Chapter Six

I entered Captain Harris’s office and came to an abrupt stop. The air reeked of bay rum aftershave. “Stop! Roberts has been here recently.”

Everyone stopped and looked around.

Johnson wrinkled his nose. “Damn, what is that smell?”

“Roberts always bathes in bay rum aftershave. He thinks it’ll hide his stench,” I answered.

“Booby trap.” Rodriquez pointed to a trip wire.

Sergeant Stone knelt and examined it. “Pipe bomb.” He quickly disarmed it. “All clear.”

“Roberts likes his little games.” Walking carefully over to the armory door, I checked it for any more surprises, then typed in my password into the keypad. When it clicked open, I took Bertha off the rack.

“Let’s have a look.” Sergeant Stone held out his hand.

I reluctantly surrendered Bertha. “My father is a gunsmith who designs all his own weapons.” I strapped on my Sig Sauers and picked up a duffle bag that contained paperwork, ammo, two 1849 Colt Peacemaker revolvers and a hand-tooled leather gunslinger’s belt.

Tex inquired, “Those Sig Sauers modified too?”

“They are.” I handed him one.

Tex whistled. “Nice, what’s in the bag?”

“Ammo and two Colt Peacemaker revolvers,” I retrieved the Sig Sauer and slipped it back into my holster.

Sergeant Stone gave Bertha back to me. “Why do you have two Colt Peacemakers?”

“I’m a quick draw artist,” I replied and waited for a nasty comment.

“Like Annie Oakley?”

“Kinda, but I haven’t tried sharpshooting on horseback yet.”

“You’re full of surprises,” Sergeant Stone said.

He didn’t know half of it.

Lieutenant Moss walked in. “Your helicopter is here.”

“Thanks.” Sergeant Stone put a hand on my back and escorted me out of the office.

I frowned. “Shouldn’t the Huey have a tail gunner?”

“Johnson will be the tail gunner.” Sergeant Stone gave me a narrow sidelong glance. “Let me guess, you can fly a helicopter.”

“Yes, sir. I’m an FAA-licensed pilot.”

“Do you have your license on you?”

I held up my bag. “I do.”

“Did your father teach you?” Tex wanted to know.

“No, my instructor was Chuck Everson. He flew a medevac chopper during the Vietnam war. He’s now a stunt pilot for the movie studios.”

Stone shook his head in disbelief. “Your father is determined to turn you into a super assassin.”

“Over my dead body.” One look at the pilot and I grabbed Stone’s arm. “Is that Reaper?”

Stone glanced at the pilot. “It is.”

“He works for Roberts. He’s really good at making people disappear in the desert.”

“Hit me,” Stone commanded.

“What?”

“Hit me.”

I gleefully punched him in the stomach and yelled, “Go to hell, you bastard!”

Sergeant Stone took Bertha away from me and tossed it to Rodriquez. The next thing I knew I was dangling over his shoulder. “Hey! Let me go!”

“Not a chance. You’re mine now.” He carried me back into the office.

What did he mean by that?

His team followed us.

“You punch like a girl,” Stone said and dumped me on the floor.

I rolled my eyes. “What are we going to do about Reaper?”

“Rodriquez, Johnson and Tex will deal with him.”

“Alive?” Johnson asked.

Sergeant Stone nodded. “I have some questions for him.”

“Your father does excellent work, Chiquita.” Rodriquez returned my rifle.

I grimaced. “My father also made Reaper’s tactical pen. If he goes for it, shoot him.”

“Shoot him?” Stone growled.

“The pen sprays a deadly toxin. Once you inhale the fumes, you’re dead within sixty seconds.”

Stone rubbed a hand over his face. “Does he have the antidote on him?”

I shrugged.

“Search him, carefully,” Sergeant Stone ordered.

Tex nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He opened the door. “Let’s go say howdy.” The men filed out and started laughing like something was hilarious.

“Let me see your pilot’s license,” Stone ordered.

I reached inside my duffel bag and pulled it out. “It’s not a fake.”

“Uh huh.” Sergeant Stone examined it, then stuck it in his pocket. “What kind of evidence do you have that Reaper works for Roberts?”

My hand went to my neck. I felt kinda naked without my dog tags. “There are several pages on the microdot detailing his crimes. Roberts uses Reaper’s heroin addiction to control him.”

Sergeant Stone glanced out the open door. “Reaper’s in custody. Let’s go.” He stalked off.

I trotted after him. “Rumor has it, Reaper is hauling forty kilos of heroin.”

“Rumor, huh?”

A smile tugged at my mouth.

“You tapped Captain Harris’s phone, didn’t you?”

“Hey, it was the only way to keep track of what they were planning.” I climbed into the Huey and grinned. Reaper was shackled and gagged. His hate-filled eyes fixed on me, and he shouted something through the rag in his mouth.

“I patted his cheek. “I’m going to dump all your lovely heroin in the same spot you dumped Shaylee’s battered body.”

Reaper struggled wildly to free himself.

Stone’s hand clamped around the back of my neck. “Quit messing with our prisoner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get this bird in the air.”

“Yes, sir.” Squeezing around his large body, I sat in the pilot’s chair, fastened my harness and did the pre-flight check.

Stone settled into the co-pilot’s chair. “How familiar are you with the weapons systems on a Huey?”

“There weren’t any weapons on the Huey Chuck used in his flight school.”

Stone grimaced. “I’ll handle weapons controls for now.” He gave me a flight helmet. “Put it on. Your blonde hair stands out too much.”

“Yes, sir.” I pulled the helmet on.

“I’ll do all the talking to the control tower. You will maintain radio silence,” Stone said in my ear.

“Yes, sir.”

Sergeant Stone turned a dial on the control console. “Reaper One requesting clearance to depart.”

The air traffic controller responded, “Reaper One you are cleared for takeoff.”

“You heard him. Let’s go.”

I opened the throttle, pushed on the left pedal and pulled the collective. We rose smoothly into the air.

“The coordinates for Kuwait have been inputted,” Sergeant Stone said.

“Yes, sir.” As soon as we cleared King Faisal Air Force Base, I increased our altitude and speed.

Sergeant Stone relaxed in his seat. “What other secrets are you hiding?”

“I love chocolate, sunsets, and long walks on the beach.”

Stone snorted. “Smart ass. How many languages do you speak?”

“Arabic, Farsi, Dari and some Pashto.” I skirted the village of Al-ghat and frowned when a bright flash of light caught my attention. My horrified gaze fixed on a white contrail. “Shit! Incoming.”

The radar began to flash a warning.

“King Faisal air-traffic control, Reaper One is under missile attack,” Stone snarled into his radio mic.

“Copy Reaper One. I am scrambling two F-16’s to assist you,” the air-traffic controller replied.

Sergeant Stone fired a TOT missile at the incoming rocket. Boom! It disintegrated into a ball of flames.

I increased our speed, trying to get us out of missile range.

A black Cobra helicopter shot up from a date grove and opened fire.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Holes appeared in the windshield and bullets thudded against the metal.

Stone triggered the M134 mini-gun and slugs pelleted the Cobra’s fuselage.

The Cobra’s pilot let loose with another deadly volley.

That ass wasn’t shooting me down. “Hang on guys, it’s gonna get a bit bumpy.” I put the Huey into a loop de loop and popped up behind the Cobra. “Blow him to hell Sergeant.”

Cursing loudly, Stone unleashed a barrage of lead.

The Cobra banked left, and I suddenly found myself in a dogfight. Doing my best to keep from getting blown to bits, I put the Huey into a series of turns, dives and rolls. I was dimly aware of Stone bellowing at the King Faisal air-traffic controller.

Yeah. Where was our air support?

A Super Stallion helicopter joined the fight and launched a missile at us. I did another loop de loop and the missile hit the Cobra. Kaboom! It broke apart and pieces of flaming debris rained down on the desert.

Johnson turned the M60 machine gun on the Super Stallion and shredded its tail rotor. Trailing black smoke, it spun wildly and slammed into the ground. A large fireball rose high into the air.

Two F-16 jets did a fly by and one of the pilots announced, “Area is clear of bogies.”

“No shit,” Tex groused.

Laughing like a crazy person, I shouted, “Whooeee! That was fun.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Sergeant Stone grumbled.

“Hey, it’s a good day when you can walk away from a firefight in one piece.”

Rodriquez hooted. “She’s right.”

“Why did your flight instructor teach you air combat maneuvers?” Johnson seemed intrigued.

“The movie studio Chuck worked for needed more pilots for their Vietnam war movies. It was fun and the pay was awesome.”

Sergeant Stone checked his satellite phone. “What did your father think about you working for a movie studio?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“You sure about that?” Stone countered.

“No.”

Tex let out a low whistle. “Bet he’ll be pissed when he finds out you were responsible for shooting down two of his helicopters.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone down, you did, and those choppers belong to the CIA.”

“Sonovabitch,” Rodriquez spat.

Sergeant Stone typed rapidly on his phone’s keypad. “How do you know those helicopters belonged to the CIA?”

“There is a list of aircraft Roberts has commandeered on the microdot,” I replied.

“That was some damn fine flying, Reaper One,” a F-16 pilot said in my ear.

I keyed my mic, “Reaper One isn’t flying this bird, but Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is.”

Rodiquez burst out laughing. “WTF is a perfect call sign for you.”

“I gave you a direct order, Reynolds. You were to maintain radio silence. Now everyone knows where you are,” Sergeant Stone growled.

Yikes, he had a point. The lack of sleep was making me a bit loopy. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“When I give you an order, I expect you to obey it without hesitation.”

“Yes, sir.” God, what crawled up his butt and died.

“What other talents do you possess?”

I frowned. “Talents, sir?”

“Combat skills.”

“Uh, well, I’ve had some demolition training, and I can parachute.”

Stone jotted it down on a notepad. “Anything else?”

“I’m good with a knife.”

Rodriquez interjected, “Throwing or fighting?”

“Both.”

“Damn girl, you’re downright lethal,” Johnson added.

Out of the blue, Stone asked, “Who are you dating?”

Huh? “Why do you need to know that?”

“Answer the question,” Stone snapped.

I fought down the urge to give him the one-fingered salute. “I don’t date.”

“Ever?” There was a note of disbelief in Stone’s voice.

“My father said it would interfere with my training.”

“Your father is an ass,” Tex said.

“Yes, he is.”

His curiosity evident, Johnson asked, “Other than flying, what do you do for fun?”

Sally, my battle buddy, had gotten me hooked on shopping. “I like to shop.”

They all laughed like I had said something funny.

The radar screen flashed a warning. “Another incoming missile.”

“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, duck and cover, Razor and Vapor are on the rocket,” an F-16 pilot announced.

I rolled my eyes. Duck and cover. Seriously?

“Rocket jockeys wouldn’t last ten minutes in the field,” Johnson groused.

In the distance, a fireball erupted.

A sigh escaped me. “Roberts isn’t going to stop until one of us is dead.”

“He’s never tangled with the Alpha Dogs,” Sergeant Stone said. “He’s a dead man walking.”

Johnson hollered, “Hoorah!”

“We are swift. We are silent. We are deadly,” Tex interjected.

Rodriquez bellowed, “Hoorah!”

God save me from testosterone. My stomach clenched when I noticed the oil pressure was dropping. “Houston, we have a problem.”

All the men barked in unison, “What kind of problem?”

“We’re losing oil pressure, and I need to land before the engine shuts down.”

“I’ll notify the air-traffic controller that we’ll need a rescue chopper,” Stone said.

“Copy.” I looked for a landing site. There. About a mile ahead was a nice flat spot.

Stone tapped the control console. “The engine just failed, didn’t it?”

“Yep.” I clutched the collective pitch lever and changed the slant of the chopper blades.

“Are you going to be able to land this bird?” Stone demanded.

Since the fuselage was shot full of holes and this was my first emergency landing, who knew. “Gonna try, sir.” Gritting my teeth against the pain in my left arm, I did a maneuver called autorotation. It generated enough lift to keep us in the air. The Huey came down vertically, hit the ground hard and skidded along the sand for a good ten feet. I sagged against the seat in relief.

“The engine is on fire,” Johnson warned.

I unbuckled my harness and grabbed the fire extinguisher.

Stone stepped in front of me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to put out the fire.”

Sergeant Stone took the fire extinguisher from me. “I’ll do it. Get your gear and move away from the chopper.”

“Yes, sir.” Picking up the duffel bag, I swung Bertha over my left shoulder and ran a safe distance from the burning Huey. The small fire extinguisher wasn’t going to put out that big of a fire.

Reaper moaned pathetically as Tex and Johnson dragged him across the sand.

Huh? Reaper had at least three bullet wounds and from the large blood trail, I didn’t think he had long to live. Maybe I was more like my father than I wanted to admit. I couldn’t summon an ounce of sympathy for the bastard. He liked raping young girls.

Tex glanced at me. “Your arm is bleeding again.”

And it hurt like a mother too. “I think I popped a couple of stitches in the dog fight.”

“I’ll take a look at it after I stop Reaper from bleeding to death.”

“Good luck with that.” I noticed Rodriquez taking pictures of the chopper and walked over to him. “What are the pictures for?”

“Evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“How many times a CIA agent has tried to kill you,” Rodriquez replied.

“Oh.”

The F-16s buzzed us.

They were so low I could see the pilots saluting us. I saluted back as they came around again.

“Don’t encourage them,” Sergeant Stone grumbled.

“Yes, sir.”

Kaboom! The Huey blew.

As pieces of debris fell from the sky, Stone knocked me to the ground and shielded me with his body. The jackass’s actions were totally unexpected, and he weighed a ton. “You’re squashing me,” I gasped.

Stone rolled off me and looked around. “Anyone hurt?”

His men shook their heads.

I watched the Huey burn for a moment and smiled. “Roberts is gonna be so pissed.”

“You can count on it, Chiquita,” Rodriquez said grimly.

Reaper’s right foot twitched wildly, he exhaled a long breath and stopped moving.

“You can’t question a dead man, but if I were you, I’d check his dog tags for a microdot.”

Sergeant Stone quickly removed Reaper’s dog tags and examined them. “I’ll be damned.”

“No one ever thinks of checking our dog tags for data.”

“Do you know what’s on it,” Johnson asked.

I tapped a finger against my cheek. “Hmmm. According to a credible source, Reaper’s drug dealings, his contacts and a list of all the people he’s murdered for Roberts.”

“Let me check your arm.” Tex squatted next to me and cut off the bandage. “You broke two of your stitches during your aerobatics.”

I shrugged. “I was trying to keep us alive.”

“And we appreciate it, but you need full-time bodyguards,” Johnson said.

“Do not. Yeow!” I glared at Tex. “That hurt.”

Tex got out his suture kit. “It’ll hurt more if I don’t deaden the area.”

“What’s the ETA on the rescue chopper?” My stomach growled loudly. “I’m starving.”

Sergeant Stone handed me a candy bar and his canteen. “We need to work on fattening you up. You look like you’ve been held prisoner by the Taliban for a year.”

Did he think I didn’t realize how awful I looked? All that mattered was I had survived.

“You should have reported Captain Harris’s actions,” Johnson commented.

My temper flared to life. “I did and my basic allowance and pay were stopped.” I hurriedly stuffed the entire candy bar, wrapper included, into my mouth and chewed.

“Stopped? For how long?” Stone demanded.

I took a long drink from his canteen. “Three months so far.”

“Did you contact your paymaster?” Rodriquez gave me another candy bar minus the wrapper.

I took a bite. “Yes, and I got the runaround.”

Whump. Whump. Whump. A Huey appeared in the distance.

Tex bandaged my arm. “Our ride is here.”

“Yippee.” I crammed the rest of the candy bar in my mouth.

Stone shook his head. “We’re not going to take food away from you.”

“You already have. I was eating my first decent meal in three days when you showed up at the mess hall and started bellowing at me.”

Sergeant Stone rubbed a hand over his face. “I apologize.”

“What?” I gaped at him in astonishment. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes, I was unaware of your situation at the time.”

The F-16s buzzed us again and wagged their wings.

“Apology accepted.”