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.