The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [106]
The group, leaving two members by the vehicles, headed out between the buildings toward the landing strip. From the roof, one of them could distinctly be heard asking, “You sure nobody’s here?”
“Nobody’s ever here at night,” came the answer. “That’s the whole point.”
Joe couldn’t help wondering just how many people were in fact here—certainly enough that they were almost literally stepping on each other.
The group of six reached the grassy patch housing parked planes, halfway to the concrete runway, where, amazingly to the watching cops, three of them flopped down on the ground to wait, stretching out on their backs to gaze at the stars.
“Okay,” came the soft, slightly amused voice in the earphones. “We wait.”
It didn’t take long. In the tradition of drug stakeouts, one standard was that everything ran late, the supposition being that neither dealers nor users were sticklers for time. But this scenario involved a pilot, so it turned out somebody had a watch and knew how to use it. At exactly 2:00 a.m. a faint humming became distinguishable in the sky, growing quickly into the thrum of an approaching aircraft.
The final effect, when it came, was startling if expected. Somehow, Joe had prepared himself for a darker version of what he’d seen at airports during the day—the sight of a plane, its wings wobbling slightly, the bounce and squeal of the tires hitting the concrete, maybe all accompanied by runway lights.
Instead, there was that distant sound, followed by a sudden and very brief stab of a light as the plane quickly pinned down the location of the strip, then more darkness and finally abrupt silence. Totally unseen, the small plane had landed as if large pieces from a film strip had been surgically removed from a movie—one moment it wasn’t there; the next moment it was. But it never appeared on one of the taxiways. It stayed out on the runway, finalizing the accuracy of Mel’s intelligence.
The six men roused themselves and jogged out toward the gloomy edge of the runway, almost vanishing from view.
The whole transaction took less than a minute, barely allowing the voice on the radio to ask, “You get the registration on that aircraft?” and get an affirmative answer. Then there was a sudden burst of noise as the engine coughed back to life, and the plane began receding back into the night.
In the meantime, the jubilant party of six, laden with compact packages, still laughing and chatting, began stepping back out of the darkness.
“Okay,” said the quiet voice. “Just as rehearsed. By the numbers.”
Over his shoulder, Joe heard Sam whisper, “Boss, thought you’d like to know. Nancy’s on the move.”
She couldn’t take it any longer. There was too much at stake, too many unknowns, too big a chance for everything to go wrong. Nancy eased herself out from behind the van’s seat, where she’d been struggling in vain to see anything out of the windshield, and peered out the side windows for some sight of the two men by the cars.
She saw them to her right, loitering by the Explorer, smoking, their attention drawn by the sound of the airplane’s engine. She took advantage of the diversion to silently open her door, slip out, and scuttle soundlessly toward the shadows cast by the nearby buildings. Once there, totally hidden, she jogged along the wall, aiming for where Mel had told them earlier that he planned to make his interception.
Her timing was good. As she reached the corner and faced the open aircraft parking area and the two taxiways, she saw not only the approaching band of drug dealers but, from the sides, the shadows of two rifle-toting dark figures emerging from separate corners to cut off the larger group.
Mel’s loud voice pierced the night. “This is a robbery. Stop where you are and drop