Betrayed (50 page)

“What the—?”

A scream of engine drowned out Michael’s swearing, shaking the Huey as though in a whirlwind. The helicopter banked with such force that Vicki was thrown sideways in her seat harness. But not before she caught sight of the plane that had been coming straight toward them as though to run kamikaze through the windshield.

The DHC-2.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Huey dropped groundward at a sideways angle, so when Vicki looked around, the blue of Lake Izabal was rushing up at them. Then the helicopter straightened out and rose slightly.

Picking themselves off the floor, Michael and the two soldiers kicked away burlap stacks that had tilted onto them. English and Spanish curses and accusations flew around the cabin.

Vicki kept absolutely still, not allowing exultation to show on her face. How had Bill and Joe found her? What they could be planning, one small civilian aircraft against an armed military helicopter, she couldn’t even imagine. It didn’t matter. It was for her only to be ready for whatever came. She found herself on the edge of her seat, straining against the harness.

A yell came from the pilot. From the copilot’s seat, Raul Hernandez gestured frantically toward Michael and waved out the left cockpit window.

From her jump seat in the rear, Vicki had little vision out the window panes in the side doors, but to her left she caught a glimpse of a propeller, a wing tip. Then the helicopter slowed abruptly enough to slam her against her harness and send the smaller and faster single engine plane shooting ahead.

Vicki immediately recognized the purpose for their slowing, because as the helicopter reduced speed further to little more than a hover, one of the soldiers wrestled the left side door open. She was grateful for the seat harness as wind surged into the cabin. Blinking against the air stream, Vicki scanned the sky for the plane. She couldn’t see it.

But a moment later it screamed overhead from the right, so close as the DHC-2 cleared the left side that Vicki couldn’t believe its landing wheels had missed the rotors. Again, the helicopter banked sideways and dropped. Through the open side door, she could now see the lazy curl and crashing of waves less than a hundred feet below.

Michael grabbed at an overhead strap to keep from sliding across the cabin. “Ignore the plane,” he shouted at the pilot. “Can’t you see they’re trying to force us down? Just head for the coast. Once we’re in international waters, they can’t touch you.”

That must be what Bill and Joe had in mind. If they could keep the helicopter forced down below where it couldn’t clear the tall jungle canopy and buildings of Rio Dulce ahead, it wouldn’t be able to escape the lake. But how long could the smaller plane possibly keep that up? Already, the Huey had leveled off and was
throp-thropping
toward the distant green of Lake Izabal’s eastern shore.

Above the noise, Raul yelled at Michael, “What about my shipment? My cousin is waiting.”

“Are you
loco
? Forget the shipment! If you have to lose the drugs, then do it!”

The expression on the rogue commander’s face made it clear that would be a last choice.

The DHC-2 had circled around again and was keeping pace with the helicopter not more than two wing spans away. The cargo door that was directly under the wing was slid back. Only when Vicki spotted Joe in the doorway did she realize the floppy hat she’d glimpsed in the pilot’s seat must belong to Bill. So he was a pilot too. A minor surprise after all the other revelations this day had held.

Joe was crouched in the open door, and though his face was shadowed by the wing above him, Vicki knew the instant his gaze zeroed in on her face. She saw him take in her position, the jump-seat harness. Did he know that she was not a willing passenger but a prisoner? Could he forgive the horrible things she’d said?

Joe leaned out to grab onto one of the struts supporting the wing overhead, and something in the purposefulness of his expression chilled her heart with fear. Surely he wouldn’t try anything reckless. Glancing down at the dancing blue waves below, she noticed a pleasure yacht heading in their direction. Raul’s cousin waiting for their cargo? By the perspective of the boat, the waves were larger and rougher than they looked, but if she could jump into their cushioning . . .

Before she could lose her nerve, Vicki released the harness. A few steps, and she’d be out the door. But even as she tensed her muscles to move, a flash of shock and actual fear on Joe’s face told Vicki he’d read her intentions and didn’t approve. In the same instant, the second soldier swung the barrel of the bolted-down machine gun.

Joe’s glance flickered from Vicki’s face to the gun, his shout of warning drowned out by the rapid
chunk-chunk-chunk
of machine gun rounds.

The DHC-2 fell away just in time for the stream of gunfire to clear the plane’s nose.

Michael was across the cabin before the machine gun stopped firing. His backhand across her face lifted Vicki off her feet and back into the jump seat. In one swift movement he had the harness back into place. He pulled out a pair of plastic cuffs and tightened them around her wrists. “Are you trying to save us the trouble by killing yourself? You move again, and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Then as the pilot turned toward them, Michael shouted, “Higher and faster,
estúpido
! Don’t let them distract you. They won’t come close enough to crash their plane.”

Vicki slumped down in despair. How could someone be so evil and smart at the same time? All the Huey had to do was keep flying until it reached the ocean. Once they made it to international waters, the helicopter was untouchable, especially if Raul Hernandez had shipping contacts. They could even afford to ditch the Huey. At least Raul and Michael wouldn’t be able to arrange Vicki’s “suicide.”

No, just dump me into the ocean with the opium. If I ‘disappear’, they’ll have a dozen lies for anything Bill and Joe can say
!

Vicki saw the DHC-2 dropping again from above, the square-tipped wings shuddering in the wash of the rotors but maneuvering too high and quickly for the gunner to angle up at them. She raised her bound wrists to the crouched figure in the doorway. At her action Michael slapped her again. Through her tears, Vicki caught an expression on Joe’s face as dangerous as the one that had earlier sent her on a panicked race through the woods.

Then as the gunner swiveled the machine gun in the plane’s general direction and as the deafening
chunk-chunk-chunk
of its firing filled the cabin, the DHC-2 dropped out of sight. It didn’t reappear as the helicopter droned on. Coming up too quickly was the eastern shore of Lake Izabal. Straight ahead was Rio Dulce, and beyond that only a small lake and river separated the Huey from international waters.

Fifty kilometers, no more. Thirty miles. At their speed no more than fifteen minutes.

A new thunder of engines and rotors screamed from behind. This time Michael offered no criticism when the Huey dropped toward the lake. There was astonishment on his face as he spun around.

From the cockpit Raul Hernandez yelled, “
Antinarcóticos
. How can they be here? You said they were far away in the Petén!”

The cavalry had arrived at last. Two of them—one racing forward in front of them, the other banking around to take up position on the Huey’s left where the DHC-2 had been. Nor were these Vietnam-era Hueys. Inexpert though she was, Vicki knew the double rotors and sleek, gray-green bulk of a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, at least half-again the size of the Huey.

Unlike Bill’s old bush plane, these carried weapons. The Huey’s gunner dropped his hands from his machine gun as he saw the powerful cannon-style mini-gun facing him through the side door of the Black Hawk, the well-armed soldiers outnumbering the Huey’s contingent two to one. Vicki spotted at least one blond inside the Black Hawk’s cabin. The American DEA Michael had mentioned?

Then high up and beyond the Black Hawk, Vicki noticed the DHC-2. So that was their plan. Bill and Joe had been thwarting the Huey’s escape until their backup could arrive.

From the door of the Black Hawk, a man in uniform made hand signals as the longer helicopter pulled forward to where the pilot could see him. The Huey dropped farther, settling at a hover above the water, the gunner’s hands spread wide in the air. Above the noise of multiple rotors and engines Vicki heard loud, furious cursing.

Had the other soldier misunderstood? Actually thought his M-16 could make some impact on that huge hovering aircraft beside them? Or made the desperate choice of a blaze of glory over dishonor? Vicki saw only an automatic rifle coming up, a spray of bullets peppering the Black Hawk’s fuselage, heard a scream as someone inside was hit, Michael’s furious swearing beside her. Then the Black Hawk reacted, the
brrrrrr
of its mini-gun deafening.

A shout of fury came over the radio. “Don’t shoot! You’ll hurt the hostage!”

It was too late.

The crack of sound came directly behind Vicki. The tail of the Huey was gone, daylight streaming through. But just for a moment. Overhead the rotor turbine died. The broken tail went up, the nose down, and the Huey dropped like a stone.

Anguished screams rang in Vicki’s ears, but she was too busy fighting her seat harness to add to them. The plastic cuffs bit deeply into her wrists as she tugged at the buckle. She was still yanking at it when they hit the water. From any higher up, the Huey would have broken to pieces. As it was, the windshield smashed on impact, sending a tidal flood through the cabin.

The water was cold, striking Vicki with a shock that drove the air from her lungs. Water rushed through the open door as well, the weight of the cargo packed behind the machine gun tilting the helicopter to its right as it flooded. The buckle had finally come loose, and her cuffed hands pushed the harness over her head.

The cabin was now filled with water, the open side door of the Huey above Vicki’s head. She kicked desperately upward as the helicopter sank around her. Something—a hand, a rope, a harness—grabbed at her ankle, and she struck out in panic before she felt it give. Her hands were on the sill of the door. Then her feet.

And she was out.

Vicki managed a single gasp of air before the downward suction of the sinking aircraft pulled her back under the waves. She kicked upward, rolling over onto her back so her bound hands were less of an impediment. Her nostrils were full of water, her mouth opening to inhale as her head broke the surface. She was free.

But her situation wasn’t less desperate. One of the Black Hawks dropped to hover above the waves. The DHC-2 banked in low. But around Vicki the waves were high, tossing crests. A roller, green and gray, curled lazily above her head to crash down finally in a churning of foamy white, slapping Vicki in the face as she kicked on her back to stay afloat. Choking, she sank beneath the water. Only frantic thrashing propelled her to the surface again.

The chill of the water bit into Vicki, and she could no longer feel the throbbing sting of cuffs cutting into her wrists, the slowing movement of her lower limbs. She sank underwater until the waves could no longer reach her. The late afternoon sunshine danced an opal light spectrum through the foam and churning and turmoil, but she no longer had the strength or will to move toward that light.