Don't Know Jack (39 page)

Half a beat later, she saw it.

She said, “Finlay hates you.”

“The feeling is mutual. You’ve met the man once. Be careful. Roscoe doesn’t know him as well as she thinks. The man’s a stone killer.”

“And you’re not?”

“Takes one to know one.”

She felt the pushback like a physical force. She said, “What about Sylvia?”

He said, “What about her?”

“You’ll let Hale use her and then kill her?”

“I will if you will.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

She didn’t answer.

He asked, “Are we done here?”

“Hell no,” she said. “Where is Hale?”

“On his way to Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Reacher, too?”

“Maybe you should ask your pal Finlay that question.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

He sighed. “So I’ve been told.”

She said, “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Washington, D.C.

November 5

12:15 p.m.

Gaspar had eased himself behind the Crown Vic’s wheel. He was the number two, and the number two drives. Simple as that. He was on his personal phone, calling home. “I know. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry. Kiss the girls for me.”  He paused to listen to his wife. He said, “Yeah, I love you, too.”

“Everything OK at home?” Kim asked, as she slipped into the car. She handed back the phantom cell. Until Hale was dealt with to her satisfaction, she had nothing more to say to Cooper.

“All fine at home,” Gaspar said. “Where to now, boss lady?”

She recognized his attempt to normalize their relationship again after she’d failed him in the alley. He was more generous than she would have been.

She said, “Phoenix, Arizona.”

“For?”

“Hale and Sylvia.”

“What about Reacher?  Is he with them?”

“Cooper says he doesn’t know.”

“You believe that?”

“No more than you do. He’s sending transportation and instructions.”  She could see he was hurting. “Want me to drive?”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“Hale won’t deliberately wound you again when we find him. This time, he'll shoot to kill.”

He shrugged. “What did you tell the boss?”

“I said you were fine.”

“Thanks.”

“Least I could do, don’t you think?”

“Why’s that?”

She looked away.

He said, “If you’re harboring some crazy ass boss lady alpha female idea that you should have gotten Hale before he got me, then forget all about it. I didn’t see it coming, either.”

But you weren’t looking. I was.

Kim blinked it back. “Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Roscoe.”

He said, “I’m tired, that’s all. I’ll sleep on the plane. I’ll be right as rain when we get there. Don’t worry.”

She laughed. “Worry?  Who, me?”

He smiled. “Right. What was I thinking?”  He pulled out into the traffic. “What time’s the flight?”

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Phoenix, AZ

November 5

3:45 p.m. local time

Facts were facts: Hale had a three hour head start. And Phoenix was her last chance to get him before he left the country. She didn’t want to chase him all around the world.

But she would if she had to.

By the time they landed at Phoenix Sky Harbor International she had her plan in place. Gaspar had slept all the way from wheels up to wheels down. He had denied being in pain, but the crevices etched deep in his face revealed the lie. His limp had gotten worse, too. He’d refused to explain the extent of his prior injuries or how Hale’s shots might have interacted with them. He’d waved away her concerns. But the stiff upper lip act wasn’t fooling her. And it was making her feel worse, not better.

A small nerdy desk jockey agent from the Phoenix FBI field office waited with ground transportation, as Cooper had promised. “Agents Otto and Gaspar?  I’m Agent Picard. This way, please.”

They followed him out to the standard black SUV. He offered keys.

Gaspar held out his hand.

“I’m number two,” he said.

Picard’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He swallowed, and offered a quick rundown. “This vehicle is special-task-force equipped. Firepower in the back if you need it. Fully wired. Activate if you want backup. I’m assigned to you as long as you need me, but otherwise you’re not being monitored. There are extra phones in the console for quick response teams. There’s a cooler with food and water. The GPS is pre-programmed. Access it with your security code. Anything else you need?”

“That’ll do it, thanks,” Kim said.

Picard nodded. “Good luck.”  He returned to his own vehicle.

Gaspar opened the cooler and pulled out two sandwiches and two bottles of water. They settled in. Kim plugged in her smart phone to charge its dead battery. Within seconds, a text came in from Cooper containing a seven letter GPS security code. She entered it into the system. The pre-programed map showed the fastest route to Coolidge Municipal Airport.  An hour’s drive time. Fifty eight miles.

#

“We might not be too late,” Gaspar said. “He’s in a private plane. Private planes fly slower and have less fuel on board. The flight would have taken them longer. Maybe required a stop enroute.”

She’d already figured all that out while he was sleeping, but she liked that he was starting to think strategically again. She said, “Be good if you’re right.”

“Check for private jets on the way in and which ones landed in the last half hour?”

She pushed a few buttons on the specialized GPS system and was able to locate airport radar. “Shows flight plans for a helicopter departure. Waiting for inbound passengers. Then nothing else for the remainder of the day.”

He said, “Helicopter?”

She nodded. The only thing Kim hated worse than flying was flying in small planes. And the only thing worse than small planes was helicopters. They crashed. Constantly. People survived chopper crashes, but plenty died, too. Survival rates were higher with water crashes. Unhelpful in the Arizona desert.

And Gaspar would never manage a chopper. She’d be on it alone.

Only one choice.

She collected unjacketed hollow points from the SUV’s supply chest and stuck them in her pocket. She couldn’t risk more firepower inside a chopper. She wanted penetration sufficient to reach vital organs and stay there. Incapacitate. But not instantly. No head shots feasible.

The onboard radar beeped and identified a Learjet incoming westbound at 3,500 feet. Control tower access. Female pilot requesting permission to land. Cleared for final approach.

Kim met Gaspar’s gaze.

He recognized the pilot’s voice, too.

Sylvia Black.

What?

Now Hale’s reckless attack in the alley seemed less foolish.

Gaspar said, “Hale grabbed Sylvia this morning because he needed a pilot, not a hostage.”

Which confirmed one set of suspicions Kim had flushed out inflight. Sylvia had never been a dispensable pawn in Hale’s game. She was an integral actor in a long term criminal enterprise. She said, “Hale and Sylvia planned to meet Archie Leach at Wallace’s place. They planned to kill us in their crossfire.”

“How long have we got?”

“They’re on final approach. Five minutes, maybe?”

Gaspar accelerated.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Landing conditions were close to perfect. Winds were blowing straight down the runway at 10 knots. Clouds at 6,000 feet. Sylvia turned to line up with the runway. They would land, switch to the waiting chopper, and take off again. Maybe to a final destination in the mountains?  Somewhere the Learjet couldn’t go?

Gaspar put the pedal to the metal and raced the Learjet to the runway.

He didn’t make it.

Too far.

Sylvia landed and taxied fast and came to a stop close to a waiting Huey. She and Hale walked from jet to copter. Just the two of them. No third party. No Reacher.

Kim was puzzled, briefly. From the air Hale must have identified the SUV as an FBI task force vehicle. He should have aborted the landing and flown on. He would have been out of U.S. airspace before Kim could have done anything about it.

Therefore Hale knew who was on the ground, and why.

The Huey’s rotor started turning.

Gaspar slammed the SUV to a stop.

Kim opened her door.

Gaspar asked, “Do you know how to disable a chopper?”

“I’ll think of something,” Kim said. “But feel free to chime in with ideas.”

She slid out of the truck and ran through the downdraft from the whapping blades and the storm of noise from the turbine. Sylvia was in the Huey’s pilot’s seat and Hale was about to climb in on the navigator side. He had one foot on the ground and the other on the Huey’s step.

Kim drew her gun.

She called, “FBI!  Stay where you are!”

Protocol satisfied.

Legalities completed.

Hale didn’t stop. He was too close to an escape planned over too many years. Or maybe Kim’s voice had been swallowed up by the Huey’s noise.

Gaspar had driven up very close to the front of the Huey, but the bird could clear the truck for lift off. That was the nature of helicopters.

Kim aimed and fired.

Bullets hit rotors and ricocheted.

Hale braced himself halfway into the cabin and returned fire. Covering fire. Not aimed. He was trying to keep Gaspar inside the SUV and hold Kim back until the Huey could get in the air.

The turbine spooled up and the blades increased their speed. Runway dirt whirled and danced. The Huey went light, and then weightless. It rose steadily. Hale was still on the step, one foot inside, holding on with one hand, and firing with the other.