As Hector took the exit off Highway 95, three Florida Highway Patrol cruisers flew by in the opposite direction with sirens blaring and flashing lights whirling. An ambulance followed shortly after. Then another. It would take the authorities a few minutes to get organized, but there was no time to lose. At the end of the off-ramp, Hector made a left turn onto Lantana Road. He traveled westward for a mile and then was forced to come to an abrupt stop when a pair of Palm Beach County fire rescue trucks—sirens screaming—raced out of their bay and cut him off. Less than a quarter mile later, Hector made a right onto the access road leading to the airport. He slowed down to get his bearings. In front of him was the gate leading to the tarmac. It was opened, and Hector was able to drive the Ford close enough to the King Air 350 passenger door that they would have only a few steps to take before reaching the stairway and disappearing inside the aircraft.
His men climbed out of the panel van, fanned out around the plane, and took up firing positions. Hector opened the rear doors of the van, cut the zip ties around the two girls’ ankles, and, none too gently, dragged Leila out. He lifted her as though she were a doll and tossed her over his right shoulder. He climbed the small steps and dropped her roughly in the first available seat. He touched his damaged ear again, and his hand came back with a little blood on his fingertips.
“Don’t move,” he barked at her. She looked petrified. Good.
He repeated the process with the other girl but seated her in the third row, making sure she was facing the rear of the plane. Hector was about to order his men to board the plane when the cockpit door opened. A man dressed in a pilot’s uniform—the first officer, not the captain, since he was wearing only three stripes—stood motionless, a stunned look on his face. The pilot’s eyes darted back and forth between Leila, who still had her wrists tied behind her back and duct tape over her mouth, and Hector.
“Weren’t you asked to stay in the cockpit?” Hector asked, reaching the pilot in two strides.
Hector’s right hand shot out like a bolt of lightning. He buried his fist in the man’s solar plexus with such force that, had he hit the man over the heart, it might have stopped it cold. The man curled up, but Hector didn’t allow him to go down. Instead, Hector spun him around, grabbed his left arm, and twisted it behind his back while locking his own arm around the man’s throat.
The captain, with whom Hector had had numerous chats over the phone, twisted his head to see what was going on. The look on his face wasn’t what Hector expected. The whole incident with his associate seemed to have amused him.
The man’s actually smiling, Hector thought.
“What’s so funny?” he asked the pilot.
The man’s smile disappeared, and he said, “I told him to stay in the cockpit, but when he saw your men and the guns, he panicked.”
“You didn’t?”
“You’re paying me well not to.”
“Can you fly this plane by yourself?”
There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation. “Absolutely. And I can keep my mouth shut too.”
Now it was Hector’s turn to smile. “Good,” he said.
The conversation’s implications weren’t lost on the first officer. His face was turning dark red as he tried to break free from Hector’s grasp. Hector let go of the man’s arm and pulled his knife out of its sheath. He stabbed the man twice in the chest before embedding the knife deep into his neck. Hector angled his body and threw the first officer out of the plane’s door.
He looked at the captain. “All set?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Stafford, Virginia
Simon Carter got the phone call in the middle of his workout routine. He was an early riser and preferred hitting the gym when there was nobody else around. His call display told him it was an unknown number. He picked up anyway. He knew it was Pierce Hunt.
“Any news?” he asked his friend.
“Kind of. I have a favor to ask.”
“You got it, Pierce.”
“You don’t even know what I’m about to ask you. It could be dangerous.”
Carter chuckled. “I’m sure it is. That’s why you’re calling me, right?”
“And illegal too,” Hunt added.
Hunt was toying with him, so he said, “But is it honorable, and will it serve justice?”
“I need your help getting my daughter back.”
“I already knew that. I’m in.”
“But this time it isn’t only to check stuff in the DEA database, Simon. I need a shooter.”
If Pierce Hunt needed a shooter, that meant he had a target. “How many of us do you need? You know the guys will do anything for you, right?”
“I do, and I appreciate that. But this operation will be black. No footprint whatsoever.”
“So only you and me?” Carter asked.
“And an old friend of mine from the Seventy-Fifth.”
“You trust him, Pierce?”
“Not as much as I trust you, brother. That’s why I need you.”
“Tell me what you need, and consider it done.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Coral Gables, Florida
“Will Tony be okay?” Hunt asked Anna.
“Don’t know,” she replied, her eyes moist with tears. “He’s still in surgery.” Hunt watched her take a long sip of vodka straight from the bottle.