Half-expecting shouts and gunfire, I bless the silence of the parking lot, and say a small prayer of thanks. Holy fuck. My plan worked, but now what?
Could I walk to the border? Sure, but they’ll never let me cross without an ID and I’m not going to risk being handed back to the same captors.
A Marine does not panic. She assesses her situation. First off, I need food. All the restaurants are closed, but I approach one where bags of trash are stacked outside. Ignoring the rats, I unwrap a half-eaten tamale, and choke it down.
Several minutes later, when I’m certain I won’t puke, I shut my eyes and try to recall my flight path. What I wouldn’t give for GPS and an online map.
Walking blindly, I stay away from major roads and avoid the homeless people. At one point, I wave down a kid on a bike, but he flies past, eyes forward. Perhaps I’ll have better luck when the sun comes up?
By pure chance, I wander to an intersection and gaze up at a picture of an aircraft and an arrow. The sign below it reads,Aeroporto, 5 km. Twenty minutes later, I arrive, and enter the terminal.
Damn, it’s a lot larger than I imagined, and if I’m going to steal a jet, I need more intel. At a desk marked information, I cook up a story about meeting my brother who owns a Cessna. After a lengthy conversation, she hands me a map of the airport and wishes me luck.
My best bet is to find the cargo area where the security will no doubt be lax. Outside, I follow the directions to the airplane graveyard, which contains over a dozen carcasses. However, the empty tarmac means I need to wait, so I find a fuselage in which to nap.
Around two in the morning, I wake to a coughing engine. The aircraft lands, the pilot hops out, and for the longest time, shoots the shit with another. Then, they slap each other on the back, the terminal goes dark, and their voices fade away.
Dear God, please help me steal his plane.At first, I debate myself. Should I search for his key? The pilot could’ve left it inside the building or worse, took it along. There’s no time to find out. However, I haven’t hotwired a plane in ages.
Thinking of my first flight instructor who insisted I learn, I short the starter. When the engine turns over, I hop in the cockpit. Headset on, I putter down the cargo runway, adjust the flaps and stop at the run-up to notify the tower. Not waiting for an answer, I advance the throttle and take the bird up to speed. In a steep climb, I pull back on the yoke, and pray no one will hit me. As I gain more altitude, I scan for activity out my windshield.
Meanwhile, the tower shits bricks trying to contact me, but I can’t go back. My only hope is to land a few hundred miles inside the US border.
Chapter 9
Dash
Using Kade’s GPS coordinates, I mentally calculate the flight time from here to Reynosa and groan. “Lanita must’ve set down by now.”
“I reckon so. What now? Back to the airport?” Suds shuts his car door and I follow suit.
“Yeah, I’m going to assume she’ll need some sleep before she takes off again.” As thunder grumbles and lightning flashes, my friend presses the start button, then puts the vehicle in drive.
Water plops on the windshield, he turns on the wipers, and glowers at me across the front seat’s divider. “The next time you want to commit suicide by biker, give me a heads up. I’ll bring lilies.”
“I’m really sorry, mate. The Renegade Riders have never been violent before. If I’d have known a Russian had taken over, I would’ve waited for reinforcements before making a move.” I curse under my breath. “I should never have let my dad convince me to participate in his bloomin’ nonsense. Every time, he swears it’s the last, but there’s always one more bauble and a mile long guilt trip.”
“Family. It’s never easy.” Lit blue by the car’s interior, my friend shakes his head, then turns off the road for a moment to stare my way. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look like shit.”
“I’m fine. I’m just worried about her.” I don’t mention my raging headache nor the stomach acids threatening to burn a hole through my gut lining.
“She’s former military. She knows how to handle herself.” He shifts gears, we hit a bump, and as the chassis bounces, I try to explain.
“I know but I have this… I don’t know what you call it… a premonition? She’s in way over her head.”
Stopping at the crossroads, he darts his eyes left and right. “We’re almost to the airport. Call Slate. Give him a heads up. We’ll figure out our next move in the air.”
“Bloody hell.” I clench my fists, wishing I did some damage to Kade while I had the chance. At some point, we will have a reckoning. Landy may owe him, but I sure as hell don’t, and certainly not after today.
While Suds uses Bluetooth to call Sam, I take Lanita’s cellphone out of my pocket and scroll through the texts, hoping to find a hint of what she’s gotten herself into.
Both hands on the wheel, my driver connects with his wife. “Hey Sam, we might be doin’ a little sight seein’ in Mexico.”
“Seriously? If you end up dead, Sebs, I will find a medium and nag your ghost until I die, capice?”
“I love you, too, darlin’. Don’t worry none.” His grin makes me laugh.
“Is Dash there?”
