Chapter 62
Miss Watson heard the heavy beat of the Chinook’s rotors passing overhead.
At first she cringed every time they’d done so, afraid of being discovered.
She’d taken enough money from her jailers’ wallets that she could get to London.
There she kept several sets of identity carefully hidden in various secure drops.
After that, she could leave the country cleanly and no one, not even that sweet girl Dilya, would ever find her again.
Except Dilya’s presence had foiled that plan.
A massive shadow swept over the Land Rover as she crossed the tarmac at a hundred kmph.
Mere feet off her nose, the flying Chinook descended with its rear ramp down. They scraped it on the pavement, kicking sparks in a bright spray that caused her to blink.
They slowed abruptly.
To veer aside would roll the vehicle.
Before she could think to jam on the brakes, a hard jounce threw her painfully against the seatbelt.
The Land Rover shot up the loading ramp and into the cargo bay.
Her headlights came on automatically in the dim interior and a crew chief was waving her ahead as calmly as if guiding her to the correct position for an oil change.
The instant he gave her the Stop signal, others appeared from the shadows to wrap chains over the tires. In the rearview mirror, the day disappeared with the closing of the rear ramp. Then she could feel the Chinook lift back into the skies.
Someone rapped their knuckles on her driver’s window.
She pushed the button to lower it.
“Engine please.”
She pressed the Stop button, put it in Park, and stepped on the emergency brake, not that the Rover could so much as wiggle against the chains.
“I’m Sam, crew chief of Charlene One. Welcome aboard, ma’am. She wants to talk to you.” The man hooked a thumb toward the cockpit.
Miss Watson eased the door open, careful not to bang it on the side of the helicopter’s hull, and slid out of her seat. There was no question about who awaited her.
The crew chief followed close behind, as if he didn’t trust her to walk the twenty feet. But when Sam folded down the jump seat for her before returning aft, she felt a little more kindly toward him.
“Hello, my dear girl.”
Emily peeled off her helmet and turned to face her. “Only you get to call me that.”
“I might have heard it from your father a time or two.” She’d met FBI Director Beale several times, though never in Emily’s presence. The girl was sharp enough to figure that out before she spoke.
“So,” Emily took a careful breath, “why are the Brits trying to kill you?”
“Kill me? Oh no, they’re too polite for that.
They simply want access to everything I know.
But we have a far more immediate problem.
” She pointed out the window to where the small group, easily identifiable by their four-footed companion, had resumed their journey toward the Base Hangar, though at a more sedate pace.
“MI6 can not be allowed to see or meet Dilya.”