“You could be fired today, but we’re trying to avoid that.”
After she hung up, he looked down the black asphalt of the runway and into the desert dusk. He looked at the darkening mountains and thought, Come on, dude, you knew this call was coming. Don’t let it get to you. Concentrate on the drones you’ll fly with these pilots tomorrow. Best time to fly will be very early morning before thermals start kicking off these baked mountains. Strata had done a really smart thing that was going to help. They’d approached the FAA years ago and wound through the bureaucratic process to get special dispensation to fly above the regulation ceiling of four hundred feet. That would get them longer, safer hours in the air. You’re a pilot, dude. It’s what you are and they can’t take that away. So, longer hours, fly early, teach them faster, and then get fired. Hurry up and get fucked. Could it get any worse? Laugh about it, dude. You’ll get cleared on this bullshit, and you’ve got enough money to get some gear and disappear for a while. Life will go on.
Bahn’s pickup led the others in. A white Jeep Cherokee followed. Headlights washed the two-inch-deep white gravel in front of the flight trailer, then the Jeep crunched through it and parked. The pilots climbed out of the jeep and evaluated Beatty as hard as he did them. He got a cold stare from the one Bahn said was from Eastern Europe, Balkans, Ukraine, or someplace. Eddie didn’t know, but he was a big guy. Hard grip. Then a Saudi pilot who’d been in the Saudi Air Force, or his father had—Eddie couldn’t get his story straight. The last was a French woman. She got her own trailer. Lights came on in it and then the other trailer.
An hour later a new black Land Cruiser with two soldier types in it showed up and said they were the security team—all smiles, dead eyes, and news to Beatty. He didn’t know what they were going to secure. There was nothing out here but trailers, drones, and a runway. One of the men was short and made up for it by lifting weights. His name was Tak. He did the talking. The other one was quiet, tall, and huge. His name was Big John. Comic book names, but definitely former soldiers, mercenary types, and watching him like he was a problem. Beatty pulled two beers out of the flight-trailer refrigerator, then went out to find Eddie.
“Come on, Eddie, let’s go talk.”
They walked out to the temp drone hangar and sat on rocks nearby. The rocks still radiated heat. He handed a beer to Eddie and took a long pull of his.
“It’s Nevada, home of the drone pilot, Eddie. How come you didn’t find pilots here? She’s from France. The big guy is from somewhere, you don’t know where, but you got a cut for his hiring. How much did you make for that? The last one is a former Saudi Air Force pilot or his dad was. Which is it? How much did you get paid to say they’re trained drone pilots?”
“Did you make that call to your FBI friend?”
“I don’t have friends, Eddie, and I don’t make those kinds of calls. I’m done with everything, Eddie. The old ways are over. You and I are done.”
“I’ve got money for you. It’s your piece for vetting these pilots.”
“Say what? Vetting pilots? No fucking chance. You hired them. I just met them twenty minutes ago.”
Eddie laid an envelope on the rock. The dude was just a hustler. Money was a fix-all for hustlers. They were all the same that way. Fuck me, he thought. How did I ever sign up with this guy? What happened to my life? How did I ever get this low?
“Keep your money. I’ll get the drones up tomorrow. I’ll teach these pilots until the replacement shows up. We’ll finish this clean, but we’re totally done, as in forever, Eddie.”
“Man, that’s alcohol talking. I’ve got a job in Hawaii you could take. You talk to your friend in the FBI, and if everything works out and they stop looking at you, you go to Hawaii.”
Beatty looked away at the horizon, but felt Bahn studying him.
“You think I got you fired?” Bahn asked.
“No, you’re a loyal guy. You wouldn’t do a thing like that unless it was going to make you some money. But, congratulations, you found a replacement for me on short notice. Good for you, Eddie. It probably was a fucking scramble to find somebody. Don’t forget your money when you leave. I’m calling it a night.”
As Beatty walked away, Bahn said, “You’re making a big mistake.”
“Good to know. Now, fuck off.”
25
“Grale, it’s Mike Staley. We found him. He’s in a hotel room with a young woman about a hundred yards from us. How do you want to do this? We could bring him to you. Do you want us to bring him into the office?”
“I’ll come to you and I’m walking out the door right now. Don’t let him leave.”
“Leaving isn’t what’s on his mind right now. We’re almost to the Hoover Dam. Sure you want to make the drive?”