by Diane Capri
It was time to collect the debt.
Like everything else involving Reacher, collecting on his offer was like navigating a mine field.
It was risky to contact Jake.
For starters, the Boss monitored everyone known to have had contact with Reacher after he’d left the army. He also monitored anyone he suspected might have contact with Reacher now. Which most definitely included Jake.
But the Boss was working the Reacher case under the radar, too. Which meant he didn’t have a team watching Jake around the clock and not in real time. He’d be reviewing the surveillance intermittently, when he had the chance to do it without being discovered.
Same way Kim did. Probably.
When the call back didn’t come immediately, she figured Jake must be otherwise engaged. He had joined the army because, as he’d put it, that’s what Reachers do. He was in basic training now. His time was not his own. She couldn’t stand here and wait forever.
On her way to the Traverse, the phone rang. She picked up. “Hey, Jake.”
“Agent Otto. Nice to hear from you. I’ve only got a minute. You know how it is. When you’re in the army, somebody’s always on your ass.”
She imagined she could see his big grin. He was a good-natured kid. So much like his Uncle Jack and, at the same time, so different. When she’d been forced to describe him to the Boss, she’d said he was Reacher two point oh, newer and improved. The moniker had earned the Boss’s scowl in return.
“Thanks for calling me back,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know what you need. And I’d be happy to volunteer. But like I said, my life is not my own at the moment.”
“Right.”
“I put a call in to Reacher. Haven’t heard anything,” he said.
“Is that unusual?”
He laughed. “Not at all. It would be downright weird if he dropped everything just to talk to me.”
Kim wondered what “everything” might be in the context of Reacher. He was a vagrant. He owned nothing, he worked nowhere, and he was never required to do anything at all. But she simply replied, “Uh huh.”
“So I left a message. Told him you needed him. Gave him this number. I hope that was okay.”
“Yeah. That’s fine. Thanks for the help.”
Jake laughed again. “Such as it was. Okay, they’re giving me the stink eye. Gotta go.”
He hung up before she could say anything more. Maybe Reacher would call. Maybe he’d show up. And maybe he wouldn’t. She needed a Plan C.
She walked to the Traverse, pushed the keyless entry to unlock the door, dropped the fob into her pocket, and slipped in behind the wheel. She put her foot on the brake pedal and used the push button to start the SUV. She adjusted the seat and the mirrors.
She noticed a gray Toyota sedan parked near the exit with the engine running. Vaguely, she recalled seeing a similar sedan when she left the hospital. Not unusual, really. Gray Toyota sedans were as common as dirt all across America these days. Probably waiting for a hotel guest, she figured.
While the SUV was warming up, she found the GPS system and entered the address for Glen Haven. The commune was about ten miles south of town. The GPS estimated her travel time at twenty minutes.
Finlay had said one of the things the commune did for cash was to offer hot air balloon rides for tourists. She’d taken a few rides in the past and sunset was a popular time for them. They might not be offering rides today, but it seemed like a perfect day for it, so she mentally crossed her fingers.
With luck, she’d find members of the commune she could interview covertly as she stood amid the guests and crew. At the very least, she’d get a firsthand look at Glen Haven.
She found the new burner from Gaspar in the glovebox of the SUV. It was already fired up and he’d entered a number into the call log where she could reach him. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
She adjusted her seat and fastened her seatbelt. Automatically, she patted her jacket pockets where she normally stashed her alligator clip. She remembered she’d left it back in her apartment. Traveling light wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. The seatbelt would dig into her neck and press against her sore chest every second until she found a better solution.
First order of business was to find a convenience store.
She started the GPS route guidance as she rolled the Traverse into the street. Two miles down the road, she found a store likely to have coffee and something she could use to keep the seatbelt from slicing her head off.
Kim pulled into an empty parking space in front and dashed inside. Five minutes later, she emerged with a sixteen ounce stainless steel travel mug filled with hot, black coffee, and a package of heavy plastic chip bag clips.
She glanced around. She noticed the gray Toyota sedan again as it passed the store. This was a busy street. Probably the woman behind the wheel was on her way home.
Kim made her way to the Traverse. The coffee cup fit snugly into the cup holder and one of the bag clips was sturdy enough to hold slack in the seatbelt at the retractor.
“Mission accomplished,” she said, breathing easier due to reduced pressure on her lungs. She sipped the scalding coffee and turned onto the street again.
Alone in the cabin, Kim picked up the burner and hit the redial button for the number Gaspar had programmed into the phone.
“Everything satisfactory there?” he asked.
“So far, so good. You’re tracking the GPS?”
“Yeah.”
“Which means Finlay and the Boss can track it, too,” she reminded him.
“I’m doing what I can to cloak the signal. It is what it is.”
When there’s only one choice… “Right,” she replied.
“And what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gaspar growled.
“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
She checked the rear view. Traffic was light, ahead and behind. No one following her.
“Vigo’s cartel is nothing to trifle with, Otto. You know that. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you were there at the saloon. Leave Vigo to the FBI. They’ve got the guy on their radar. They don’t need you mucking things up out there,” he said.
“I am the FBI, Chico,” she replied with a grin.
“You know what I mean,” he growled. He was genuinely worried about her, not simply being bossy. She knew the difference.
“I take your point. I don’t intend to be any kind of hero today,” she soothed before she poked him again. “Besides, when your man Flint arrives, he’ll want to be in on the action.”
“You’re killing me, here, Susy Wong,” He gave a long, exasperated sigh before he said, “He’s on his way. Try to stay out of trouble until he arrives.”
“That’s good enough for me. And I’ve had all the trouble I need for one day. I know you’re doing your best, like you always do,” she replied, even as they both recalled situations where Gaspar’s best efforts fell short. Which was one reason why he’d left the FBI. His physical limitations simply made it impossible to do the job.
“Pulled the commune’s address up on the satellite. Looks like Glen Haven is located at the end of a long, dusty two-track.” He paused, scanning. “There’s an electrical substation, a group of power lines, between the commune and the main road. Could be high voltage transmission lines.”
“Sounds more than a little risky, from what I remember about the ability to steer those balloons,” Kim replied. “They are dependent on wind currents and altitude. It’s not like they have an accelerator and a steering wheel.”
“Right. Looks like they use a field on the opposite side of the road for launching the balloon rides.”
“Okay,” she said, absorbing the details as she watched the traffic.
“It’s a big field and it’s maybe a quarter mile from the first power lines. So they must feel it’s safe enough. But I agree. Not the smartest idea I’ve ever heard. Hang on.�
� She heard a keyboard clacking as he looked something up. “Checking the power company’s website. Says electricity can arc from those lines into the air. Says here, depending on voltage, the power can arc as high as twenty-five feet or more.”
“Got it. Don’t get into the balloon,” Kim nodded. “You did some research on the commune’s side business?”
“Yeah. For starters, turns out there’s quite a few tourists who come to Albuquerque for balloon rides. There’s been a festival in October that draws tens of thousands for about fifty years. Magical experience, six hundred balloons, no drones, eighteen law enforcement agencies on site, blah blah blah,” Gaspar said, reading as he talked. “The balloon experience gig appeals year-round, looks like. Chamber of commerce says thousands more tourists every year come for rides even after the festival.”
“The sky’s clear and the wind is fairly calm. Looks like a good evening for a ride.” Kim obediently turned right when the GPS prompted. “Can you see whether there’s a group out there now? On the field?”
“I’m checking. The power company has cameras at the substation. From the feed, I can see them setting up. The balloon envelope is still flat on the ground. You should arrive before they get it inflated,” Gaspar said.
“How many people are milling around?”
“Enough to make you somewhat inconspicuous, if you don’t make a nuisance of yourself,” he teased.
She took the last turn off the main road onto the two-track. “Copy that. I should be at the location within five minutes.”
She saw a small cluster of people in the distance. The balloon’s multi-colored envelope was inflating, rising slowly off the ground as big fans blew the hot air into the open maw.
On the other side of the two-track was the Glen Haven compound. From the road, she could only see the three McMansions in the front.
Under different circumstances, she might have simply knocked on the front door. But the crowd in the field probably came from the house, anyway, and she’d get more intel at the launch site.
Recon at the commune itself would wait until dark.
As she approached the field, she counted seven vehicles and more than a dozen tourists with their friends standing around in a loose knot near the balloon. The pilot and crew were busy preparing the balloon and the gondola for flight.
“Leave this line open with the phone in your pocket and I’ll be able to hear. If you need backup, just say so,” Gaspar said.
She grinned. “What if I did? It’s not like you can send in a SWAT team.”
“No. But I can call 911. Or, worst case, Finlay,” he replied sourly, which made her laugh.
“Relax, Chico. Everything we know about Pinto Vigo’s cartel says he’s not much for leisurely pursuits.”
“No. He runs fast and shoots faster,” Gaspar deadpanned.
“Right. So I don’t expect to find any of his posse in the crowd.”
The balloon was about half inflated now and off the ground. Tourists were climbing into the gondola.
She pulled into the field, stopped the Traverse near the other parked vehicles, dropped Gaspar’s burner into her pocket with the line still open, and hurried over to join the group of tourists watching the show.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Thursday, April 14
6:35 p.m.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
The balloon’s tricolor envelope was bright against the late afternoon sky. Red, yellow, and blue primary colors arranged in a geometric pattern reminded Kim of a child’s Rubik’s Cube toy. Which made it starkly visible from a distance. Easy to identify, should there be other balloons or flying objects in the sky at the same time.
While the crew continued inflating the envelope by using two big fans to blow air into it, the gondola was upright and the pilot operated the burner to heat the air, making the envelope rise.
Kim had a clear view of everyone milling around. None of the men were Mason O’Hare. She hadn’t really expected to find him here. But it would have been a solid break. Not that anything ever came that easily.
She approached the group as they climbed into the gondola, one at a time. The basket itself was large enough to accommodate about twenty people, along with the propane and the burner.
Fifteen paying passengers were aboard when two women walked through the group of onlookers, asking whether anyone else wanted to join the ride. The pilot had heated the air inside the balloon enough to lift the gondola upright. The crew was holding it close to earth with big ropes, just in case another paying guest showed up.
When no adults accepted the invitation, one of the women gave a signal of some sort and three children, laughing and excited, ran over to the basket and climbed inside, clearly delighted to be allowed aboard.
One of the women stood next to Kim, smiling and waving toward them.
“Micah!” she yelled. “Put your jacket on!”
“Okay, Mom!” the boy yelled back as he slipped his arms into a bright green hoodie. The other kids had already donned their jackets.
“He seems like he’s having fun,” Kim said.
“He is. He loves to ride. Even when the flight will be rougher than today. When there’s extra space, he jumps aboard every time.” The woman smiled and nodded and spoke fondly of the boy. “It’ll be cold if they go as high as a mile up. Micah knows that. But he gets excited and forgets.”
Kim smiled back. “Are you involved with the ride or something?”
“I’m Cheryl. We live at Glen Haven,” she replied, watching the balloon rise into the air as the big gondola lifted off. “Micah and I help when we can. You should take the ride sometime. You get a great view of Albuquerque from up there. It’s a relaxing experience. Everybody loves it.”
“Don’t you worry about falling out?” Kim asked.
“I’ve fallen out before and lived to tell about it. Micah, too. It’s not the most fun I’ve ever had, I’ll admit that,” she said with a grin. “Actually, we’ve all had extensive training for all sorts of emergencies. Hot air ballooning is one of the safest types of recreational flying you can do.”
Watching the balloon float slowly up and away, Kim said, “Aren’t you nervous about those power lines?”
“The pilot knows these currents out here will push him in the right direction. As long as he’s got enough lift, he flies right over the lines, no problem at all. Watch,” Cheryl said, pointing to the balloon.
Kim tilted her head and watched the gondola sail along, rising higher and higher until it was well above the trees. It would pass more than fifty feet above the first set of power lines. Plenty of room, just as Cheryl said.
“What about the return trip?” Kim asked, keeping her eyes on the departing balloon. “Are there good currents to bring them back?”
Cheryl turned her gaze to scan the crowd. People were returning to their vehicles. The ground crew was collecting equipment and stashing it into one of the vans.
“He won’t fly back here. We’ll follow along and pick up the equipment and the kids at the landing site. Want to come with?”
“Sure. I’d like to see them land. Don’t you have champagne or something to celebrate?” Kim asked, her neck still craned toward the sky. The balloon was approaching the power station near the main road now, altitude still climbing.
“Technically, the bubbly is for the paying guests, but there’s usually more than enough to share. And you know we can’t store the stuff. So we’ll just have to drink it,” Cheryl smiled. “Come along. When you see how much fun it all is, you’ll want to come back and try it, I’ll bet.”
The gondola seemed a little too low. Maybe an optical illusion. But it needed to gain more altitude before it reached the power substation.
“I won’t be able to stay until you get all of the equipment stowed to come back here,” Kim said, tilting her head toward the Traverse. “I’ve got my own wheels. Want to ride out there with me? Make sure I don’t get lost?”
“Yeah. Sounds good. Come and meet
everyone and I’ll tell the others we’ll see them out there.” Cheryl started across the field, greeting the other watchers, headed toward the ground crew still packing the van.
Kim kept pace, but the balloon held her gaze. Still ascending as it traveled toward the substation. Only a few more feet to get there and get past the high voltage power lines safely.
From this distance, the gondola seemed too low. Kim’s stomach tensed, but Cheryl seemed supremely unconcerned.
To calm her nervous stomach, Kim continued to make small talk. “So you live at Glen Haven? It looks like a great spot. Lots of room for kids to play out there.”
“It is. Micah loves it. He had a long ride to school when we first moved out here. But we homeschool the kids now, so that makes it easier,” Cheryl said.
“How many kids live there?” The gondola bounced on some sort of turbulence and fell lower in the atmosphere. The substation was directly ahead. Under her breath, Kim muttered “get up, get up.”
“Just the three you saw get into the basket. All about the same age.”
“They seem to really get along well,” Kim said. “I grew up on a farm outside of town, myself.”
Cheryl glanced at her. “Did you love it?”
“Mostly. Until I became a teenager,” Kim replied with a grimace.
Cheryl laughed. “I get that.”
The gondola was on course to collide with the transmission lines above the substation. She gasped and grabbed Cheryl’s arm.
Cheryl looked up just as the pilot released a long blast of heat to the air inside the envelope and the balloon lifted easily clear of the danger zone. The gondola sailed past the station and the waiting crowd applauded.
“It’s a stunt,” Cheryl smiled. “He does it every day. To demonstrate his expertise to the nervous flyers. He’s never hit those lines yet. There’s an air current right at that exact spot. He lifts the balloon and the current sweeps it up and the balloon sails away. Every time. Everyone laughs and cheers.”
Kim’s knees felt weak. The gondola was safely on the other side of the substation. Catastrophe averted.