Stuart Woods: Hot Pursuit

“Do we have such an aircraft in or around Washington?” Millie asked.

“You bet your sweet ass we do, and you can also bet that Lev has already commandeered it.”

Dino burst into the FBO, huffing and puffing. “What did you tell me on the phone?”

“That Kevin Keyes somehow circled back to the airport, entered Paul Reeves’s Mustang, reinstalled the emergency door, and took off in the airplane, headed south.”

“Holy shit!” Dino screamed.

“He’s not going to get very far,” Stone said.

“Why not?”

“Because they flew that airplane from St. John’s, Newfoundland, to here, and they have not refueled.”

“How far can he get?”

“My guess is he has about a third of the full fuel load. He’s unlikely to get any great distance with only that.” Stone went to the wall where there was a chart of the state of Maine. “Going south, he could refuel at Bangor, Augusta, or Portland, but I think he’d prefer a smaller airport — say, Bar Harbor, here.” He pointed at the field. “Once refueled, then the world is his oyster, or at least the country is. Funny, I had thought he’d head for Canada, which is only a few miles, but I suppose he had other plans.”

Dino turned to a Maine policeman. “Will you get on the horn and get that airplane met at Bar Harbor — also at Bangor, Augusta, and Portland, just in case?”

“Yes, sir, Commissioner,” the cop said, and dug out his phone.

Stone dug out his own phone. “We may be able to track him,” he said, opening an app. He entered the tail number of Reeves’s airplane and waited for a moment. “There he is,” he said. “This is called FlightAware, and it shows him headed dead straight for Bar Harbor and nearly halfway there. I’d say you’ve got about twenty minutes before he lands, and it will take him half an hour to refuel and take off again.”

The Maine cop put away his phone. “My people from the Ellsworth station will be there in ten or twelve minutes. I told them no sirens, no lights.”

Stone turned to him. “It might be a good idea to call the FBO at Bar Harbor — Columbia Air Services — and tell them to have trouble with the fuel truck. It might be a good time to drive it to the fuel farm and refill the tank, slowly.”

“Is there radar at Bar Harbor Airport?” Dino asked.

“No, not unless they’ve installed it since the last time I was there, last summer.”

“Bob, call our pilots and tell them to get the engines started. We’re going after Keyes.”

“I’m going to hand you off to the captain at that end,” the Maine cop said, handing him a slip of paper. “Here’s his cell number. If you’ve got a satphone, you can call him on the way.”

Dino pumped his hand and thanked him. “Let’s go!” he yelled, and he, his two detectives, and Stone ran for the King Air, the engines of which were already running.

In the air, Dino made contact with the police on the other end, then hung up. “They’re already at the airport,” he said. “You know, I should thank Keyes — this is going to be a lot easier than chasing him around the Maine woods with bloodhounds.”

“I hope you’re right,” Stone said. “We’re getting lower — we must be about to land.” He looked out the window. It was dark, now, but the ramp was well lit. “There’s the airport, and there’s a Mustang on the ramp. No fuel truck present.” They turned onto final approach, and he lost sight of the ramp.

They touched down and made the first turnoff. “Tell your pilot to taxi up behind the Mustang,” Stone said to Dino, and he went to pass that on to the pilot.

Stone got a better look at the Mustang as they made the turn behind it. The cabin door was open and the stairs extended. No one was on the ramp near it. “He’s probably in the FBO,” Stone said. He followed Dino and his men, assault weapons at the ready, as they entered the FBO, to be greeted by a Maine State Police officers.

“I’m Everson,” the man said. “We’ve been here for ten minutes, and we can’t find him.”

Stone went to the counter. “Did the pilot of the Mustang on the ramp rent a car?” he asked the woman in charge.

“No, but rental cars are over at the main terminal, next door. When he heard it was going to take a while to refuel him, he went over there.”

“Lead the way,” Dino said to the captain, who did so, his men hot on his heels. They poured out of the building and down some stairs, then ran up a short hill toward the terminal and its parking lot. As they did, a car pulled out of the rental spaces and headed toward them.

“That’s Kevin Keyes at the wheel,” Stone shouted, and the car came to a stop, short of half a dozen assault rifles pointed at it. A cop opened the driver’s door, collared the driver, and yanked him onto the pavement. In a moment he was cuffed and bent over the hood, as he was searched for weapons. Two handguns were found.

Stone walked over to the car, bent over, and looked into Keyes’s face. “Ah, Kevin, we meet at last,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that you’ve spent your last day on earth as a free man. One way or another, you’re going to die in prison.”

“Put him on our airplane,” Dino said to the cops. “Bob, show the captain the warrant and the paperwork.”

“Did you refuel at Presque Isle?” Stone asked.

“Yep.”

“Then you can make it to Teterboro easily on what you’ve got.”

“We’ll take off just as soon as this guy is cuffed into a seat next to his buddy,” Dino said.

Stone was wakened from a sound sleep as they touched down at Teterboro Airport, in New Jersey. An NYPD van pulled up to the airplane, and the prisoners were transferred and driven away.

Dino made a dusting motion with his hands. “I’m glad to be rid of those two,” he said.

“No more you than I,” Stone replied, getting into Dino’s SUV and settling in. “Wake me when we’re home.” By the time they had driven off the ramp, he was asleep again.

Millie and Quentin’s team crowded into a small briefing room at RAF Northolt. A large-scale map was pinned to the wall, and a red circle was drawn around a house bordering Regent’s Park. Everyone was in black battle dress, full body armor with helmets, including Millie.

The helicopter pilot held a pointer. “This is the plan,” he said. “We’re going to reach this point down the road from the house at a hundred feet, no lights. Our machine is very quiet, but we’ll follow the road as we descend, so that any noise we make will sound like traffic on the ground. Just about here, we’ll hover. At that point we’ll lower you to a visual altitude of about ten feet above the parapet, then we’ll inch toward the house sideways and play a red spotlight on the roof, so as not to interfere with the night vision goggles.”

“Any weapons backup?” Quentin asked.

“A man with a mounted, silenced, heavy assault rifle will stand in the doorway, ready to take out anybody you say. You’ll be in radio contact with your headset, and you will make that call. If anybody points a weapon at you, our gunner won’t wait.”

“How long to get to the house?”

“We will arrive above the house at precisely five AM,” the pilot said. “It is my understanding that the lady is coming along as an unarmed observer and will be strapped into her seat at all times. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly clear,” Millie replied.

“You will all remain hooked up at all times, until you enter the building. We’ll give you slack. Your headsets will work inside the house, so try and keep us posted on your progress. Another thing,” the pilot said, “my orders are, if anything lifts off that roof and begins to fly away, I’m to get the hell out of there in a hurry, because there will be incoming. We’ll snatch you as quickly as we can, but you’re going to get a ride while dangling, until we can get you winched up. If you’re still in the house, a van will be parked in the street to take you away, but we can’t help you get out of the house.”