Poisonfeather (Gibson Vaughn #2)(86)

“Oh, where are my manners? This gentleman is a mercenary. I’m not sure of his name. Excuse me.”

The beard looked in Merrick’s direction.

“Yes. What is your name?”

“Smith.”

“His name is Smith,” Merrick said. “He’s part of the detail I’ve contracted to escort us out of the country.”

“You contracted?” Veronica asked, eyebrow arched.

“Well, I am paying, aren’t I?”

Veronica allowed the point to stand.

Merrick gestured to the pensive man with the phone fetish. “And this is Damon Ogden of the Central Intelligence Agency.”

For the first time, the mercenary took an interest in the conversation and looked Ogden up and down.

Damon Ogden glared at Charles Merrick. “Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

“What? She’s my daughter.”

“This is, without doubt, the most bizarre family reunion of all time.” Ogden leaned across Lea to speak to Smith. “How much longer to the airfield?”

“Two mikes,” Smith replied.

“What is he doing here?” Lea asked, indicating Ogden.

“Ah, well, Damon is central to our arrangement. He’s sort of an impartial observer . . . in an unofficial capacity. I can’t really say more than that, I’m afraid.”

Lea didn’t understand. “You made a deal with the CIA?”

“It’s complicated.”

“This is why we couldn’t tell her,” Veronica said. “She has no nuance.”

“What does that even mean?” Charles asked.

“Nothing.”

“Thirty seconds,” said the mercenary.

“No. What does that mean?” Merrick continued, undeterred.

The man from the CIA cleared his throat and told them both, in no uncertain terms, to shut the hell up. Under other circumstances, Lea would have savored her parents’ astonishment at being spoken to so rudely, but she was distracted by Smith’s hand sliding nonchalantly down to his rifle’s trigger guard. Such a small thing, but it brought the stakes into focus. Out the window, night had fallen; a wooden sign whipped by announcing “Dule Tree Airfield.” They took the turn hard, limo barely slowing as it left the main road, and then Lea felt the punch of acceleration throwing her forward in her seat. They caromed up the unlit dirt road for a mile or two, climbing the entire time until, finally, the road leveled off and they passed through an open gate and the airfield spread out before them.

It didn’t look like much—the airfield—just an open space on a wide, flat hilltop carved out of the forest. It consisted of a single runway, a clapboard office, and an open hangar where a handful of single props—Pipers and Cessnas—were parked behind a chain-link fence. Lea didn’t see anything that resembled a tower, or a single light on in either of the buildings. Everyone had gone home for the day. The only light she saw came from a pair of aircraft parked side by side at the end of the runway. The limo left the roadway and made a beeline for them. Lea recognized them as Gulfstream G450s, the same model that had once ferried her parents around the world back at the height of their power.

“Why are there two jets?” Lea asked.

“One for each of us,” her mother answered. “Once we’ve conducted our business, of course.”

The limo came to an abrupt stop behind the two jets, and the three SUVs in their little convoy formed a tight semicircle between the limo and the entrance to the airfield. Doors opened in concert, and a small army deployed, fanning out along the defensive perimeter created by the SUVs. Lea watched a two-man team set up a machine gun. This was a war zone . . . or was about to be.

Smith tapped on the window before exiting. “It’s ballistic glass. Doubtful anything will penetrate that, but heads down if it gets loud.”

He slammed the door and hustled over to join his team. Lea found that far less comforting than he’d intended it to be. The four of them sat in silence, staring at each other.

They’d bought themselves a small head start with their high-speed ascent, but now Lea saw one and then multiple sets of headlights crest the rise. The lead vehicle, an SUV, veered off the gravel road and made straight for them, picking up speed as it came. Lea heard several hollow, faraway pops. The windshield of the oncoming SUV turned a mottled white, and she watched it turn drunkenly and slam into the fence surrounding the hangar. The cars that followed took the hint and peeled away, stopping a hundred yards away. More and more vehicles arrived, spreading out across the grassy field. Headlights went off, and Lea saw a bustle of activity outside the cars, but no more shots were fired, at least for now.

The limo door opened again. Bo Huntley joined them. He handed a camouflage-green laptop to Merrick. Its hardened case looked like it could survive a five-story fall without a scratch.

“All right, sir, just need to transact a little business, and we can have you on your way. Do you have a destination in mind?”

“I’ll tell the pilot when we’re in the air.”

“Copy that. Your wife has our routing numbers.”

“She’s not my wife.”

“Thank the lord.” Veronica unfolded a crisp sheet of paper and cleared her throat, ready to read the numbers to him.

“I’m not getting a signal,” Ogden said, holding up his cell phone.