24 Hours (39 page)

Seconds before they reached the intersection, the F- 18 blasted into the blue. Cheryl was still screaming, but Will let himself ride the rush of adrenaline flushing through his system. All the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours had disappeared. After hours of impotence, he was finally
doing
something.

“November Whiskey-Juliet! Cut your engines! You are not cleared for takeoff!”

They crossed the intersection at eighty-five knots.

“November Whiskey-Juliet—God
damn!
”

The Baron rocketed into the air. In seconds it was only a thin cross-section against the sky.

Will was banking north at a thousand feet when he sighted the helicopter. It was a mile behind him, but it was moving to cut the angle off his turn. He increased speed and kept climbing, his eye on a bank of cumulus clouds to the northwest.

He had turned down his radio to dampen the sound of the tower, but as they plowed toward the clouds, he detected a new voice competing with that of the furious controller.

“Baron Two-Whiskey-Juliet, this is the helicopter on your starboard side. I am FBI Special Agent John Sims. Be advised that you have committed multiple felonies. Return to the airport immediately. Please acknowledge.”

“Can he catch us?” Cheryl asked.

“Not a chance. We can do two hundred twenty knots, and we’ve got clouds ahead. He’s history.”

“Baron Whiskey-Juliet,” crackled the radio. “I know you can hear me. I’m patching my Special Agent-in-Charge through on this channel. Stand by.”

Will kept climbing toward the cloud bank, pushing the twin engines as hard as they would go. “Can you see the chopper?”

“Getting smaller by the second,” Cheryl reported.

“Dr. Jennings,” crackled the radio. “This is Frank Zwick. You’re putting the lives of your wife and daughter at risk by cutting us out. You’re going to need backup. Without it, your family will end up dead.”

Will keyed his mike. “That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

“At least tell us where you’re headed.”

“The best thing you can do right now is get some agents into Brookhaven, Mississippi. Put some more in McComb. I’ll call you back.”

Will switched off the comm radio, then the transponder, which would normally broadcast his altitude and position to air-traffic controllers.

“You’ve got a bigger problem than that helicopter,” Cheryl said.

“What?”

“You told that guy at the hotel to forward Joey’s calls through to my cell phone, right? That means that whether Joey tries to call you at the Beau Rivage, or me on my cell phone, he’s going to get this phone. How do we decide who answers?”

Will’s face suddenly felt cold. How could he have missed it? If Hickey called Cheryl and got “the hotel” instead, his whole plan would be blown. “We’re all right for ten or fifteen minutes,” he said, thinking aloud. “I’ll answer. I’ll say we’re stuck in traffic on our way back to the Beau Rivage.”

“And after that?”

“By then we’ll be halfway to Hazlehurst.”

“Is that where we’re going?”

“North is where we’re going right now. That’s all we know until Joe calls and tells you something else. Where exactly is this motel you’re supposed to go to in Brookhaven?”

“Right by the main exit.”

Brookhaven was twenty miles nearer than Hazlehurst, and Will had once landed there to refuel, but he didn’t remember what sort of rental car facilities they had. He’d have to wing it.

The Baron shot into the clouds like a stone thrown through a waterfall, and his heart lightened instantly. The FBI chopper couldn’t see him now unless it had radar. And if he dropped to treetop level, it would take an air force AWACs with look-down radar to find him. He felt a brief chill as he remembered that Keesler Air Force Base was only a few miles behind them. There might be an AWACs in the air already, on maneuvers, and after his stunt at the Gulfport field, they might be glad to shadow him for the FBI. He needed to get down into the ground clutter as soon as possible.

“What about the house Joe took you to that night?” he asked. “By McComb. Anything else come to you?”

“No.”

“When the FBI raided the cabin, they found Huey’s truck. That means Huey and Abby probably left in another vehicle. Were there any other cars at the cabin?”

“I told you, I never
went
there.”

“But you must have heard them talking.”

“There’s a tractor there. I know that. Huey bush-hogs fields for part-time work.”

Will tried to picture Huey and Abby escaping from a SWAT team on a rusty John Deere. It didn’t seem likely.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about Joe’s family. Cars they’ve had. Come on. . . .”

Cheryl shook her head in exasperation.

In the switchboard center at the Beau Rivage, a young operator sat reading the unabridged version of
The Stand.
When the hotel’s main line rang, he answered the way he always did: “
Beau Rivage Casino Resort.
” But when the caller asked for Suite 28021, he punched Alt-Z on his computer, executing a macro set up at the request of Remy Geautreau, the front desk manager. A digital connection was made and a forwarding number dialed. The operator verified that the macro had executed, then went back to his Stephen King novel.

Will jumped when the cell phone rang, but he dug it quickly from his pocket and checked his watch.

“I’m going to answer,” he said. “If it’s Joe, I’ll feel out what he expects and play it by ear. Hold the phone up to my ear, and hit SEND when I tell you.”

Cheryl held up the phone, but Will said nothing. He had just realized something. At maximum cruise, the Baron’s engines sounded like twin tornadoes, even with the soundproofing. Telling Hickey they were stuck in traffic near the Beau Rivage wouldn’t explain the roar. Hickey might even recognize the distinctive sound of airplane engines.

The cell phone kept ringing.

Will had two choices. Throttle the engines back to idle and hope they were quiet enough to be undetectable over the cell phone, or cut them altogether. Cutting the engines was far more dangerous, but only that would guarantee that Hickey wouldn’t hear them.

“Are you going to answer?” Cheryl asked.

Thankful that he had not yet dived for the ground clutter, Will pulled back to idle, feathered his props, and killed both engines. In the eerie silence, the plane began to fall.

“
Shit!
” Cheryl screamed. “
What happened?
”

“Hit SEND.”

Her face was bone-white. “
Are we going to crash?
”

“We’re fine! Hit SEND!”

He heard a beep, then the hiss of the open connection. “Joe?”

“How’s it hanging, Doc? You taking a nap up there?”

Up there?
Will’s heart thudded. Then he realized that Hickey meant the hotel suite. He’d assumed Hickey would call Cheryl before he called the Beau Rivage, to verify that she’d gotten the money. But Hickey had clearly expected Will to answer this call. That meant Geautreau had successfully patched the call. It also meant that the “stuck in traffic” excuse was useless.

“Where’s Abby?” Will asked, trying to picture himself in the suite at the Beau Rivage rather than dropping toward the earth at a thousand feet per minute. “I want to talk to her.”

“Everything in its season, Doc. I’ll be talking to you soon.”

The phone went dead. Will dropped it in Cheryl’s lap and began his midair engine-start sequence.

“Start the engines!” she screamed. “We’re crashing!”

He felt a rush of exhilaration as the Continentals kicked off. He adjusted the pitch of his props and felt the plane leap forward as the blades bit into the air.

“Jesus God,” Cheryl whispered, when the nose of the Baron finally came level. “I almost puked.”

Will began climbing to regain the lost altitude. “Cheryl, I’ve got to know what kind of car Huey’s driving.”

“If you’d keep the damn engines running, maybe I could think.”

“You think like you’ve never thought in your life, goddamn it! We’re at seven thousand feet. We can glide for seven minutes without engines before we crash. Unless Joe gets talkative, we’re fine.”

“Why are you so mean?” she whined, her voice like a child’s. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Try harder.”

The cell phone rang in her lap.

“Who answers this time?” she asked.

“You. He just called me. He’s calling you to make sure I gave you the money.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“If he sounds surprised, tell him you came back to the hotel.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I shorted you on the money.”

She nodded.

“And try like hell to find out what Huey’s driving.”

“Okay.”

“Wait till I cut the engines.”

“Sweet Mary . . .”

Once again, Will pulled the engines back to idle, feathered his props, and starved the engines into silence.

Cheryl hit SEND as the plane began to glide earth-ward. “Joey? . . . Yeah, I’ve got it.” She gave Will a thumbs-up. “Three hundred and fifty thousand,” she said. “He tried to bribe me with it...Yeah. No problem. I think he’s about wasted by the whole thing... I’m on 110 now, headed up toward the interstate. Am I still going to the motel?”

Will heard a squawk from the phone, but he couldn’t distinguish words.

“Yeah, I remember...Uh-huh...What about Huey and the little girl? . . . Joey, you’re not going to hurt that kid, are you?” She jerked the phone away from her ear. “I’m sorry...I know. I will. I’m on my way.”

She clicked off.

Will restarted the engines, and once again the Baron began to climb.

“What did he say about Abby?”

“He told me not to talk about it on the phone.”

“What else did he say?”

“Go to Paco’s place.”

“What’s that?”

“A club. It’s on the county line near Hattiesburg. I danced there for a while. They’ve got rooms out back for the girls.”

“He said the name of the club on the phone?”

“No. The name of the club is Paradise Alley. Paco just works there. He’s tight with Joey.”

Will pulled out a map. He knew Mississippi like the back of his hand, but he wanted to visualize vectors as accurately as he could. I-55 was the main north/ south artery, and it bisected the state. Jackson sat in the middle, with Hazlehurst, Brookhaven, and McComb straight south of it. Hattiesburg was on a diagonal, southeast of Jackson, down Highway 49. It was much closer to their present position, but there was no way he could cover both I-55 and Highway 49. And the fact that Cheryl had been told to go to Paco’s place didn’t mean Hickey was going straight there, or that Huey had been given the same instructions.

“Son of a bitch,” Cheryl said.

“What?”

“The Rambler!”

“What?”

She was smiling at something. “Joey’s mom had an AMC Rambler. An old white thing with push-button gears. It was the club that made me think of it. Paradise Alley. Joey’s mom got to where she couldn’t drive, and one night Joey showed up at Paradise Alley in her car. When we tried to leave, it broke down. We had to hitch. It supposedly sat up on blocks for a couple of years, but I never saw it. I was with Huey once when he went to Auto Shack to buy parts for it. Maybe the Rambler was at the cabin.” She shook her head. “I haven’t thought about that car in three years!”

Will couldn’t suppress his excitement anymore. At last, he had something. A white Rambler. And Abby might be in it. But where was it? “The FBI found a cell phone and a landline at the cabin,” he reasoned aloud. “The landline was Joe’s backup for Huey. So, unless Huey had
two
cell phones, Joe can’t contact him while he’s on the road.”

“I’m pretty sure Huey only had one,” Cheryl said. “But the Rambler could have a phone, couldn’t it?”

“It could. Does Huey know about Paradise Alley? Has he ever been there?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? You can’t take Huey to a titty bar. One glimpse of a naked woman, he blows a gasket. Joey brought him to see me dance once, and he jumped up on stage trying to throw his coat over me. It took four bouncers to get him down.”

“But that wasn’t Paradise Alley.”

“No.”

“Has Huey ever met this Paco guy?”

“No way. Joey keeps him away from all that stuff.”

“Has he spent any time in or around Hattiesburg?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then Huey isn’t headed for Paco’s place. He’s probably going wherever he was supposed to go according to the original backup plan. Joe changed your instructions on the fly, but I don’t think he’d do that to Huey. So, what was Huey’s original backup destination? Where would Joe have told him to go if there was a problem?”

Cheryl chewed her bottom lip as she considered the question. “Joey wouldn’t want him driving too far. Not with your little girl along. Too much chance of the highway patrol stopping him.”

“Did Joe say
anything
about Huey during that last call?”

“Just that he would be fine.”

“I think Huey’s going to the motel in Brookhaven. It’s only twenty minutes from Hazlehurst, which makes it less than an hour from the cabin. Joe could get there from Jackson in fifty minutes, pick up Huey and Abby, then head east to Hattiesburg to meet you.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“If I’m right, Joe is driving south on I-55 right now. Huey is, too. They’re probably twenty minutes apart in the southbound lanes. To hell with Highway 49.”

Will gripped the yoke with both hands and put the Baron into a steep dive. He would turn west after he dropped below radar level. He wanted to be over I-55 as soon as possible, but he didn’t want any curious air-traffic controllers to see him getting there.