“Too low,” Neeley called out.
“Hold on,” Hannah said.
The helicopter followed them, still firing, spraying bullets on the roadway right behind them. But not low enough. As Neeley was pulling an MP-5 submachinegun out of the pack she heard the explosion.
"What the hell happened?" Neeley exclaimed.
Hannah continued the turn to the right and they both looked as the burning fireball that had been the helicopter hit the road. Pieces cart wheeled through the air.
Neeley stared at the power lines stretching behind them, across the road. Two lines were down, snapping and crackling on the pavement.
"Jesus, Hannah, you flew under those power lines!"
“I did. He missed them. Tunnel vision in a sense.” Hannah pulled back on the yoke and the plane gained some altitude. “I think Gant was maybe wrong on this one. Maybe sometimes it's better to walk."
Neeley nodded in agreement. "They know we're in a plane and they'll cover all the airfields. Find a smooth place to land, preferably close to a farm where we can get a car. This time we pay top dollar."
Hannah didn’t say anything, concentrating on flying for a few minutes as she regained her equilibrium.
"Speaking of dollars," Hannah finally said as she peered ahead, trying to find some place to land, "I saw that stack you gave Kent. Exactly how much money do you have?"
"A million dollars. Well, a half now."
"You have a half million dollars in a duffel bag?"
"It's my nest egg."
"Big egg. You did better in that area with your man than I did with mine."
“I got the money,” Neeley said, emphasizing the first word.
“But I bet Gant taught you how,” Hannah noted. “John didn’t teach me a damn thing worthwhile. Asshole.”
A minute of silence went by. “You don’t think Racine was going to make a deal as Kent said?” Hannah asked.
“Do you?”
“No.”
As Hannah had predicted, she could land, she just didn't know how to come to a complete stop in less than four hundred yards but fortunately the drainage ditch worked just fine and they had their seatbelts on.
After piling their stuff at the edge of the field, Neeley made Hannah sit. "You've done great. Just stay here. I'll get us some wheels."
When Neeley returned an hour later, bumping across the field in a battered truck, Hannah had unloaded the plane. The bags and hard plastic containers were stacked neatly in a pile. She had broken down the Berretta and was cleaning it as Neeley had taught her. Neeley almost didn't recognize the woman from a couple of days ago.
Racine listened on his secure cell phone to the Agency official rant and rave about the lost helicopter and men. Racine could care less. What he was concerned about was the reports he would have to make to both Nero and Collins. Ying and yang, he thought. Opposite ends of the same crap.
And the bitches. They’d escaped the landing trap and the chopper. Goddamn Gant. He’d taught Neeley well, Racine had to admit. Still, she only one person — and a woman at that — and she was dragging along the blond bimbo housewife.
Racine reached into his pocket with his free hand, the tinny words of the CIA bureaucrat echoing out of the cell phone an irritating buzz, and pulled out a bottle of pills. He flicked the top off and tilted the bottle into his mouth, tumbling a half-dozen pills in. He chewed on them, anxious for relief from the pain throbbing in his temple.
Racine was still in Kansas City, having figured to let the Agency scoop up the two women and bring them to him. Plan A and Plan B had crapped out.
Luck. That was it, Racine finally decided. The bitches had just been damn lucky. Even the CIA guy had admitted their pilot flew into the wires. Very lucky for the bitches, but one could only ride that wave for so long.
“Enough,” Racine snapped into the phone, jabbing the off button. He leaned his head against the window of his hotel room blindly staring at the parking lot. He found it difficult to think and was uncertain of his next step.
He walked over to the bed on which he had tossed his briefcase. He dialed the combination and opened it, pulling out the laptop and bringing up the encoded file on Gant that Nero’s secretary had given him.
The bitches were heading west. That was all the Agency could give him. No wonder they hadn’t been able to kill Castro, Racine thought. How many years had that Cuban son-of-a-bitch been in power and they couldn’t put a damn bullet in his brain? Fucking exploding cigars.
Racine scanned the documents, all emblazoned with Top Secret, Q-Clearance. After all these years and his death, Anthony Gant was still Top Secret Q. The Cellar. Nero had it all. Everything about Gant. Everywhere he’d been. Everything he’d ever done. Racine shook his head. The poor son-of-a-bitch must have thought he was free of the Cellar the last ten years or so, but Nero hadn’t let him go.
A cruel smile twisted Racine’s lips as he noted an entry about Gant and the scant property he owned. A cabin in Vermont. A house in Boulder. Racine opened his little black book and searched for the person he wanted.
Neeley couldn't remember ever being as exhausted as she navigated I-70 into Denver. She had driven all night and only the eye-catching view of the front range of the Rockies kept her from slumping over the wheel. Hannah was asleep with her tote serving as a lumpy pillow. She had slept through the long straight drive across the flat eastern half of Colorado.
As Neeley got on the Denver-Boulder Turnpike, her thoughts drifted to Gant and the first time he brought her here. They had been together a few years and it seemed he would never be satisfied with her training. He had brought her to Boulder to check out how well she could climb. After practicing a few days, Gant had accepted that they were at least equal partners on the rock and they'd moved on to more difficult routes.
They had spent a wonderful spring and summer in Boulder and Gant had purchased the house. It was a small rock cottage near the downtown area and they leased the basement apartment to a professor at CU who maintained the main floors of the house in exchange for rent.
Every day they made their way into the mountains. At first she clung awkwardly to the chalk-covered surfaces, her muscles trying to remember the skills they'd once had, but eventually she relearned the rhythm of the rock and the joy of a perfect finger hold. When Gant was comfortable with her movements on the rocks, they moved to Boulder Canyon and began to aid climb using ropes and other gear for protection.
Finally, they went a few miles south to Eldorado Canyon. The canyon was a world-renowned rock climbing Mecca and their last months in Colorado were spent exploring its various climbing routes.
She had never been here without Gant. Driving into the town she maneuvered the streets as if she'd never left, feeling his absence. At last she turned due west toward the foothills and the little house that had been one of only two places in the world to offer Neeley safety and comfort.
She parked in front of the house and sat still for a moment, staring at the small stone and wood cottage. Then she woke Hannah up and got out of the truck. Her road partner was quiet, as if sensing the emotion and respecting Neeley’s memories.
After unlocking the door, Neeley pushed the front door of the house open with her boot. Her arms were laden with gear and she was beginning to think she would end up carrying this stuff all over the country. Hannah approved of the house but seemed more excited at the thought of a shower. Neeley wondered if the basement tenant was in. She decided to give him a try while Hannah went into the bathroom.
Neeley went around the back of the house and knocked on the sliding glass door that was the basement access. She looked around the quiet backyard and admired how well kept it was. She noticed that the spring perennials were beginning to bloom.