While the CIA and FBI argue with state and local police, Landy and I sit cuffed together in the back seat of a sedan. About an hour later, a dark town car arrives, followed by another. A bunch of suited men bark at each other but eventually, those lower on the totem pole are sent packing.
“What’s going on?” A newbie to international politics, Landy shakes her head at the theater taking place in the racetrack’s parking lot.
“If I had to guess, I think we’re about to be sprung.” I point to a fiftyish brown man approaching our back door. He carries an orange device with the wordsflight recorder, do not open, written on the side.
“Oh my God. Thank you.” My woman kisses my cheek, but I don’t deserve her gratitude. My plan almost got us all killed.
Frowning, the man leans in and unlocks our cuffs. “Chinese nationals intercepted your communications and our people heard. You’re damn lucky to be alive.”
Hands now free, Landy taps the guy on the shoulder. “Why do people always say that? I would’ve been luckier if the sniper had been stuck in traffic, don’t you think?”
The man, who I suspect is CIA, ignores her banter and deepens his scowl. “Are you the one who took him out?”
“Yes sir. I tried calling the police and when they underestimated the threat, I saw no choice but to shoot. Am I under arrest?”
“No, but you’ll need to make a statement.”
As she sighs, I squeeze her hand, then grin at the familiar voice behind my back. “That won’t be necessary. These two undercover agents intercepted a drug transaction. Information is on a need-to-know basis only and no one needs to be clued in, except me.”
Grinning like mad, I turn and pump the M16 agent’s hand. “Impeccable timing, Jeeves.”
“It’s Sir Jeeves, to you.”
“Ah, I almost forgot you were knighted by the queen. Congratulations.”
Ignoring me, he snatches Landy’s hand and raises her knuckles to his lips. “Oliver Smith. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
When he doesn’t let go and stares into her eyes, I squeeze a pressure point on his wrist. “Hands off, my friend. She’s taken.”
He chuckles. “Well, well, well. Cupid’s arrow finally found its mark. Surprised to see me?”
“A little. How about you buy us a drink and we’ll catch up.”
Smith, or whatever he’s calling himself these days, walks us to an idling limo, then nods to the driver holding the door. “The club, please.”
Near the tunnel, the James Bond wannabe pushes a button, a soundproofed window behind the chauffeur’s head closes, and my ears pop at the pressure change.
Landy, sitting between us looks right and left. “Hello? Anyone care to clue me in?”
The spook flashes his pearly whites. “Well, first, be assured the flight recorder will be hand delivered to the safety board and you will be cleared of any wrongdoing. The official report will say the helicopter went down due to a problem in manufacturing.”
“Wait. The seal wasn’t broken. How could you possibly know what was on it?” Eyes narrowed, her fists clench.
Clueless to her mood, he continues his explanation. “The NTSB will insist the manufacturer recall new MD600’s for rotor inspection.
“That’s nuts. After everything we did to retrieve the black box, you’re not even going to look at it?” Her voice rises an octave, but he simply shrugs.
“If you’d rather, we could call it pilot error.”
Before she blows her stack, I jump in and take her hand. “I’m guessing US-Chinese relationships can’t take a hit right now.”
“I hear what you’re saying but I don’t understand.”
“Last year, I helped Interpol find Jian Zhang, a dangerous cartel leader, working out of China. I bet our friend suspects the drug lord sabotaged my copter, stole the flight recorder, and murdered the Kessler cousins.”
“Holy shit. Why didn’t you tell me?” She punches my arm and I wince.
“At first, I wasn’t certain, and then, I didn’t want you hurt.”
