“Try to call again,” Enceas said.
“Let me catch my breath,” Brewster said. “I don’t see how anyone survives in this heat.”
“We won’t, unless we get somebody to come after us.”
Brewster pulled out the radio and switched it on. “Eagle Three to Mojo… Eagle Three to Mojo…” After trying unsuccessfully for several minutes, he switched the internal recorder to endless repeat and propped the radio against a rock at his side. As an afterthought, he reached over and flipped the switch to increase the transmitting power. It would drain the batteries more quickly, but might punch through to someone who could come get them.
“You sure it’s a good idea to leave it going like that?” Enceas asked. “The Brazilians will follow that signal in.”
“You have a better idea?”
Enceas lowered his head. “No.”
Brewster gave him a forced grin. “At least it will end the suspense.”
Enceas closed his eyes and allowed his head to slip back against a fallen trunk. “Wake me up when it’s time to die. I wouldn’t want to miss the show.”
Lisa Entwhistle was beginning to get concerned. The reservations at the restaurant were for seven and Dan’s flight hadn’t arrived yet. It would take nearly an hour to get back to the house in five o’clock traffic, at least thirty minutes for him to take a shower and change, and an additional twenty minutes to get to the restaurant. She checked her watch for the hundredth time. It was going to be close.
Originally, they had scheduled more than enough time. He had been due in over an hour ago, but there had been delays on the other end. Now Lisa was left wondering if she should call the restaurant and cancel the reservations.
The dinner was to be a special one. Dan was taking her and her parents out to eat, for the express purpose of asking their blessing for him and Lisa to be married. Officially, her parents had not been told, but unofficially she was certain that they knew. What other reason would he be taking them out to eat at such a fancy restaurant?
She glanced at the watch again, silently urging the plane to fly faster.
A man with graying hair walked up to the ticket counter and picked up the microphone. Without preamble, he said, “Would those of you who are waiting to meet passengers on North American Air, Flight 371, from Charlotte, please come with me?”
Lisa frowned. Clearly, this was going to be bad news. Hopefully, he would have some information as to when the plane could be expected to get in. It wasn’t until he led them into a large conference room a short ways down the corridor that she realized that something far more serious was happening.
The twenty or so people who filled the room were strangely silent. They did not talk among themselves; there was no idle chatter.
The man stood ramrod straight at the front of the room. When everyone had found seats, he began, “My name is Edwin Marchand. I’m the executive director at this facility, and I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you.” He paused before continuing. “As you know, Flight 371 took off from Charlotte later than planned—almost fifty minutes late. Everything seemed fine until about ten minutes ago. At that point, the plane disappeared from our radar. At the same time, we lost telemetry from the plane itself. Now, it is true that occasionally the onboard computer loses communication with the ground-based systems. Under normal circumstances, the piloting computer is sufficiently competent to bring the flight in without further communication from us. Unfortunately, the fact that we lost radar contact with the plane at the same time would seem to indicate that there may be a more serious problem. I would like to ask that all of you remain in this room until we have more information. Some of the airport staff will be here in just a few minutes. They will have drinks and food so that you will be comfortable while you wait. I will personally bring you up to date on what’s going on as soon as I have any further information. Thank you.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Lisa was desperately trying to ignore the cold acid of fear in her stomach. She glanced at her watch again. Five-fifteen. No matter how things turned out, it was becoming clear that they would not make it to the restaurant on time. She could not make herself admit yet that Dan might not arrive at all.
She stood and walked rapidly to the door. A woman in a seat nearby said, “He told us to stay here.”
“I’m just going to make a call, I’ll be right back,” Lisa assured her.
Fortunately, there was a bank of phones not far down the corridor. She dialed the restaurant and canceled the reservations. Then she dialed her parents. “Mom? Something’s happened to Dan’s plane. They haven’t told us what yet, but from the way they’re acting, it’s serious and I’m beginning to get scared.”
She talked for a few moments longer, promising to call as soon as she knew anything more, then hung up. As she turned to go back into the conference room, she saw two men in military uniform approach the door, taking up positions on either side.
The sight of their uniforms and the businesslike expressions on their faces chilled her more than anything the man from the airport had said. If they were guarding the door, then that implied that there was something to guard against.
She was nearly to the door when a second, more ominous, possibility occurred to her. What if the men were being stationed there to prevent the people inside from leaving?
Lisa shrugged off the thought quickly, reasoning that they were there to keep the inevitable reporters from asking insensitive questions. But that thought led to the inevitable corollary—that the plane had crashed and that there might be fatalities. She didn’t want to face that possibility.
Momentary panic flared as she struggled to suppress the thought, only to be overwhelmed by another realization.
Why were the two men dressed in military uniforms? Mr. Marchand had said that airport staff would be with them shortly. Surely the police or airport security would be sufficient to keep reporters at bay. Something was amiss.
Acting on impulse, she walked past the conference room door without slowing. Down the concourse a bit was a dining area. Clearly, she needed to get her thoughts in order before she faced anyone. Either she was being unreasonably paranoid, or there was a strong chance that whatever had happened was going to be covered up.
On reaching the diner, she slid into the nearest booth, only to sit staring at the menu without really seeing it. If the military was involved then that implied… what? That Dan’s flight had been shot down? Don’t be silly. They were nowhere near the battles raging down in Mexico. What if it was a terrorist act? Could someone have smuggled a bomb on board the plane? But wouldn’t that fall under the province of the FBI? Surely not the military.
In her mind’s eye, she reviewed the uniforms. Not combat fatigues, like in the news. These were white. They looked like the uniforms she’d seen worn around the Naval base. Navy? That raised more questions than it answered. But if…
Just as she was beginning to consider this, Edwin Marchand and another man in a Naval uniform walked rapidly past.
The man in uniform was talking. “… And have someone check the gate to see if anyone arrived late to meet that plane. If so, take them to the conference room. Under no circumstances are any of those people to leave that room. Have…” The two of them passed out of her hearing.
She bit her lip, counted to ten to let them get farther down the corridor, then walked as fast as she dared in the opposite direction.
Something, somewhere, wasn’t right.
If Eric Gantt had gone straight home from his job at the quarry, he would have missed seeing it. But, as it happened, his friend Chuck Walters was staring under the hood of his car, and Gantt stopped to see if he could lend a hand.