Rising Hope by Edie James

4

As he easedthe aircraft skyward, Enzo familiarized himself with the helo. The gorgeous airframe was beautifully equipped. The Guard maintained their workhorse Dolphins in top condition, but they were used hard. This lovely lady still had that new car smell.

He tried to study his new partner without looking like he was looking. Between the foofed-up hair, the overdone makeup, and the ridiculous stilettos, the woman looked more diva than drug enforcement.

He wondered how much of her real personality he was seeing. If Agent Walker was half as high maintenance as her outfit, this operation was not going to go well. He understood she had a role to play, but she’d get about three feet in those tight jeans and that stupid footwear.

Halliburton had said they shouldn’t expect trouble on the buy, but Halliburton wasn’t piloting a multi-million-dollar Eurocopter to a remote meet with high-value cartel members.

Agent Walker caught him checking out her footwear. “It’s an image thing.”

“I get that. You’re a rich divorcee from LA, looking to make a name for yourself in the drug world.”

“Cheezy, but these macho gang types eat it up.”

“If you say so.” He studied the jagged peaks to starboard. Home was less than ten miles from the other side of the ridge, but right now, it felt like a million miles away.

Drug dealers. What had he been thinking? His world was ocean rescues and open seas interdiction missions. Missions he accomplished as part of well-honed teams. Men and women he knew. Counted on. He’d rather be on his own than shackled with a cranky female of unknown abilities. Or loyalties.

All he had was Halliburton’s word that Walker was legit, and now that he was face-to-face with her, he wasn’t feeling the vibe. She was curt and impatient and about as forthcoming as the Special Agent.

Just make the pickup. A couple of runs, and the mission would be completed. The end.

He could dive back into his comfort zone, Boy Scout style.

Clear of the trees circling the lot in front of the barn, he eased the cyclic forward, sending them toward the mountains. His new partner tensed. If her muscles pulled any tighter, she’d break something.

He’d seen lots of people afraid of flying. None worse than this.

She was so rigid, he almost felt sorry for her.

“You good?” he asked over the headset. Much as he regretted taking this assignment, he didn’t blame her.

Her fingers dug into the seat like talons. Her skin had that telltale green tinge. Her oversized sunglasses reflected his own image back to him. “Sure,” she lied.

He gestured at the dash in front of her. “There are bags in that first pouch. Use them if you feel airsick. No barfing on the equipment. Got it?”

“I have done this before.”

“Barfed in a helo?”

She made an exasperated sound. “That would be a first, but I’m game, if you are.”

He turned away to hide a grin. As long as she had that edge of temper, she’d do okay. They had less than thirty minutes to go.

“Tell me about the landing site,” he said. “I haven’t been there in ten years or so. Back then, it was a blip in the road. A two-pump gas station and a biker bar, if I remember right.”

She wasn’t a pilot. Any intel she had about the landing area would be minimal. He asked more to keep her mind off the nausea than anything else.

He’d driven through Black’s Canyon a couple times coming home from flight school in San Diego. A couple hours directly south of MacKenzie Cove by car, Black’s Canyon was a tiny dot of a place an afternoon’s drive up into the rugged hills east of the chic beach town of Malibu.

Walker folded her slim hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. “You’d recognize the public-facing part along the highway. The area’s still populated by retirees, mostly, and a few stubborn holdouts who keep the legit businesses going, but everything behind the scenes has changed. Cartels and Triads have started hiring their own scientists to create designer drugs. They need labs and manufacturing facilities. Black’s Canyon seems to be the sweet spot, for now. Maximal privacy, cheap land and easy access to LA and San Francisco for distribution. This is the first time we’re meeting close to their manufacturing plant. That’s a sign they’re starting to trust me.”

He considered the geography of the area. Black’s Canyon was buried deep in the Santa Monica range. Not much flat land for twenty miles in any direction. “Why fly in?”

“We’re trying to convince these guys we’re going to be purchasing massive amounts of product. Flying in makes an impression.”

“And it’s smart.” He thought out loud. “Assuming they have no reason to blow us out of the sky, the only vulnerable points are take off and landing. Other than that, we’re safe.”

She tapped manicured nails on the armrest. Sunlight winked off the chunky diamonds on her fingers. “You’re right. Driving creates all kinds of security issues for the buyers. Vehicles loaded with cash, or buyers with account transfer codes, going in, and loaded with drugs coming out. The sellers might not attack, but lowlifes further down the criminal food chain wouldn’t hesitate.”

He remembered the twisty two-lane highway. “There are all kinds of choke points. Setting up an ambush would be simple.”

“That’s why the flying blender here.” She brushed a hair-sprayed hank of hair off her face.

“Flying blender?” He liked it.

She smiled. It lit up her face. But the moment passed quickly. She dug in her huge purse and pulled out a sweet pair of Pulsar binoculars.

“Heat detecting?” he asked.

“Uh huh.” She was intent on her task, clearly no longer airsick. “I see two vehicles heading toward the landing zone. Three people in each.”

“So it’s six to two. Wonderful.” And he had no doubt the six would be huge, prison-hardened thugs used to fighting dirty. Great. Just great. No way he’d be able to fight them off long enough for her to escape. No use even thinking about making it out himself.

She capped the lenses on the binos and slid them carefully back into their case. Definite points for style. He trusted his life to equipment on a daily basis. He appreciated it when others showed the same care with their instruments.

“They won’t mess with us,” she said. “Much.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Bad for business. They want to do deals on their own terms. The first-time buyers end up dead, it’s over. Other syndicates are pumping out drugs, too. Scaring away the customers won’t work for long.”

Logical, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Weather was often his biggest opponent. Waves and winds could be deadly, but that wasn’t personal. One-on-one, he didn’t mind his odds, but he’d never taken on a group of armed men alone.

“Do we have any backup?”

She looked at him as if he was an idiot. “Didn’t Halliburton explain things to you? We’re strictly here to do the buy. These guys might talk tough, but they just want their money. Trust me. This is my third round with this crew. They’re vicious, but mostly they’re efficient. They’ve got the same surveillance equipment I have. Maybe better. They already know we’re alone and lightly armed. Once we land, they’ll use electronic scanners to check us for bugs. After that, I make a little chit chat, then they’ll trade us the cash for the merchandise. This part is as easy as it sounds.”

She reached down for a huge, colorful purse and pulled out a Glock. “What are you carrying?”

“I’m not.” Halliburton had advised against it, much to his irritation. “I thought you said they’d search us.”

“Remotely, for recording devices. They want to make sure they won’t end up on surveillance tapes. Weapons they don’t care about. It doesn’t matter what we bring. They’ll have us out-gunned for sure.”

She set her Glock on the floorboard between them. “Take this. Tuck it in front, where they can see it.”

“I thought we weren’t expecting trouble.”

“We’re not. But the Tambov Ruka is expecting actual drug dealers. Take the Glock.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, aimed the aircraft at the intersection in the dirt roads below.

“One more thing,” she said. “My cover name’s Peaches Duvall. You can address me as Peaches, or Mrs. Duvall. If you can’t remember that, don’t use any name at all.”

“Roger that.”

He eased the helo down, feathering the pedals and easing back on the collective until the skids kissed the earth in the center of the intersection.

Two black SUVs appeared through the remnants of the dirt cloud. They stopped well away from the helo.

Agent Walker’s chest rose and fell as she sucked in a couple deep breaths, splaying her hands as if her fingers were cramped, but when she turned toward him, he didn’t detect a hint of anxiety, or airsickness. She sparkled with energy, as if she relished what was to come. As if flirting with danger excited her.

One hand on the door handle, she looked him over. “The scary-looking guy is Jan Ulrich. He runs the show. He’s the only one who matters. The younger guy’s Arvin Patel. He’s the guy who takes the money.”

“What about the other four?”

“Cartel muscle. They’re not important.”

“Unless something goes sideways.”

“It won’t.” She passed off his concern with a light shrug and headed out of the aircraft. She paused before closing the door and slid her over-sized designer sunglasses down her nose so she could stare him in the eye. “Remember. I do the talking.”

“And my job is?”

“Stay out of my way. And don’t touch anything. Especially not the merchandise.”

He squinted through his aviator shades. Two bouncer-types in suits exited the first vehicle, opening the back passenger doors for two men. The young, thin guy wore skinny jeans and a flannel over a tee. The other passenger looked like a thug. Cowboy boots, worn jeans, too many tats, and hard, dead eyes.

Two other men, twins of the first over-muscled pair, exited the second vehicle.

Enzo grabbed the borrowed pistol and checked the safety. “What if there’s trouble?”

She pinned him with a hard look. “Try not to get dead.”