State of Emergency

CHAPTER 69


Talara, Peru





Landing gear squawked on the tarmac an hour and ten minutes from the moment the little green jet jumped from the dense Bolivian jungle.

As small as Aleksandra was, her hips dug into Quinn, cutting off his circulation and jamming him against the Spartan cockpit. Thankfully his legs had fallen asleep halfway into the flight.

Fuentes flipped open the cover during the back-taxi, allowing in a warm but welcome ocean breeze. A squad of six crewmen in green coveralls swarmed the aircraft as the screaming engines wound down.

On the tarmac, Quinn checked his phone and found he had six missed calls from Palmer. Kanatova took out her own phone, but Quinn shook his head.

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea for you to call your people on this,” he said, bracing himself for the onslaught of nails and knees he’d received at Zamora’s party.

“The battery is dead.” She shrugged, handing the phone to him. “Take it if you wish, but you needn’t worry.”

Quinn believed her sincerity, but took the phone anyway. He checked the battery, then gave it back to her.

She took it, smiling. “All we have been through and still you do not trust me.”

Quinn shrugged. “You would do the same if this was unfolding in Russia.”

There were dozens of spy apps available to turn almost any smartphone into a bug. But it was much easier than that. Turning on the auto-answer, then deactivating the ringer and vibrate functions transformed an ordinary cell phone into an inconspicuous listening device. Any operative would know better.

Aleksandra slipped the useless phone in her pocket and sighed. “I would never call my people on this. They would take a week to get a plan together and another to receive the levels of approval needed to implement the plan—and that’s if they wished to become involved.”

Quinn gave her an understanding smile and pressed the speed dial for Win Palmer.

The national security advisor began talking the instant he picked up. “The photo you sent came through a half hour ago. Quantico’s already got a hit through facial recognition. Tamir Mukhtar, a soldier they believe is attached to al-Qaeda on the Arabian Peninsula under Yazid Nazif.”

“Nazif,” Quinn mused. “That makes sense.”

“And here’s the most interesting part,” Palmer said. “Nazif has a cousin who drives a cab in Houston.”

“I’m assuming FBI has eyes on that cousin?”

“In the next hour Houston, Texas, will have more feds than oilmen,” Palmer said.

“Targets?” Quinn asked, then mouthed, Houston, Texas, to Aleksandra in an effort to mend fences from his earlier showing of mistrust.

“The Martin Luther King Jr. parade is less than four days out,” Palmer said. “It’s on par with the Rose Bowl parade in size—a juicy target. Listen, a Bone left Abilene two hours ago. I spoke to the pilot personally and told him to put a boot in his bird’s ass. Expect him on the ground in . . .” He paused, doing the math. “Less than ninety minutes. I want you and the Russian in Houston helping out on the search as soon as possible.”

“Roger that,” Quinn said. “We’ll be ready.”

Officially known as the Lancer, the B-1, or B-One, was often called the Bone. Officially, it could reach speeds of Mach 1.25—over nine hundred miles an hour. At that rate they would make the trip from northern Peru to Houston in three hours and change.

“Call me back when you’re in the air,” Palmer said and ended the call without another word.

Quinn turned to Aleksandra, who tapped her toe on the tarmac beside Fuentes, the A37 pilot.

“May I offer you a place to wash up and something to eat?” Fuentes looked back and forth between the two of them. “We have excellent facilities here on base.”

“That would be welcome.” Quinn nodded. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water that didn’t come out of a length of bamboo.”

Aleksandra smiled, her freckled nose crinkling in a way that belied her ruthlessness. “I could use a quick shower, even if I have to put these dirty clothes back on.”

“I am sure we can find something for both of you,” Fuentes said.

Quinn glanced at the Aquaracer on his wrist. “Lead the way, sir,” he said. “But we’ll have to hurry. Our ride will be here before we know it.”