Taylor added, “When the story of what this is about can be told, you’ll receive the public thanks of our government.”
Brodie interjected, “Then you’ll really have to leave Venezuela.”
Collins forced a smile. Clearly he was not a hundred percent good to go.
Taylor leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder, which Brodie thought was a smart move. Maybe she should sit in his lap. She said, “When we land, Clark and I may take a boat on the river. You’ll stay in Kavak and we’ll leave our bags with you. There’s more money in those bags. But we trust you to be there when we get back.”
Brodie wanted to whisper to Taylor, “Pinch his cheek,” but she slid her hand off his shoulder and sat back in her seat.
Well, they now had a quick and secure way out of Venezuela—with or without Kyle Mercer. There were a couple of other ways out, like a walk through the jungle to the Brazilian border, which would be a challenge, but not impossible, if they didn’t get their heads shrunk by the natives. Another way out was an air extraction, which had the unpleasant quality of having to rely on Brendan Worley and his flying Otter. The third way out was getting caught and killed by Kyle Mercer, but death was never a good way to end a mission.
Brodie said to Collins, “We can stay in touch on the ground via sat phone. Where’s yours?”
“In my flight bag.”
“Okay, Sarah, can you take Captain Collins’ number and put our number in his flight bag?”
“Ready to copy.”
Collins rattled off his sat phone number and Taylor wrote it somewhere—or committed it to memory. She said, “Our number is written on your notepad in your bag.”
Collins had no comment, but he was probably happy to have Mrs. Bowman’s number. Brodie advised him, “Don’t let your girlfriend find that phone number in your bag.”
Collins again forced a smile, then banked the Cessna as they crossed the northern edge of the jungle and flew back over the savanna south of Auyán Tepui. Up ahead they could see Kavak, and Collins began his descent.
Brodie asked him, “You know what a hot LZ is?”
Collins glanced at him. “Yeah…?”
“Well, hate to mention this, but Kavak could be hot.”
Collins had no reply, but he did continue his descent.
“I will make that call,” said Brodie. “You and Mrs. Bowman—Sarah—will keep your eyes glued to the ground. And if you see anything that does not look right, you let me know, and if I say ‘red’ at any point in the landing, even on the runway, you will give it full throttle and get us out of there. Comprende?”
Collins looked at Brodie, then glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Bowman, now Sarah.
She said to him, “This is just standard procedure when flying into a rural airstrip in a foreign country. Just a heads-up.” She added, “We don’t expect any problems.”
Collins nodded.
Brodie suggested, “Just concentrate on your landing.” He asked Taylor for the binoculars, which she handed to him, and focused on the approaching airstrip. “Wind’s still coming from the east.” He added, “I love wind socks. Simple, cheap, and reliable. Wind blows, sock fills with air, and it swivels.” He asked, “How you doin’, Captain?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll be on the ground soon. I’ll buy you a warm beer.”
Collins said, “Buckle up.”
Brodie and Taylor fastened their seat belts, and Brodie continued to look through the binoculars at Kavak and the approaching airstrip. He’d always taken calculated risks when he was looking for a criminal, but this assignment had changed the calculations. And the reason for that was Kyle Mercer—a unique and dangerous variant of Homo sapiens, who’d been spotted here, and who could disappear and never be seen again. And he, Scott Brodie, would live the rest of his life regretting having let Kyle Mercer slip away, without answering for his crimes and without answering the question of why. That was not the way Chief Warrant Officer Scott Brodie was going to end this mission.
CHAPTER 41
As they got lower and closer, Brodie saw that the people who’d been fishing at the river were gone. The village of thatched-roof huts sitting on the open savanna seemed as deserted as when they’d made their earlier pass, but he now noticed hammocks strung between the clusters of palm trees. At least two of the hammocks were occupied by loafers—or by plane spotters.
Collins asked, “See anything?”
“No.” And they probably wouldn’t until they were on the ground.