Blue Warrior

Her visit with Tanner had been unofficial, off the books. She hadn’t called him in advance or sent an e-mail. She’d known that if he was home he’d let her in, so why give him the chance to wave her off beforehand? Myers thought it wise to not volunteer any information about her visit that night, and neither the district police nor federal authorities had ever contacted her after his death. She didn’t attend his funeral, probably the reason she had never gained closure with his death.

Why had he killed himself? Even if he had made a ruling he’d regretted, it could have been addressed, either by later rulings or in off-the-record interviews. Unless he couldn’t do either. That meant some kind of pressure had been applied to him, didn’t it?

Whoever had pressured him was now coming after her. If that person could break Vin Tanner, they could break her. And now they had the gall to come after her. That made her angry. It also scared her. Whom could she trust?

A horrible thought crossed her mind. What if her own security chief had been part of this? He probably wasn’t — she’d known him for years — but now she had doubts. Was he really unable to find those devices? Or was he hiding them? Once again, the very existence of the technology had poisoned the well. Could she really trust him? Now she wasn’t certain.

She wanted to call Troy. But if her phone was compromised like her computer, she’d only put him in danger, too. She may already have. He was too busy on Early’s rescue mission to help her anyway. What was she thinking?

She needed to find a way to securely contact Ian McTavish, Troy’s computer genius. Troy gave her permission last year to contact anyone at Pearce Systems for any reason. Finding Tanner’s blackmailers seemed like a good reason to her. Not getting killed by them was even better. The brilliant Scot could help on both counts. She’d already worked with him to make arrangements for Troy’s rescue of Mike Early. Now she was the one who needed a little rescuing.

She made a decision. Purse, keys, cash.

Time to run.

15

Karem Air Force Base

Niamey, Niger

6 May

Guess we’ll have to play it by ear,” Pearce said.

“Is that before or after we’re shot down?” Judy was nervous flying toward an American military base without the proper clearances or emergency call signs. The Aviocar they flew in was strictly commercial and broadcasting the proper IFF signal, but her alarms indicated they’d been lit up with antiaircraft radar and laser range finders.

“We have our orders. Let’s stick to them and see what happens next.”

“Sure. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Pearce was concerned, but not for himself. Myers had called back late yesterday and instructed them to arrive at the American air facility precisely at 2100 local, and promised to call back with details about the plan but never did. Pearce tried to reach her but couldn’t. Either she was in trouble or running from it.

“Bet you wish you hadn’t threatened to beat up a missionary right about now, eh?” Judy grinned.

“Maybe we should’ve let the padre keep the gas after all.”

“Angel Two-Four, Angel Two-Four, do you copy?” A woman’s voice crackled in their headsets. The Air Force air controller.

“Guess they got the message. That’s our call sign,” Judy said to Pearce. She radioed back, “This is Angel Two-Four. Copy.”

“Angel Two-Four, this is Tower Control. You are cleared to land. Come to two-seven-zero heading. Over.”

“Copy that, Tower Control. Coming to header two-seven-zero. Over.”

“Here goes nothing.” Judy gently pushed the rudder pedals and turned the yoke to the new heading until the long black strip of illuminated asphalt was centered in her windscreen, one of three on the small air base. A granite-gray, push prop aircraft with a twenty-meter wingspan stood on one of the runways.

“Reaper drone,” Pearce said. “Night ops.”

“No wonder they built their own little base out here.” The U.S. Air Force located the facility five miles north and west of the city, not far from the N24 roadway, which they repaved and widened to accommodate larger military vehicles. Diori Hamani International Airport was about two miles south and east of Naimey’s outermost boundaries. Diori Hamani had too much civilian traffic and security problems for a sensitive military operation to have to deal with.

Just five hundred feet off the ground they could make out a series of low-lit prefab buildings and trailers: hangars, offices, quarters. At least one of those trailers was the ground control station (GCS) for the Reaper and its crew. Pearce watched the Reaper roll down its runway and gently angle into the brilliant night sky pregnant with stars. He lost sight of it as soon as it cleared the runway lights, but he could discern its deadly shadow blotting out a swath of starlight.

* * *