“I wanted to see if it would work in the fog. Jesus, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that the people who hired you are waiting for what was in that airplane.”
“I didn’t know it would crash,” he muttered.
“Well, it did. Just be glad that box wasn’t destroyed.”
“See? No problem. It’ll look like this sorry pilot screwed up, missed the runway in the fog.”
Goliad feared that it wouldn’t be dismissed as lightly as that. He feared a ripple effect that could result in serious consequences for the people he was paid to protect.
After having to backtrack only once, they relocated the car. Goliad was the designated driver. Timmy got in the shotgun seat.
As Goliad reached for his phone, he made a split-second decision to be as short on details as possible. Once he and Timmy returned to Atlanta with that black box, any mishaps they had encountered during the undertaking would be irrelevant.
He turned on the speaker so Timmy could listen in and placed the call. After only half a ring, it was answered, not by the boss, but by his missus, who was much more excitable.
In a voice hard enough to chisel granite, she asked, “Do you have it?”
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“The plane’s not there yet?”
“Showed up about half an hour ago.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It crashed.”
She gasped.
Goliad said, “The pilot was about to land, overshot the runway, crashed in the woods.”
He gave Timmy a look that said he could thank him later for saving his ass. Timmy gave him a thumbs-up.
“The plane burned, it was destroyed, what?” she asked. “What?”
“No, it wasn’t destroyed. The box made it okay.”
There was a pause, an exhale, a huskily spoken, “Thank heaven.”
“But the doctor beat us to the crash site.” He described the scene that he and Timmy had crept up on. “She and the pilot were talking.”
“He survived?”
“Uninjured, best we could tell.”
“What was she doing at the crash site? She was supposed to meet the plane at the airfield.”
“I don’t understand that, either,” he admitted. “All I know is, she was there. The pilot gave her the box. It’s as described. About the size of a loaf of bread. Padlocked. They struck off together on foot. They were headed to her car. She was giving him a lift to the airfield office.”
“So why didn’t you go after them? Richard will demand to know. How will I explain this to him?”
“They had no idea we were there, ma’am. Tracking them on foot, we could’ve given ourselves away. It wouldn’t have been a smart move.”
Knowing how thin she was on patience, he used as few words as possible to adequately describe how bad conditions were. “You think it’s bad in Atlanta, it’s worse up here. If we came up on them accidentally in this fog and there was an…encounter…this could get botched real easy.”
“It could’ve got messy,” Timmy said, speaking for the first time. “Because he was packing.”
“What’s he talking about, Goliad?”
“The pilot was armed. You, we, nobody took him into account. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the picture.”
“Why would we have taken him into account? We didn’t know he would crash!”
“True. There was no predicting that.” Goliad shot an angry glance toward Timmy, who squirmed in his seat.
“You say he was armed?” she asked.
“Pocket pistol. Nine-millimeter. He’s not a regular pilot. Looked worse for wear, and not because of the crash.”
She didn’t say anything for a while, thinking it over, Goliad guessed.
He said, “The plane going down was a setback, but the box survived it, and the doctor has it. Only a little time has been lost. We’ll catch up with her at the airport.”
Timmy opened his mouth, but Goliad gave a forbidding shake of his head, silencing him before he spoke.
She was saying, “Need I remind you that every minute counts?”
“We know, ma’am.”
“The next time you call, I want to hear that you have the doctor in tow, with the box, and that you’re on your way back to Atlanta. Is that understood?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. I’m hanging up now. I suggest that you start immediately making up for lost time. I must go explain to my husband that you’ve been delayed. He won’t be happy. I’m certainly not. I advise you both not to fail us.” With that, she ended the call.
Timmy whistled. “She burns hot, don’t she? Bet she fucks like—”
Goliad’s arm sliced across the console of the car and clotheslined Timmy’s neck. “Remember who you’re talking about.” He pressed his arm against Timmy’s windpipe hard enough to make him wheeze. “Playing with your new laser,” he sneered. “This isn’t a game, you idiot.”
Slowly he released the pressure on Timmy’s throat and resettled himself behind the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he stayed aware of where Timmy put his hands. His right was rubbing his throat. Goliad half expected him to produce one of his blades with his left.
But he was gulping air and swallowing noisily. When he had his wind back, he croaked, “I was only joking.”
“Wasn’t funny. You work for them. Show respect for both, or this is your last detail.”
“Okay, okay,” Timmy mumbled. “So what now?”
Goliad started the car. “We go to the airstrip, be waiting for them when they get there.”
“That’s plan B?”
“That’s plan B.”
“You think the lady doctor will go along with us shouldering in on her?”
“She will once we tell her that we’ve been dispatched by Mrs. Hunt, personally. We’ll tell her that Mrs. Hunt was concerned for her, driving up here alone in the fog. Mrs. Hunt sent us to make sure she has a safe trip back.”
“She’ll buy that?”
“She’ll probably call and confirm.”
“What if she still doesn’t like it?”
“Let’s wait and see what happens.”
“What about the pilot?”
“Wait and see.” He looked over at the younger man. “We’re up shit creek. What are you grinning for?”
Timmy giggled. “‘Wait and see’ means I might get to kill somebody after all.”
Chapter 4
2:32 a.m.
A freight dog. That’s what they call you.”
“That’s one of the nice things,” Rye said.
After abandoning the plane, they had trekked through dense forest, made more challenging by the fog. However, they reached the doctor’s no-frills sedan without mishap or getting lost…only to be met there with another problem.
Rye had been about to get into the passenger seat when he noticed that the right front fender had collided with a fence post set in concrete. That side of the hood was buckled, but worse, the wheel was bent up under the chassis. He swore.
“What’s the matter?”
He looked at her across the roof of the car. “Don’t bother getting in. We’re not going anywhere in this.”
She’d walked around the rear end to join him on the passenger side and surveyed the damage with dismay. “I didn’t realize I’d hit it.”
“How could you not realize it?”
As exasperated as he, she fired back. “Something awful must’ve distracted me. Like a propeller in my windshield.”
Cursing under his breath, he’d gone around her and set out on foot. She hurried to catch up before he disappeared into the fog.
Within a few minutes, they’d reached the turnoff she had missed earlier. A sign pointed them toward the Howardville County Airfield. The road leading to it was bumpy, narrow, and enshrouded in fog. They stayed in the middle of it to avoid veering off into the ditches on either side.
He set a brisk pace. His companion had become a bit winded, her breaths escaping as puffs of vapor. But she hadn’t once complained or lagged behind. He supposed her mention of a freight dog was an attempt to make conversation, but he didn’t follow up on it. His thoughts were too focused on how he was going to deal with Brady White.