Ghostrider - M. L. Buchman Page 0,80

remember the good and the evil she’d done.

Putting down rapist dogs didn’t even count. Tonight she’d killed many more, and felt no regrets.

But she’d also wrecked the careers of men who’d blocked the general’s agenda, with the absolute confidence that the general knew what was right. That JJ led the Clear and True Way, whatever that was.

While such a path was welcome to use up people like her and the general, it should never use up people like Jeremy or Mike, or what was its purpose? Not even the Rosa Cruzes of the world should have been caught under its grinding wheel.

“What can we do?”

Jeremy didn’t shrug. Didn’t evade. “He’ll never surrender. Nor any of the other officers. You’ve all gone too far to turn back. I can only think of one thing to do.”

“What’s that?”

Jeremy brushed a hand over her cheek before smiling sadly.

“Nothing.”

63

JJ knew what was happening as soon as the pilot announced the errant flight over the intercom.

They’d be circling down to come in on his starboard side, away from the weapons. And from on high, because his weapons couldn’t be brought to bear on them—the laser and howitzer were built to fire down, possibly horizontal, but not up.

He recalled Jeremy’s earlier explanation to Taz of the possibilities of engaging in inverted flight. But he didn’t need to overhear Jeremy and Taz’s conversation to know the conclusion of it.

There was only one option left.

Pushing to his feet, he stepped up beside Taz.

She looked up at him warily.

All these years, she’d trusted him. Done his bidding without question, without hesitation. Had she been less loyal, would they have ended up in this same place? He expected that he would have, at least—though perhaps with even less success to show for it. Three major cartel headquarters had gone down hard tonight.

Now, the clear caution in her eyes, the wary loss of that trust. It cut almost as deeply as the loss of his Consuela.

After all these years of her living up to his standards, he realized that it was time he lived up to hers.

“Time to next target?”

She looked at the console and then back to him. “Six minutes.” She said it too softly to hear, but he could read it on her lips.

And he could see in the expressionlessness of her face that she understood his intent.

The other aircraft was going to do whatever it did.

Unhindered.

Unattacked.

Their own operation would end as it had begun, only attacking the scum along the Mexican border who thrived on America’s weakness.

He nodded and turned away.

Starting at the rear of the aircraft, he made a point of stopping and checking in with each man. Three he’d flown with. Two others he’d personally recommended to the Academy back in the day. And two more had worked with him on advanced designs of this very aircraft.

That’s where he’d gotten the idea.

Somehow, the military had found out what he was doing before his work was done. Before it was barely begun. Now he could only hope that someone would learn from his example. Though he knew that they wouldn’t. Instead, he’d be excoriated on the altar of what was ethically and politically permissible—and he’d gone way over that line.

He finished his brief tour at the cockpit and thumped each pilot on the shoulder. Then he gripped their seat backs as they turned steeply left above what would be their final target in Nogales—their final target ever.

The pilots banked over until the port wing centered and remained aimed at a major Sinaloa cartel mansion as they circled high above it. The leaders were meeting there tonight.

In aiming the weapons downward, the plane behind and above him would know that his Ghostrider wasn’t positioned to fire at them.

Opening up the intercom, he announced plane-wide, “Weapons free.”

64

Pierre stared at the display in disbelief.

“I don’t get it. He has to know you’re there,” Holly’s voice sounded over the open intercom. Holly and Miranda were in a secure room at Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington State.

General Gray and Rosa stood close beside his chair. Major Jon Swift remained with the pilots.

The stolen Ghostrider was shredding a mansion on the outskirts of Nogales as if they were alone in the sky without a worry in the world.

“Think, Holly,” Miranda’s voice sounded over their headsets. “You already know. General Martinez is so like you.”

“A man of honor,” General Elizabeth Gray whispered.

For once, Holly had no snappy reply.

Pierre had feared that he wouldn’t be good enough, no matter how well Rosa said he was