none. The men in front of him were shifting their weight from foot to foot or chewing their nails or flicking their thumbs on their knees. The adrenaline rush was just beginning to kick. Bosch had seen it before, in Vietnam and since. So he approached his own rising excitement with an uneasy sense of dread.
"All right then!" Ramos yelled. "I want everybody locked and loaded in one hour. At midnight we jam!"
The gathering broke up with some adolescent howls from the younger agents. Bosch moved toward Ramos as he was taking the photos off the board.
"Sounds like a plan, man."
"Yeah. Just hope it goes down close to the way we said it. They never go down exactly right."
"Right. Corvo told me you've got another plan. The one to get Zorrillo across the border."
"Yeah, we've got something cooked up."
"You gonna tell me?"
He turned around from the board, all the photos in a nice stack in his hands.
"Yeah, I'll tell you. You'll like this, Bosch, since it will get him up to L.A. to face trial on your guys. What's going to happen is that after the little fuck is captured he will resist arrest and injure himself. Probably facial injuries and they are going to look worse than they really are. But we will want to get him immediate medical attention. The DEA will offer the use of one of the helicopters. The commander of the militia unit will gratefully accept. But, you see, the pilot will become confused and mistake the lights of Imperial County Memorial Hospital on the other side of the border with the Mexicali General Clinic, which is just on this side of the border. When the chopper lands at the wrong hospital and Zorrillo gets off on the wrong side of the border, he will be subject to arrest and the American justice system. Tough break for him. We might have to put a notice of reprimand in the pilot's personnel file."
Ramos had that leering smile on his face again. He winked at Bosch and then walked away.
Twenty-Nine
THE LYNX WAS CROSSING OVER THE CARPET of Mexicali's lights, heading southwest toward the dark shape of the Cucapah Mountains. The ride was smoother and quieter than anything he remembered from Vietnam or his dreams after.
Bosch was in the rear compartment huddled next to the left window. The cold night air was somehow getting in through a vent somewhere. Aguila was on the seat next to him. And in the forward compartment were Corvo and the pilot. Corvo was Air Leader, handling communications and directions on the ranch assault. Ramos was Ground One, in charge on the surface. Looking into the forward compartment, Bosch could see the dim reflection of the cockpit's green dials on the visor of Corvo's helmet.
The helmets of all four of the men in the chopper were connected through electronic umbilical cords to a center console port. The helmets had air-to-ground and on-board radio two-way and night-vision capabilities.
After they had flown for fifteen minutes the lights through the windows became fewer. Without the glare of the brightness from below, Harry could make out the silhouette of one of the other helicopters about two hundred yards to the left side. The other black ship would be on the right side. They were flying in formation.
"ETA two minutes," a voice said in his ear. The pilot.
Bosch took the Kevlar vest he held in his lap and slipped it underneath him, onto the seat. A protection against ground fire. He saw Aguila do the same thing with the DEA loaner.
The Lynx began a sharp descent and the voice in his ears said, "Here we go." Bosch snapped the night vision apparatus down and looked into the lenses. The earth moved quickly below, a yellow river of scrub brush and little else. They passed over a road and then a turnoff. The helicopter banked in the direction of the turn. He saw a car, a pickup truck and a Jeep stopped on the road and then several other vehicles moving on the dirt road, yellow clouds of dust billowing behind them. The militia was in and speeding toward the population center. The battle had been engaged.
"Looks like our friends have already taken care of one of the patrol Jeeps," Corvo's voice said in Bosch's earpiece.
"That's a ten-four," came a returning voice, apparently from one of the other choppers.
The Lynx overtook the militia vehicles. Bosch was staring at open road in the night-vision scope. The craft's descent continued and