“You’re abandoning me?” Rosselli asked pointedly. “All that talk about me joining your team was a lie?”
Gunderson pulled a thick cigar from his flight-suit pocket and slid it under his nose. Then he bit off the end and lit it with a solid gold lighter. He puffed the stogie to life. “I never lie to a pretty girl,” he said, smiling, “and I’m always right.”
“Then what’s the deal?”
Gunderson slipped the bearer bond into a plastic envelope and sealed it inside with the others. “The bond I showed you will be mailed to your home address once I reach land. That’s your payment for a job well executed.”
“What do I say when we land?” Rosselli asked.
“I’d tell them everything,” Gunderson said, “except about the bond. That should remain our little secret.”
“Just tell them?” Rosselli said incredulously.
“Why not?” Gunderson said. “I was careful not to relay any information that can incriminate my group. My team will make sure that the United States embassy is notified in whatever country the plane lands. Just spill your guts and they’ll let you go in a few days. Once you get back to California, someone that works with me will make contact in due time.”
“So I won’t see you again?” she asked.
“You never know,” Gunderson said as red-haired Tracy Pilston walked over.
“Our ride is only a few miles ahead,” Pilston noted, “and we’re both ready to fly the coop.”
“Did you take her down?” Gunderson asked.
Pilston nodded. “We’re to receive a signal, so we can time the jump.”
Gunderson removed two parachutes from a storage compartment where a Corporation team member had hidden them when the 737 was in her hangar in California. He helped strap one on Pilston’s back, then strapped on the other. Removing a sack containing goggles, he handed one over to Pilston.
“We’ll alert Judy,” he said quietly, “and exit from the rear.”
“Go forward,” Gunderson said to Rosselli. “Tell Judy it’s time, then stay in the cockpit.”
“Won’t everything be sucked out the rear?” Rosselli asked.
“We’re not pressurized,” Gunderson said, “so it won’t be that bad—I wouldn’t try walking around, however. Just stay in the cockpit, and after the egg timer goes off, raise the rear door and untie the pilots.”
“Okay,” Rosselli said as she went forward, opened the cockpit door and reported the news to Michaels.
“Understood,” Judy Michaels said.
Then she checked the speed once more, made sure the autopilot was operating, then pushed the lever to lower the rear door. The door began to lower slowly and the alarms on the dashboard began to beep. Twisting a cheap plastic egg timer, Michaels slid past Rosselli.
“Keep the door closed, and when that timer chimes, you know what to do.”
Rosselli nodded.
“Nice meeting you,” Michaels said as she slipped out the door.
Racing down the aisle, Michaels stopped for Gunderson to check her parachute. The farther the rear door lowered, the more wind raced through the fuselage of the 737. Magazines rustled, and any loose items inside fluttered in the wind. Gunderson watched as a silk kimono filled like a sail and shot out the rear. Then the trio made their way to the rear, where the steps were now pointing straight below the tail of the 737.
“What do you think they’ll do to Rhonda?” Pilston asked.
“Not much they can do,” Gunderson said as he adjusted his goggles and helped Michaels into position to jump.
“I think she’s sweet on you,” Pilston said as she moved into place next to Michaels.
“There’s something about,” Gunderson said, “an Aqua Velva man.”
At that instant, the signal was received from the satellite to his alphanumeric pager. The pager began to vibrate. Gunderson took one lady under each arm. Then he ran off the end of the ramp and, once he was clear, pushed them away.
PLODDING through the South China Sea, the helmsman on the Kalia Challengernoticed the sky was finally clearing. He noticed it because the sky overhead was suddenly filled with a pair of Chinese antisubmarine aircraft as well as a single long-range heavy-lift helicopter. The Kalia Challengerhad originally been built in 1962 for the United States Line as one of an eleven-ship class of express cargo cruisers. Later sold to a Greek shipping concern, she plied the seas on a regular schedule from Asia to the west coast of the United States.
At just over five hundred feet with a seventy-foot beam, the vessel featured derricks on the upper deck for loading and unloading of cargo. Her lower hull was a rusty red with a black band along the gunwales. She was a work ship who had served a long and useful life, and the wear and tear showed. Still functional, though dated, she was possessed of one major flaw.
From a distance, to an untrained eye, she resembled the Oregon.
She was far out in international waters when the antisubmarine aircraft dropped the first depth charge. It landed a hundred yards ahead of the bow and exploded with a cascade of water that reached eighty feet into the air.
“Heave to!” the captain shouted.
The alert reached the engine room, and the Kalia Challengerslowed, then stopped in the water.
It would be nearly an hour before a Chinese boarding party climbed across her decks.
The illegal stop was never explained.
DELBERT Chiglack stared up at the sky in amazement. He had seen some incredible things in the fourteen years he had worked on offshore oil rigs: strange sea creatures that defied explanation, unidentified flying objects, weird weather phenomena. But in all the years he had drilled offshore, he had yet to see a trio of parachutists come from nowhere and attempt to land on his rig. Gunderson, Michaels and Pilston had leapt from the 737 at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet, just above a cloud layer that hid the airplane from view. Sucking on oxygen bottles as they made their descent, they had floated around near the target before directing their parachutes in arcing corkscrews until they lined up above the helicopter pad on the offshore rig.
The rig was twenty miles off the coast of Vietnam, eight hundred miles from Macau, and owned by Zapata Petroleum of Houston, Texas. George Herbert Walker Bush owned the company—and someone from Virginia had asked him for a favor.
Tracy Pilston landed nearly dead center on the X in the center of the pad, Judy Michaels only six feet away. It was Chuck Gunderson who had the worst landing. He alit on the side of the elevated pad. The breeze tugged at his parachute before he could cut it away, and had Del Chiglack not grabbed him, he might have gone over the side.
Once his chute was free and Chiglack had yanked him back from the edge, Gunderson smiled and spoke.
“My friends called,” he said. “I believe we have a reservation for three.”
Chiglack spit some snuff juice into the wind. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “Your ride will be here soon.”
“Thanks,” Gunderson said.
“Now,” Chiglack said, “if you and the ladies will come inside, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
BACK in the control room, Hanley turned to Cabrillo. “We just received word from Tiny,” he said. “They arrived safe and sound with the bonds. They’re awaiting a ride home.”
Cabrillo nodded.
“You look beat,” Hanley said. “Why don’t you catch a few hours’ sleep and let me hold down the fort.”
Cabrillo was too tired to argue. He rose and started for the door. “Wake me if you need me.”
“Don’t I always?” Hanley said.
Once Cabrillo was walking down the hall to his stateroom, Hanley turned to Stone. “Truitt will be here in a few minutes to relieve you. Take four hours and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.