Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [82]
Pizarro shook his head. "He helped me escape the hotel, but I'm not sure he got out himself."
Carlos Boca sighed. "Two men lost to that spy at Bix's Garage. Now Salazar and Hector — and your brother. I do not like these losses. I hope our goal is worth it."
"The stealth device that was stolen from us was only the beginning. If all goes well, we will have technology to match anything our enemies possess. Machines that will erase national borders. We will control the cocaine market as never before," Pizarro declared.
Roland Arrias joined them. Like Boca, he carried a metal toolbox in his hand. "There is no sign of the Chinaman," he said.
"You're wrong," Pizarro hissed. "Look."
Jong Lee stood at the terminal's front door. At his side a woman in a black jumpsuit clutched an AK-47. With a casual gesture, he waved them forward. Hesitantly, the Cuban commandos rose from their hiding places among the cars.
"Move," Roland barked, and the men sprinted to the terminal entrance. Moaning impatiently, Stella rose and followed Pizarro, heels clicking on the pavement.
"You are early," Jong Lee said.
"You didn't require our assistance, I see," Rojas replied.
"Yizi, with my commandos, secured this building..." He glanced at his Rolex. "Twenty-one minutes ago."
Jong Lee glanced at the box clutched in Roland's hand, then the one held by Carlos Boca. "You have both devices?"
Carlos nodded. "Here and operational."
"Good," Jong said. "Then let us board the airplane."
Lee led them through the silent, windowless terminal. The harsh glare of overhead fluorescent lights cast ghastly shadows across the corpses sprawled on the floor, draped over chairs and desktops. Men and women. Air Force security personnel in blue uniforms, terminal employees, and over a dozen civilian workers who had reported for the late shift had been cut down in a hail of gunfire.
"How did you manage this without attracting attention?" Pizarro asked, clearly impressed.
"Yizi, Captain Hsu and my commandos, they are all highly trained," Jong replied. "They infiltrated the terminal using current security codes and a valid card key. Their weapons were equipped with noise suppression devices, and they killed without hesitation.
It took only a few minutes to wrest control of this facility from the American military."
"Where are your commandos now?" Roland asked, stroking his scar with his free hand.
"They are waiting for us inside the plane. Hurry, now. We must take off precisely on time so we do not attract the attention of McCarran Airport's air traffic control personnel."
A moment later, the commandos exited the terminal on the opposite side of the building. In a long line they crossed the tarmac and climbed stairs that led into the passenger compartment of an unmarked Boeing 737-200, its engines idling on the tarmac.
Three minutes later JANET 9 — the call sign for the two forty-five AM flight to Groom Lake Air Force Base — lifted off from McCarran on schedule. Captain Hsu was at the controls, Yizi in the co-pilot's seat.
The trip was a short one. They would reach their destination in approximately twenty-two minutes.
* * *
2:50:12 a.m. PDT
Flight Control Tower
Groom Lake Air Force Base
Airman Trudi Hwang was the only air traffic controller on duty that night. Since the process of base deactivation had begun, the pace of the flights had diminished, and so had the work load. With all but one of the dormitories unoccupied, the full-time staff cut to less that a hundred, there was less and less to do.
In the old days, a minimum of two controllers were required on every shift. Nowadays, it was two guys in the morning, two in the afternoon, and one lonely and bored controller on the graveyard shift.
Trudi sat up in her chair and stared out of the tall windows. The night sky was black and strewn with stars. Not even the brilliant lights of Las Vegas interfered with the star shine here in the desert. She sighed and reached for her tea, to find it ice cold.
A desert it may be, Trudi mused, but it's still damn cold in the