Part 13 (1/2)

VANDERLOCK WAVED EMMA TOWARD THE AIRPLANE. THE WORKERS were loading the last sack into the cargo hold. One had already jumped into his pickup and prepared to leave. She heard his car radio switch on with the motor. Towns.h.i.+p music filled the air. She paused to listen to the sound of pulsing beats and women's voices.

”What is it?” Vanderlock said.

”Towns.h.i.+p music. It's the second time I've heard it. I love it.”

”I grew up with towns.h.i.+p music. I hate it,” Vanderlock said. He grabbed her elbow to help her into the jet. The workers had wheeled a small set of rolling metal stairs to the entrance. Emma stepped up and into the body, with Vanderlock right behind her.

The jet's interior had been gutted. Only the first row of seats remained, the rest ripped out to allow maximum cargo s.p.a.ce. Wet burlap sacks filled every available inch. Twigs, leaves, and bits of dirt from previous flights covered whatever floor s.p.a.ce remained visible. The entire plane smelled of damp leaves, earth, moss, and a hint of mold. Skeletal metal rails, and nothing else, separated the c.o.c.kpit from the rest of the plane. Emma peered at the controls.

”Can you fly?” Vanderlock said.

Emma shook her head. ”Not at all.”

He lowered his frame into the pilot's seat. ”Join me.” He indicated the copilot's chair.

”You don't have a copilot?”

Vanderlock busied himself with the dashboard. ”I often do, but he's away for a couple of weeks. If I flew with pa.s.sengers, I'd be grounded, but with khat? No one cares. The s.h.i.+pments must go on.” He snapped a headset onto his ears, checked that the workers had closed the doors, and flipped some switches. The props began to circulate. Vanderlock handed her a second headset over his shoulder, all the while making adjustments and checking the dash.

Emma held the headset and hesitated.

Vanderlock looked up at her. ”Are you afraid of flying?”

If you only knew, Emma thought. ”I'm afraid of cras.h.i.+ng. Flying is okay.” Despite the danger, uncertainty, and her exhaustion, Emma felt almost giddy with excitement. She'd never flown in the c.o.c.kpit of an airplane that size, never thought she'd ever do so. The idea of experiencing flight from the nose of the aircraft rather than the bowels of the plane seemed safer somehow-the way riding in the front seat of a car was more pleasurable than in the back. She scrambled into the seat, snapped her seat belt, and placed the headset over her ears. Vanderlock turned and taxied for a minute to an empty runway. When they reached the beginning, he throttled the aircraft forward.

The ground pa.s.sed under their wheels faster and faster as the plane chewed up the runway. The liftoff felt magical when viewed from the copilot's seat. One minute they b.u.mped along, grounded, and the next they angled into the air, floating. Emma laughed out loud with the feeling of the jet pulsing upward and the view of only the vast sky in front of her. Vanderlock seemed to enjoy her excitement, because he smiled. He kept his eyes on the controls as he maneuvered the aircraft higher. When they reached cruising alt.i.tude, the plane leveled off. After thirty minutes he pressed some more b.u.t.tons and visibly relaxed. He glanced at her, shaking his head.

”You're the first person I've known who has laughed while flying to Somalia,” he said.

Emma refused to let her fear of what lay ahead eclipse the moment. ”I love this,” she said.

Vanderlock held her gaze. She couldn't read his thoughts.

”What do you do for Banner?”

”Ah. I can't say.”

”Are you a mercenary?”

”I can't say.”

”Are you his girlfriend?”

Emma snorted. ”If I were, do you think he'd be sending me to Somalia?”

Vanderlock shrugged. ”Word is he hires ex-military women. Wouldn't be unusual for those types to take dangerous missions.”

”Tell me about the khat.”

”Changing the subject?”

”Yep,” Emma said.

Vanderlock settled deeper into the seat. ”The khat is picked in Kenya, driven to Nairobi, flown out of Wilson Airport to Mogadishu, and from there distributed throughout Somalia. Speed is important, because khat stays fresh for only forty-eight hours. After that it's useless.”

”How much is in here?”

”Five tons. And I'm not the only flight today.”

”How did you get into the business of flying it?”

Vanderlock checked his dash before answering. ”I always wanted to be a pilot, but opportunities were slim in South Africa where I grew up. I flew charter safari tours for a while, but dealing with rich tourists out of New York got old. Too much hand-holding for my taste. When a friend offered me the khat route, I jumped at it.”

The whole explanation sounded a bit too pat for Emma. Give up a good job for making drug flights to the most dangerous place on the planet? Not likely, but she decided not to pursue it. Whatever secrets Vanderlock wanted to keep, they were no business of hers.

”Have you ever been fired on?”

He reached behind him to open a Styrofoam cooler shoved between a green duffel bag and the airplane wall. He pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her, then opened another and took a huge gulp. He had stopped smiling.

”I had a close call just last week. Surface-to-air missile came within fifty meters. I banked pretty hard and circled to take a look. Nothing else happened, so I landed anyway. Shocked the h.e.l.l out of me. I've been flying the same route for two years now without incident. The insurgents know me and this plane. I'm still not sure if it was a mistake, some kid playing with a new toy, or deliberate, but it's not a good sign.”

Emma swallowed. Her throat had gone dry. ”Any idea what might be happening?”

”Things are deteriorating. The pirate activity is handled by the warlords. They're cas.h.i.+ng in to the tune of millions, but the rest of the maritime world is starting to push back. Banner's stunt sent a message that the warlords couldn't ignore. They're responding by ramping up their attacks on anything that moves.”

Emma felt a flare of anger. ”Why do you call it a stunt?”

Vanderlock raised an eyebrow. ”Because he knew that the government in Hargeisa had no jurisdiction over those pirates. Hargeisa's in a section of Somalia called Somaliland. It's relatively peaceful by Somali standards, but it's not separate from Somalia and its government isn't recognized by the West. It's just an area some warlord decided to take over. In fact, there's no government in Somalia at all, so when the navy catches the pirates, they often just let them go again. Banner knew this but dragged them in anyhow.”

Emma swallowed some water. ”Sounds like he was making a point.”

”That point being?”

”*Don't mess with me. I won't let you go.'”

”He's making that point against some very sick characters. They're going to attack Banner and his people with all they've got. And that means you.”

The fear grew. She tamped it back down. ”I'll take my chances.” She sounded tougher than she felt. She only hoped that she was convincing.

”You sure are taking a chance.” Vanderlock tossed the empty water bottle into a small garbage bag that hung from the wall on a bungee cord. ”Listen, it may be none of my business, but something doesn't feel right here. When Banner moves personnel, he arms them to the teeth and they travel in groups for safety. His stealth guys operate alone, but they're armed as well. And you? You show up with Roducci, one of the biggest arms traders in the world, but you have no weapons, no luggage, and no escort.”

Emma in no way wanted to have this conversation. It would only serve to scare the h.e.l.l out of her. She'd get to the second contact and take things from there. If Vanderlock was correct, she'd be in ”relatively peaceful” Hargeisa in three hours.

”You're not armed that I can see,” she countered.

Vanderlock pointed to a long metal toolbox strapped flush against the wall on Emma's side of the plane. ”Open it,” he said.