a little more than a mile from the place. You’ll hike in unseen, under cover of the forest. You’ll sneak in close to the house. Then, once the immediate threat is neutralized, we’ll call in a hostage rescue team.”

“But what if Boggs and his people return to the house? They’re armed. They can just shoot everyone.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Do you have a weapon with you?”

“No, not here.” Then she remembered. “Oh, wait a minute.”

She opened the driver’s side door, reached under the seat, and found it. She came up with his Beretta.

“Okay. I do have a pistol. A Beretta.”

“Good. Listen, the chopper pilot is bringing night-vision goggles for you. And Dylan told me he already gave you an earpiece and mic. So when you get on site, you and I will be in constant contact through the Predator’s satellite uplink. It will give us eyes and ears on the bad guys, and on you, too. I’ll be able to tell you exactly where they are positioned and what they’re doing. The details, we’ll improvise. But please understand: You’ll have every advantage over them.”

She stared at the Beretta in her hand, feeling surreal, disembodied. The sudden image floated into her consciousness: Dylan on her kitchen floor, crawling toward her … bleeding …

“Annie—you can do this.” Grant’s voice, strong and firm.

She pushed the ugly image out of her mind and looked off, over the bay. Flashing lights, low in the sky, approached rapidly.

“I think I see the chopper,” she said. Her voice sounded alien to her.

“Great. Just make sure you take along all your gear.”

She opened the rear door of the car, pulled out the bulky backpack, and shrugged it onto her back.

“Grant … just how fast can this chopper get me there?”

“It can do 150 knots. From your current position to the site, and considering wind, it will take around ninety minutes. So, ETA will be about 2350.”

“But that’s almost
midnight!
And Grant, I’ve been to Adair’s place. From the LZ, I’ll have to hike over a mile through those woods, uphill and in the dark. It could take me fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the house.”

“I know. Look, I’ll call him right now and tell him to arrive at the house as close to midnight as possible—and then stall them for as long as possible after that.”

“Have you told him yet that I’ll be the one going in?”

“No.”

“Then don’t. I don’t want him to be distracted by worrying about me.”

“Of course … Annie—I
know
you can do this.”

She slammed shut the rear door of the car. Then faced into the icy wind blasting in from the west, ahead of the rapidly oncoming chopper. Her eyes watered. But only from the cold.

“I’ll have to,” she said.

Once again he maintained a northeast heading after takeoff. To avoid having to file a flight plan or talk to air traffic controllers, he flew under 3,500 feet and along the eastern shore of the Bay, parallel to the restricted airspace stretching from Essex to Aberdeen. South of Elkton, he turned northwest and climbed. He crossed into Pennsylvania and dropped the Cessna low over the high ridges northwest of Harrisburg, then descended into some of the valleys, below radar visibility. He turned off his transponder and popped up again miles away—just another anonymous, untraceable blip on ATC screens.

Meanwhile, he pondered his just-ended radio conversation. Grant told him that the Predator would be in position before he arrived. The Bell 429 and its team of operators also were en route to Adair’s, after picking up his gear from Annie.

It annoyed him that the Agency—the
CIA
, for God’s sake—didn’t have ready access to the same kit that he possessed. But Grant said they didn’t, not on site, anyway, and there was no time to look anywhere else. So, the chopper had to fly all the way to Kent Island to pick up
his.
A waste of precious time.

He did some fast calculations. He didn’t like them one bit.

At a cruising speed of 235 knots, his Cessna would make the 250 nautical mile run to Tidioute in just over an hour. ETA 2325 hours. He’d then drive from the airstrip to Adair’s—about ten more minutes, or 2335. That meant he would have to waste at least twenty minutes before showing up at the house, in order to give the helicopter team maximum time to get on site.

And they’d need every minute of it. The chopper had taken off from Bay Bridge Airport ten minutes after he did. Grant said he’d clear the red tape to let it cut across the restricted Aberdeen airspace, so it could make a beeline to Adair’s. That would save a lot of miles and minutes. Still, at its much slower airspeed, it wouldn’t arrive till almost midnight. Then the operators would have to traverse the rugged, wooded terrain between their LZ and the house.

Hunter had to be at the house by midnight. But he couldn’t see any way for the team to get in position until ten or fifteen minutes after midnight.

And he had no doubt that Boggs planned to kill him and the hostages almost as soon as he entered the house.

He would have to do something to buy time.

Using the plane’s customized commo system, he tapped in Adair’s cell number, knowing who would pick up.

“Are you en route, Hunter?” Boggs demanded.

“I am. I’m fighting some nasty headwinds, though. I called ahead and, just by luck, found a car rental company up in Warren whose manager was still in the office late, doing paperwork. He’s willing to bring a car down to Tidioute for me to drive to Adair’s. I don’t know how much time the rental paperwork will take, but I’m bringing a big cash deposit for him, and—”

“Listen, I don’t want to hear about your petty problems. You’re either here on time, or you’ll be visiting a smoking crater.”

Okay, you can’t buy more time. But it’s time for some pushback.

“Now,
you
listen, Boggs. I need assurances that Adair and his family are still okay. So if you expect to see me tonight at all, put him on the line right now, and let me talk to him for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? You need only seconds to make sure he’s alive. I don’t intend—”

“That’s
not
a request, Boggs. Besides, you hold all the cards, anyway. You can kill him on the spot if you don’t like our conversation. So let me talk to the man—
now.
”

Boggs was quiet for a moment.

“All right. But my pistol is pointing right at his head, and a shotgun is trained on his wife’s. Got that?”

A pistol and a shotgun. Nice to know.

“Got it.”

He waited a few seconds.

“Dylan?” Adair’s voice, raspy.

“How are you holding up, Dan? Are you and everyone else okay?”

“We’re all right. I’m still a bit punchy, but I’m okay … Dylan, I can’t believe you’re doing this! Taking this sort of risk to set us free. Why? What are we to you?”

“I told you before, Dan. You remind me of somebody.”

“Who would that be?”

Hunter watched a cloud sailing by several thousand feet below the plane, a dark gray blob swallowing points of light scattered across an even-darker landscape.

“My dad.”

The engine droned on, filling several seconds.

“I take that as a great compliment,” Adair said softly.

“It is.”

“Is your father still alive?”

“No. He died a long time ago.”

“What was his name?”

“Mike.”

“Well, Dylan, Mike Hunter would have been very proud of you.”

Mike Hunter.
He smiled to himself at that.

“Everybody called my dad ‘Big Mike.’”

The Cessna touched down on the airstrip at 2323 hours. Three minutes later Hunter was inside his car. He spent a moment to set up the item from his bag and hide it under the passenger seat. Then he headed out of the access road and onto the route that would take him to Adair’s place.

At 2336 he pulled off Route 62, a mile north of the turnoff to Higgins Hill Road. He didn’t want to announce his position to any lookouts. Instead, he waited another five minutes, then pulled out his cell and called Adair’s number again.

“Where are you now?” Boggs asked, his tone harsh and impatient.

“I just landed. I see the car and the rental guy in the parking lot. I’ll be on my way as soon as I finish up the paperwork with him. Please don’t do anything crazy before I can get there.”