Fly Girl Ch. 05

Stephanie turned to the heading and adjusted the power. She rotated the trim wheel and the airplane settled into a stabilized descent. The smooth air would become a little more turbulent as they approached the airport traffic pattern, but it was a fine afternoon. He wriggled into his pants and zipped the fly without ever opening his eyes.

"Shit!"

When he heard the alarm in Stephanie's voice Steve bolted upright.

"What?"

"That! Where'd that fucker come from?" She was turning away to the left but stared out the right window. Steven looked to see a small business jet slowing to match their speed. He was impressed by the pilot's skill to keep the faster, heavier aircraft in formation with their slow "spam can." As they watched, the jet's landing gear extended and the wing flaps deployed.

"That's a Cessna Mustang. Steph, switch to one-two-one-point-five." Under his breath, Steve mumbled, "Shit, this guy's good."

"Yeah, okay, Steven, Switching."

As soon as the new frequency was entered in the comm radio the headphones came alive. "—You are in violation of a T-F-R area—"

"Shit, Steven, I checked. There were no Temporary Flight Restrictions for two hundred miles. They can't be talking to us . . ."

"—Suggest you turn to heading two-six-zero and land. You will be met by law enforcement. Do you copy? Cessna eight-four-two-alpha-alpha—"

"Fuck, that's us. How do they know who we are?" Her voice sounded high and tense.

"Maybe they can read the foot-tall numbers on our fuselage." They could both easily see the pilot's face behind his sunglasses, his headphones, his shirt collar. They saw his lips move.

"—Turn right immediately, heading two-six-zero. Acknowledge. Over."

Over the intercom, Steve mumbled, "He sounds annoyed." Stephanie smiled just a little.

He keyed the microphone. "Roger, Cessna eight-four-two-alpha-alpha turning right, heading two-six-zero. Descending."

"Cessna two-alpha-alpha, roger." The Citation pilot gave them the identifier of the airport where they were to land. Steve knew it by heart, but keyed it into the GPS anyway. As Stephanie turned into the jet it descended and slid under them to come up on their left side. Flying on the outside of their turn radius meant the jet could fly a little faster and avoid stalling.

"Shit, this guy's good."

"Steven, what's going to happen? Will I lose my license?"

"No, Babe," he said. At the same time he thought, I might lose mine . . .

"We'll just tell 'em it was an honest mistake, that you checked for TFRs and there were none. We're following their instructions so it should be okay."

Their pulses slowed and the cockpit began to feel normal, at least as normal as it could feel with a government jet hanging in space just off their left wing. Stephanie fought to maintain her poise, but lost the struggle in an outburst of raucous laughter.

"What's so damn funny," Steve asked, annoyed but smiling in spite of himself.

"Do you—" Her laughter rendered her temporarily speechless. "Do you know," she began again as her eyes watered, "how close you came to getting caught with your pants down?"

Their guffaws provided a welcome release.

"It's show time, guys!" The room buzzed. "Listen up! We have actionable intel on Site Bravo—"

Al looked at Wayne with a proud expression.

Wayne whispered, "Don't count your drinks, yet, you damn Texican!"

"—And we're dispatching two teams to that site in fifteen. Here's what you're dealing with." The officer launched into the briefing. He gave the particulars and, as he wrapped up, asked Al, "Do you gentlemen have anything you'd like to add?"

"Thanks, Deputy Montgomery. I'd just like to repeat what the Deputy told you about the people who are being held there. Make sure you take that extra instant to verify the bad guys so we don't spread any collateral damage, okay?" Al's voice sounded strong, but Wayne could hear the tension and fatigue. "Other than that, you're all professionals, so just give it your best work. Wayne?"

"I'm good," he murmured.

"Okay. That's all from us, Deputy."

"All right, gentlemen." He turned to his people, "Guys, let's roll!"

Although the Mustang did not land with them, the jet remained overhead until the Cessna stopped and its occupants exited. As Al Scott, Wayne Little, the sheriffs, deputies and agents endured the forty-eight minute trip to "Site Bravo," Stephanie and Steven were being interrogated by two police officers and two sheriff's deputies. An FBI agent was en route to the landing strip as well.

Pedro trembled in fury. He and three other men had searched the area for most of the day and had failed to find Maria. Lucinda was missing, too, and he was certain that they were together. They discovered Manuel's knife near the broken paneling. Pedro spotted some blood on the ragged wooden edge but it did not seem to have slowed down the escaped pair.

"Shit!" He lit a cigarette and exhaled in anger as he studied the brush for a third time. He half-saw the trees, bushes and grasses that surrounded the compound. The free portion of his mind roamed the area as he looked for an escape route, too.

"Where would you go, bitch? You know I'll find you. First I'll fuck you then I kill you!"

A second van bounced away down the trail. The first had a ten-minute head start and carried a dozen girls. The last ten—nine, he corrected himself—were in the rusty gray vehicle that the thick foliage swallowed. Pedro saw him looking into Pedro's face. Knowing he could not escape, Pedro walked to El Jeffe.

"Any sign?"

"No, but I will not rest until it is done."

"She was a favorite of mine, you know? I am not happy."

Despite Pedro's anger and bravado, he shivered inside. Most people who made him unhappy disappeared. Pedro thought of giving him the "Manuel treatment," but the three guards stared hard in his direction. And he seemed to read Pedro's expression all too easily.

"No, my friend, my teeth are still as sharp as ever." He smiled without an iota of humor. "Kill her for humiliating me and I will let you live."

Pedro nodded. "I will." He gestured in the direction of the vans and suggested, "Find yourself another. I'll catch up to you this evening."

"Good. Now go."

The big man nodded, jerked his head at one of his underlings and they branched off in a direction that had not yet been checked.

At a nod of his head a guard jogged to his side.

"Follow them. Discretely. If he finds her, and kills her, let him return. If he cannot do it, kill him and the girls. If he does not find her by eight o'clock tonight, kill him. If Rico cooperates with you, keep him alive. If not . . ." A slight tilt of the head pronounced Rico's sentence. "After you are finished, catch up to us. I reward those I trust."

The guard's face bore a grim smile. He nodded and went after the men.

The two young women crept through the pines and kudzu and scrubby bushes of the forest floor. While they could not be sure of the direction they travelled, they were reasonably sure it led them away from the men who thought of them only as a commodity. Or, now, thought of them as prey.

Lucinda whispered, "We have come so far that I have lost track of our path. Do you know where we are?"

"I have an idea of where we are going, but I want to keep turning a few more times."

"Why?"

Maria pushed a low pine bough upward so when it sprang down it would miss Lucinda. "If our trail changes direction it may be more difficult to follow."

The girl pushed the branch forward and it snapped back so hard that anyone behind her would have been injured. "Ah, si. I understand."

The filtered light brightened ahead of them and they slowed out of instinct.

"Damn!" Maria stopped and peered through the foliage.

"What is it," Lucinda asked as she stood close behind her lover.

"This field is too large to cross. We may be seen. We will have to go around." She turned and saw the girl holding her arm.

"How is it now?"

"Fine," Lucinda answered without hesitation. She smiled and said, "In a few days it will be as though it never happened at all. Ready?"

"Si, vamos."

They began working around the field to the left. After a few minutes Maria turned them around and doubled back. They spent the next half an hour going right until they came to a dirt road. With all the care and stealth of any prey animal, they crossed the road and disappeared into the forest once more.

The convoy stopped more than a half mile from the objective and the officers continued on foot. Al and Wayne would have liked them to get closer, but the Sheriff rightly pointed out that it was quiet in these woods. Even this far out risked them being heard.

They followed a beaten path that served as a road, but kept to either side of the tire ruts. Despite their number, they were moving quickly and quietly. Al felt his nervousness ease a little. They were not quite as good as an FBI Hostage Rescue Team, but they were good.

A vehicle could be heard coming from the direction of the objective. Everyone melted into the foliage and waited.

As the rusty gray van passed the point man, there was a soft whistle to confirm that this was the only vehicle. An officer stepped out into the road and held up a hand. The driver tromped the brakes and was reaching for his cell phone when a deputy materialized from the side.

The driver's head jerked to the left and he stared into the barrel of an MP4. The deputy shook his head and signaled for the window to be lowered.

"Arriba las manos, Jose!"

"Mierda!" the driver swore under his breath as he dropped the phone and raised his hands.

Maria and Lucinda did not feel their bodies tire. The adrenaline took care of that for them. But they felt the thirst and the strain of fear. Every sound seemed magnified: if they heard it, the doom of their predators' approach; if they made it, a homing signal to their discovery. So they kept moving.

They crossed a barb wire fence into yet another forest. This one consisted of trees planted in neat rows, far too even to be natural. The rows lined up and provided long aisles of lessened cover. Maria felt her tension increase with the additional exposure. She decided not to mention it to Lucinda.

The girl followed dutifully. The cut arm throbbed but the bleeding had stopped. She almost tripped over Maria's heels several times before she realized how close she had gotten. Lucinda felt the danger without being told and had unconsciously crowded near her lover for reassurance.

Another fence line loomed to the right and they altered their direction. After worming through the wire, the kudzu and brush gave them better cover. Maria sat at the base of a tree and motioned Lucinda beside her.

"We will rest for a little while. Then we must look for water."

"Si."

"Let me see." She unwrapped the girl's arm. The dried blood made the wound appear worse than it was. But under scrutiny it looked superficial. Maria imagined how sexy the scar would be on her lover's skin.

She smiled at Lucinda and said, "It looks fine. We will wash it when we find clean water. I am proud of you—you are very brave, little one."

"You show me how."

Maria's eyes stung and she leaned forward. Lucinda's lips were warm and soft as she returned the kiss.

Lucinda wound the cloth around her forearm and tucked in the end to keep it in place. "I am ready."

"No," Maria whispered. "We can spare two more minutes." She leaned against the trunk and sighed. Lucinda sat back so their sides touched and she rested her head on Maria's shoulder. She closed her eyes and sighed, too.

A sudden shuffling in the brush jolted them both. Lucinda bit a fore knuckle to keep silent.

From behind them came snuffling and snorting, noise of leaves rattling and a low, "woof."

"A dog?" she whispered relaxing.

Maria motioned for her to be quite. She did not know whether this animal was a stray or with its owner . . .

A brown burrito with ears like the Sphinx's headdress and a metronomic tail shot from a nearby bush. The dachshund stopped and barked in a voice much too deep for its diminutive stature. Maria was horrified that they would be found out because of this tiny loudmouth.

"Here, baby," Lucinda cooed. "Come see me." Maria felt her heart melt at the tone, and she saw the same reaction in the animal. The barking ceased. The tail wagged so fast that the entire rump swayed back and forth. Even his middle swayed, but in the opposite direction, looking like an undulating canine sausage. The dog smiled and trotted toward the girl.

"There, sweet baby," she complimented, slipping fingers beneath one of the oversized ears. The dachshund leaned into the hand to get properly scratched. Then he shook his head, making his collar jingle, before he leaned in again, wanting more.

"Otis? Otis!"

Maria tensed once again. Lucinda looked deep into her eyes with a calm expression. In that instant, Maria felt as if their roles had reversed, as if she was the frightened child and Lucinda the worldly adult.

"It will be all right," she murmured. "Trust me now."

Maria gazed at her lover, took a long breath and nodded.

"Otis, where 'n the holy Hell— Oh, shit! Damnation, honey, you scar't the crap outta me!"

The dog barked once at Lucinda as though he needed to maintain his fierce façade. He licked her hand in apology then trotted to his owner.

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't see y'all, oh, there's two o' ya. But, what're all y'all doin' way out heah?"

Lucinda asked. "Would you give us water, please?"

"What's that, honey?" The woman drawled. "All y'all Mexican? 'Cause I don' speak no Mexican. Jes' American."

Maria stared at the shotgun slung over the woman's arm. She felt the pistol in the pocket of her dress and eyed the black face. The old woman's guileless expression began to soothe her frazzled nerves.

Otis snuffled and raised his leg on the trunk of their tree. The woman smiled. "He thinks all this heah woods is his, and he pees on every bit o' dem that he's can. Better keep your feet movin' or he jes' might pees on dems, too." She laughed from her belly at her own joke.

"Senora, agua por favor?"

"Well, c'mon, girls. Ya can sit to dinner and we'll see if all y'all can learn some proper talk." She waved a hand at them and turned. It was then that they saw the lumpy pillow case and its red stains. They glanced at one another.

The woman stopped and turned to face them. "Well? All y'all comin', or ain't cha?"

Lucinda nodded to Maria and took her hand. They followed their hostess through the trees.

Pedro's fury bubbled at the boiling point. These were two simple chicas who eluded him. He had grown up hunting, had been able to track from boyhood, and somehow he had been fooled and misled more than once.

Their trail had come to a meadow then bore left, but as the gunmen followed the turn it came to a dead end.

"Fuck," he hissed as he turned back.

It was getting late in the afternoon. The low sun angle played shadow and light across the groundcover and made scanning for movement difficult. Everything seemed to move and sway and heave; clumps of brush or branches became as animated as the occasional deer or numerous squirrels.

"Ay!" Rico yelped and slapped at his neck. Pedro looked back to see several wasps circling his man. But beyond . . .

"Down!" Pedro squatted as he called to Rico. There was movement. Not a trick of light, but physical movement. He was certain of it.

Rico came forward, waved at the pestering insects and crouched as he felt the stinging threats pass. His mouth set itself in a hard line. A spot on his neck swelled.

Pedro strained his eyes until his forehead throbbed. He breathed through his mouth in short, silent rhythm. His finger slid from the frame of his AK to the trigger guard, the muzzle pointed in the direction of interest.

A tiny snap to the right made both men freeze. Pedro smiled to himself, flushed with the promise of a kill. He would murder one on sight and fuck the other before he sent her to God, too. At this point he did not care which one died and which one satisfied his lust. For him the pleasure of sex and the pleasure of killing rivaled each other.

But both together . . . He smiled.

The person moved. There was no doubt the target was human. He thumbed the long lever of the safety to the "fire" position. His emotions, usually something he could suppress, tingled just beneath the surface. His pulse beat faster, his anger and glee pumped adrenaline. He viewed this moment as if a curtain was rising on a stage play.

The bush he had studied moved the tiniest bit. He saw a dark shadow—hair! He verified the target, eased the rifle to his shoulder, and took careful aim. His breathing slowed, he controlled his heartbeat, and his finger tightened on the trigger. A slight movement helped him make a final adjustment . . .

The Kalashnikov fired in full automatic mode and showered the bush. Despite its notorious reputation for a lack of accuracy, the six-shot volley proved accurate enough. Behind the bush a body tumbled backward into the leaf litter.

"Got you, worthless fucking bitch!"

In five rapid strides Pedro closed the distance. And froze.

Rico came up beside him and stopped in shock as well. There lay a man with two bloody craters in his chest and most of the right side of his head missing. His remaining eye, already bereft of its glisten, stared at the treetops.

Rico spoke first.

"Shit, that's Tonio. What does it mean?"

"This." Pedro swung from the waist and emptied his magazine into Rico's thorax.

"Fuck!" Pedro did not know who to trust now. If Tonio was sent to watch them it could only mean that he was marked for death. He could not take a chance on Rico, so he hadn't. His mind raced for what to do next.

Autonomically, he bent and picked magazines from both men's pockets and pouches. He debated taking a second rifle, or a third, but decided against the additional weight. The ammo was heavy enough. Rico only carried the AK, but Tonio had a Tokarev pistol and extra magazines. Pedro racked the slide to make sure the chamber held a round, half-cocked the pistol and slid it into his waistband. He smacked a full load into the magazine well of his Kalashnikov.

Pedro stalked into the brush without another look, or thought, for the two corpses.

They watched the thick black woman prepare the meal. She had cleaned four or five squirrels and had them bubbling in a large pot with potatoes, carrots and onions. A smaller pot of greens with a little fat back cooked on a back burner.

The young women flashed back to childhood, and village life, as they drank. It reminded both of them of the village abuelas whipping up a feast for some celebration or another. They downed glasses of cool water and Lucinda had even sampled some elderberry wine. Maria refused, as wary as ever.

The woman set a basin of water, a brown plastic bottle and some swathes of cotton fabric on the table. "Y'all had better doctor that cut," she suggested to Maria. When the couple stared at her, she pointed to the bandage. "Clean 'er up. Don' want no infection startin'." She waited to see a sign of recognition in Maria's eyes before returning to her stove.