by Diane Capri
Maybe she could help Cheryl get the balloon’s altitude down low enough to improve the odds of survival.
Although Kim was a good marksman, the shorter the distance between her and the balloon, the better. Too many variables between the bullet and the target could alter the shot in ways she didn’t want. She saw two rocky outcroppings near the substation. One was nearer than the other.
Kim accelerated the SUV and headed for her nest between the stand of trees and the substation. She parked the SUV behind the rocks and hurried around to open the back of the vehicle.
She found the best long distance weapons Finlay had packed. She pulled out two rifles and ammunition and rushed to set up.
She looked through the scope preparing to take her shot.
The balloon was a ridiculously easy target. It sailed along in a predictable path and at a steady speed. Even adjusting for the wind, it would be almost as easy as shooting on a range at a stationary paper silhouette.
She shot into the top of the envelope near the flap pilots called the parachute. It was used to release hot air to help with the rate of descent on a normal landing.
If Kim could open the parachute, and hot air escaped through the top, the envelope couldn’t achieve higher altitudes. Cheryl and Micah would have a better chance to survive the jump.
Hitting the spot was fairly simple.
Kim shot three times, ripping the parachute and opening the area around it wider. The balloon descended, just as Kim had hoped.
She was counting on Cheryl to bail out with Micah.
She watched the balloon approach the stand of trees. The gondola’s base swiped the treetops.
“Come on, Cheryl. You’ve got this,” she whispered, staring at the target through the rifle scope, waiting for her chance to take the balloon down, and bring Vigo to justice to pay for his crimes.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Friday, April 15
7:50 a.m.
Glen Haven, New Mexico
Vigo was in that place where the action was fast but it felt slow. Like watching slow motion in a movie.
Cheryl released the handle on the propane valve. She bent to embrace the heavy tank and lifted it in one easy motion.
The gondola rocked like a small boat on a choppy ocean.
Then she used her entire body to pitch the tank toward Vigo.
He stumbled on his feet as he moved aside and ducked to avoid a direct hit.
The tank hit his legs and coupled with the shaking gondola, knocked him off his feet.
He lost his grip on Micah.
The tank landed with a heavy thud on the floor.
The tank’s valve was still open. He could hear the hissing gas as it escaped.
The balloon drifted slowly downward.
The descending gondola’s base bumped against the treetops.
Cheryl rushed toward Micah and grabbed him.
She lifted the boy and tossed him over the side and into the trees.
Micah screamed.
Then his mother jumped after him.
Vigo had landed on his butt on the gondola’s floor.
He scrambled to stand as the gondola righted itself.
He’d lost his gun in the scuffle.
A moment’s indecision.
Should he shoot Cheryl and Micah or save himself?
He ignored the gun.
He scrambled to upright the tank and return it to position.
He opened the valve all the way.
The gas burner flamed, sending hot air into the envelope.
He kept the valve wide open and the balloon began to rise as it floated along with the air current.
The balloon continued bobbing toward the substation, as the constant flame heated the air and pushed its altitude higher and higher.
Vigo grinned. He was going to make it over the substation. From there, he’d find a place to land and escape.
He kept the valve open, heating the air in the envelope and lifting the gondola higher.
But before he reached the substation, an odd noise caught his attention.
Had he heard it earlier, too? Just before Cheryl and Micah jumped?
The rushing noise of the gas burner was interrupted by whizzing sounds firing past Vigo and through the flame into the colorful envelope.
Vigo had been shot at before. Many times. He recognized the sound of bullets when he heard them.
“What the hell?!” Vigo yelled.
He twisted his head to look around beneath the balloon for the shooter.
He saw two rock outcroppings large enough to shelter a shooter with a rifle and a scope. He couldn’t pinpoint which of the two the shooter had chosen.
His pistol rested solidly in a corner of the gondola.
He couldn’t reach it unless he let go of the valve and stopped heating the air.
If he stopped heating the air, the balloon would lose altitude and might lose the current keeping him above the substation completely.
The bullets kept coming, zinging through the flame, making big exit holes in the envelope.
He couldn’t tell for sure, but now it seemed like there were two shooters, one behind each rock outcropping, both shooting at the balloon.
The exit holes in the envelope led to rips and big tears and the volume of hot air escaped too fast.
Vigo kept the valve open, feeding propane to the burner and heating as much air as possible.
The hot air escaped from the top too fast. He was losing the battle.
The propane wouldn’t last forever. But he couldn’t back off on the feed. The substation was too close now.
The balloon dropped lower, losing the air current that had been lifting it.
The next bullet severed a cord that held the balloon above the gondola.
A lucky shot.
The gondola bumped and tipped, eliminating its level base.
Vigo lost his footing and stumbled onto the basket’s floor just as a bullet whizzed past the empty air where his head had been.
The bullets kept coming.
The balloon descended.
The gondola tilted unsteadily as it drifted forward in slow motion, heading squarely toward the powerlines at the substation.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Friday, April 15
8:00 a.m.
Glen Haven, New Mexico
After Cheryl and Micah bailed out of the gondola, Kim had continued shooting the envelope. She heard rifle shots coming from the second rock outcropping.
Maybe Flint had made his way out here to help. Or maybe it was Agent Ross, finally. Whoever it was, shooting into the area below the envelope was much more dangerous. Bullets could pierce the propane tank and, coupled with the mix of propane and oxygen already in the path of the burner, cause an explosion.
Which was one of the reasons she hadn’t tried to shoot Vigo. She wanted him alive.
The second shooter had no such concerns. He had aimed directly at Vigo, and he went down. From her vantage point, Kim couldn’t tell whether the shooter had hit his target or if Vigo had simply fallen again.
She couldn’t waste time figuring any of that out now. At the moment, her attention was concentrated on bringing the gondola down in one piece before it hit the substation.
She aimed and fired at the envelope again, half expecting Vigo to shoot back. He didn’t.
The gondola continued its slow forward momentum, traveling at a downward angle and ever closer to the substation.
She adjusted her aim and split one of the ropes that connected the envelope to the gondola. The basket tipped. She aimed at another rope and fired again.
The gondola floated toward the substation. Her efforts had slowed the balloon, but hadn’t stopped it.
She fired again and again, hitting the ropes or the envelope every time, but the balloon kept gliding.
Until one of the other shooter’s bullets made the final hit, piercing the tank, just as the gondola slammed into the electric power grid at the substation.
The gondola fell into the power station and burned with Vigo still inside.
Kim lowered her weapon, mouth agape, as the explosion rocked the ground beneath her feet and the SUV bounced on its tires.
She raised up above the rocks to see the fireball spread from one power line to another, arcing electricity into an overwhelming inferno.
The only thing she could do was stare.
She stood there for a good long time, mesmerized by the fire, wondering whether her bullets had brought the balloon down or if the second shooter had made it happen.
She couldn’t sort out the immediate cause, but it didn’t matter.
Vigo was dead. His sister, too. The cartel’s reign of terror that began with Vigo’s father was over. At least for a while. Until someone else moved in to take Vigo’s place.
Then she returned to the SUV to check on Lawton. He was unconscious, but still alive. She drove back to rescue Cheryl and Micah from the trees.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Friday, April 15
8:30 p.m.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kim spent the next hours assisting with the aftermath of all that had gone before. What the locals needed was another pair of capable hands, so she offered hers. The chaos was so overwhelming that no one thought to ask for her credentials. Nor did she volunteer them.
Flint was there to help, too.
She was glad not to be a part of the official team. The work at the Glen Haven compound alone would last for days and then the techs would pore over the evidence for months. The paperwork would be a total nightmare for the agents in charge. Thanks but no thanks.
One of the best things about her Reacher assignment was that she never had to deal with the bureaucratic baloney that came with her normal job. The freedom to do as she pleased these past few days, not even subject to the maddening whims of her Boss, had felt more liberating than she’d expected.
Which was why she’d destroyed his cell phone back at the hotel. She wasn’t his puppet anymore. He should have known she wouldn’t take orders from him forever.
He’d delivered another phone a few hours ago. She opened the envelope and dropped the phone into her pocket, but she was too busy to answer when he called. He’d be pissed when she finally talked to him. Too bad. She shrugged and stayed on task.
There would be enough time to deal with the Boss and Finlay later.
After she’d brought down the balloon, Lawton, Daphne, Cheryl, Micah, and O’Hare had been transported to local hospitals. Early reports were that all five would survive after aggressive treatment and lengthy recoveries.
Lawton’s injuries were the worst. But he would live, which was all that mattered right now.
After dark, Kim met up with Flint back at the helo. They shared a coffee as he prepared to leave. She told him what happened with Vigo.
“There was a second shooter out there this morning. Helped me bring the balloon down. Was it you?” she asked.
He cocked both eyebrows and shook his head, puzzled. “Not me. I was in town. I delivered Gavin Ray and his brother Bruce, along with Vigo’s man Freddie, to the FBI, courtesy of Agent John Lawton, US Treasury, IRS Enforcement.”
Kim had liked Flint from the moment she’d met him. Gaspar had said he was a straight shooter with skills and talent. There was a sizeable reward available for tips leading to the arrest of members of the Vigo cartel. He could have claimed it. She liked that he hadn’t.
“Nice. Why’d you do that?”
“There’s something poetic about tax man Lawton making a big arrest on tax day. Great irony, don’t you think?” Flint said with a grin.
Kim nodded but she couldn’t bring herself to smile. The cost to Lawton had been too great. Word was that he’d come through the initial surgery okay, but he was in for a long hospital stay and a longer stint in rehab afterward. She hadn’t had the time to sort out her feelings about all of that yet, and neither had he.
More seriously, Flint said, “Since Lawton isn’t likely to return to work soon, or maybe at all, at least he’ll go out on a high note.”
“Right.” Kim cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Another odd thing. Before all the explosions started, I found Louis and Manny both dead in Vigo’s SUV full of drugs and guns in the center of the Glen Haven compound.”
Flint cocked his head and frowned. “Not me, either, I’m afraid. Although I’d have done that if I’d had the chance. So your instincts about me aren’t wrong. Was there an undercover agent on the compound giving us a hand?”
“Maybe,” Kim replied, as if the possibility was remote. Which it was.
Anybody with an official status would have had too many eyes watching their actions. Too many penalties for doing something like that. They’d most likely have gone for the professional rewards from arresting those two and confiscating the drugs and guns for evidence.
Flint had climbed under the helo to check a few things. When he finished, Kim said, “I heard the Rays and Freddie refused to talk without lawyers, which was the smartest thing they could have done.”
Flint nodded. “They’ll be facing enough charges to keep them in prison for decades. What about the wives?”
“Too early to say. But it’s likely Cheryl and Daphne will be offered the chance to testify against them. Both are smart enough to take the deal,” Kim replied.
Flint nodded again as he continued his preflight check on the helo.
Kim said, “They’ve got kids they want to raise. They’ll all probably end up in witness protection, too.”
“Makes sense.” Flint replied. When he finished his preflight, he dusted his hands and drained the coffee cup. “So do you need a lift?”
“Where are you going?”
“Back home to Houston for now. Take a couple of weeks off. You?”
She kicked the dirt with the toe of her boot. “Debriefing first. Then back to Detroit, probably. Unlike you, my life is not my own to manage.”
“Right. Well, it was a pleasure working with you. Scarlett wanted to bill you, but I talked her out of it. The FBI couldn’t afford my rates, anyway. This one’s on the house, but we won’t make a habit of it,” Flint said, like a guy who’d come to dinner at her parents’ house might say on his way out.
They shook hands and he climbed into the helo.
“You’ve got my number now. Don’t be a stranger,” he said as he closed the door and fastened his harness. He slipped his headset on and spooled up the engine.
Kim moved out of the rotor wash and stood aside as he lifted off. She turned toward the small terminal. She’d walked half a dozen steps when one of the phones in her pocket vibrated with a new text.
She read it quickly. Reacher. His text said, “Everything turn out okay?”
She texted back. “Yes, but you still owe me one.”
She waited a bit for a return text, but nothing came through.
Before she made it to the terminal, the Boss’s phone rang. She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, so she ignored it again. She’d need to deal with him soon. Right now, she felt like she had the upper hand because he needed her more than she needed him.
And she still had to deal with Finlay.
At the terminal, Russell waited for her in another rental. She was glad to see him. She’d been wondering how she’d get home. She climbed into the front seat.
“Seems like you’ve had plenty of excitement,” Russell said with a grin. He set the GPS to meet Finlay at the same location where they’d dropped her off what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“What have you been doing while I was busy?” she asked, simply making conversation. She liked Russell, but she didn’t expect him to share any important intel. He was loyal to Finlay. Simple as that.
“Handling the fallout from your adventures, mostly.” Russell replied with a sideways glance that seemed like an attempt to convey more than his words. “We had a couple of visitors.
The woman you met back in Bloomfield Hills, Holly Johnson. And a big guy. Scruffy. Cheap clothes. They left a couple of hours ago.”
So Holly Johnson had lied. She found a way to contact Reacher after all. And if Holly Johnson could find him, then Kim could find Reacher, too.
Not that she’d ever doubted her skills. Probably. “They left together?”
“Separately.” Russell shook his head.
The sinking feeling in her gut filled in the blanks. Finlay had wanted to connect with Reacher. Seemed like he’d achieved his objective. “What did they want? Johnson and the big guy?”
“Beats me. You know they don’t tell me anything.” He shrugged. An all-purpose gesture that could mean anything or nothing at all.
What she suspected was exactly the opposite. Russell was way more aware of Finlay’s activities than she was. Not that he’d tell her anything. So there was no point in badgering him about it.
“How long did he stay?”
“Long enough, I guess.” Russell pulled the SUV to a stop near the stairs leading up from the tarmac to Finlay’s private jet. “You go on up. Finlay’s waiting. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay.” She climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door. She still had nothing to carry except the stuff in her pockets. Traveling light had its disadvantages, but it certainly made coming and going easier.
She approached the jet stairs just as Jake Reacher’s phone rang.
She pulled it out and paused on the tarmac to talk. “Good to hear from you, Jake. What’s up?”
“Wanted to let you know that I got a message from Reacher a couple of hours ago. I was out in the field. Just now had a chance to pick up the message and call you,” Jake said as if he’d been exhausted by his field maneuvers.
She understood the feeling. “No worries. So what’s up?”
“He said sorry for the delay, but he’d been busy.” Jake replied. “Anyway, the message was a little garbled. Sounded like he said he was doing some hot air ballooning or something.”