Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Gina shook her head and looked at JD’s Stetson. “Easy there, cowboy. No, Gantz didn’t tell me. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. You aren’t tourists. You aren’t with one of the oil companies: they’ve got their own pilots.” She raised an eyebrow. “You look like special ops to me.”
JD scowled and turned away. But I moved closer to the woman. I’m good at reading people and I had a feeling about her. “You sound like you know about this stuff,” I said gently.
Gina shrugged.
I looked her over. Cargo pants, battered boots. Her arms were toned and lean. And then I saw something peeking out from the sleeve of her black t-shirt: the back legs of a prancing horse. I drew in my breath and looked her in the eye.
She met my gaze stubbornly but said nothing.
I lifted the sleeve of her t-shirt and she didn’t stop me. I already knew what I’d find: the horse had the upper body of a man, and he was raising a sword under a moonlit sky. 160th Special Operations Airborne Regiment. The elite helicopter pilots who fly special ops teams into hotspots under cover of darkness. Better known as…
“Night Stalkers,” I said aloud. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
She shrugged again. She did that a lot.
At that moment, a guy ran down the stairs, stumbling a little on the last one. He was about thirty, with pasty skin and long, straw-colored dreadlocks he must have been growing for years. “Hey!” he said brightly. “You the guys? I’m Gantz. Sorry I’m late. Had this other job. Mission. This other mission.”
I could smell weed on his breath and the sickly-sweet stink of energy drinks. I rejoined the others and whispered in JD’s ear. “Are you kidding me? He flies tourists around, he’s not military.”
JD turned to me. “We’re not exactly spoiled for choice. Maybe if we’d had a little longer to plan…”
I forced myself to take a breath and tried to see it from JD’s point of view. He’d been hired to lead this team and then, before he had time to get them ready, he had to take us all on this hastily planned mission and try to bring us all back safe. If I was him, I’d be annoyed, too. I put up my hands in a sign of peace. “Okay, I get it. But maybe someone with more experience…?”
“Who?” asked JD. Then he followed my eyes to Gina. “Her? She can barely stand, let alone fly.” He nodded to Gantz. “C’mon, let’s go.”
I sighed and followed. At the bar, Danny was staring deep into the bartender’s eyes, one hand cupping her cheek as he whispered softly to her. When he saw we were leaving, he gently drew back. The bartender grabbed a pen and wrote her phone number on a beer mat, then pressed it urgently into Danny’s hands. How long had that taken, five minutes? The man was a machine!
At the airfield, we met up with Emilio, an arms dealer I knew from back in the day. He was supplying us with guns, ammo, and anything else we hadn’t been able to bring through customs. The rest of the team stayed back while we embraced. “This is new,” I told him, giving his black, bushy beard a friendly tug.
“It’s been three years, my friend.” He slapped me on the arm. “What happened? I heard they caught you.” He looked at JD and the rest of the team. “What is this?! You’re back working for your Uncle Sam?”
“Trust me,” I muttered. “It’s strictly temporary. In fact, I need your help with that.” And I told him what I needed.
We unpacked the guns and everything was in order. JD looked grudgingly impressed, even though he clearly wasn’t comfortable hanging out with an arms dealer. “See?” I said. “It helps to have friends in low places.”
We geared up, changing into jungle camouflage gear and applying camo paint to our faces. All of us had our own little good luck routine. I checked I had my lucky metal dice: I’d whiled away many hours in prison, betting on those for money or rations. Danny slid a hip flask into a pocket and tapped it twice. JD finally took off his Stetson, slid it into a plastic bag and put it lovingly on top of his pile of street clothes. Colton had a silver Zippo lighter that he flicked open and tested, then shoved in a pocket. Cal sharpened his hunting knife. Only Bradan stood quiet and still. What, didn’t he believe in luck? What was it, with that guy?
Just as we were about to board the chopper, Emilio pulled me aside and put his mouth right to my ear so I could hear him over the noise of the rotor blades. “I made some calls,” he said. “There’s a guy who can get you out of the country for $100,000. When the helicopter brings you back here, say you gotta use the bathroom and run in that building over there. Go out the back door, through the hole in the fence and the guy will be waiting in a car just through the trees.”