The Einstein Pursuit

53

The Bell UH-1Y Venom, known by soldiers as a Yankee, touched down on the lawn and was quickly boarded by Payne and Jones. Not only had Colonel Smith come through with their transportation, he had provided a gunner as well, just in case. Hovering above them was their support craft, a Bell AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter.

Payne strapped on the headset to hear the gunner’s explanation. ‘Captain Payne, the colonel insisted on the Cobra. It’s the best he could do at such short notice, but we can have Apaches in the air by zero one hundred if needed. Your call.’

‘I hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Payne replied.

The pilot pulled back on the controls and the helicopter lifted off the lawn. He pointed it south — the same direction the seaplane had traveled — and gunned the throttle. In an instant the aircraft were roaring across the water in pursuit.

‘We’ve got your aircraft on radar,’ the pilot informed them. ‘Looks like he’s limping along, trying to make a run for the border.’

‘Can you catch him before he gets there?’ Jones asked.

‘It’ll be close,’ the pilot answered.

Two minutes later, the Mexican border came into view, and there was still no sight of the plane.

‘Sir, he’s entered Mexican airspace,’ the pilot confirmed. ‘Looks like he’s set down about ten miles beyond the border.’

‘Show me,’ Payne insisted.

‘Sir, we don’t have authorization to follow beyond the NOLF at Imperial Beach. We need a certified flight plan in coordination with the Mexican government to pursue any farther.’

Payne was familiar with the protocol. NOLF stood for Naval Outlying Landing Field, an auxiliary field used to handle overflow air traffic. Apart from being essentially the largest helipad in the country — it was often labeled the Helicopter Capital of the World — Imperial Beach was also the southernmost occupied point along the west coast. Beyond it was roughly a mile of wildlife refuge and then the US — Mexico border. Flying farther than the field at Imperial Beach risked straining relations between two governments, whose border was already guarded by razor wire and armed patrolmen.

‘Show me the plane, or get out of the chopper,’ Payne stated bluntly. He turned toward Jones. ‘You can fly this thing, right?’

‘Affirmative, Captain,’ Jones deadpanned. ‘Can the pilot swim?’

‘We’re about to find out,’ Payne answered.

The young pilot didn’t know Payne or Jones personally, but the colonel had instructed him to defer to their instructions. He also knew sincerity when he heard it. Rather than risk a cold, dark swim to shore, he decided it was in his best interests to proceed with Payne’s request. He dimmed the cabin lights and dropped the Yankee only a few feet above the water. ‘Be advised, we are continuing our present heading.’

In response to his statement, the Cobra dipped low and took a lead position in front of the Yankee. Without its running lights, which had been turned off the moment it had crossed into Mexico, the attack helicopter was virtually invisible against the dark sky.

Fortunately, the undocumented trip into foreign territory didn’t require them to travel far. They spotted the seaplane as they rounded a small point a minute after crossing the border. It had landed near a small bay and had ridden the swell all the way to shore. The high walls of the coastline and the desolate beach meant there was nowhere for anyone to hide and very little chance they could have made an escape in the brief time since their arrival.

The Cobra swung wide to face the seaplane. It hovered in front of it, each weapon in its arsenal trained on the fuselage.

‘Set us down alongside,’ Payne said.

‘Negative,’ the pilot replied. ‘I can’t touch down, sir. Not on Mexican soil.’

The pilot was doing his best, given the circumstances. Flying into foreign airspace was one thing, but landing there was something else. He was willing to fly them in, but he worried that putting his Yankee on the sand constituted an invasion.

Payne understood the distinction. ‘Drop us in the water. We’ll come up from the rear. Put us directly behind him, the blind spot where he can’t see us coming.’ He opened the cargo door and grabbed the M60 machine gun from the gunner’s hands.

The rotor wash from the hovering Yankee caused a tornado of foam and spray. In the center of it, Payne and Jones jumped into the waist-deep water. Once they were clear of the skids, the pilot pulled the helicopter back to a tactical position above the seaplane.

Payne was surprised to see the pilot of the seaplane in the doorway as they crept into position. His arms were raised in surrender and he was shouting something, but his cries could not be heard above the rotors of the helicopters. Jones pulled the pilot to the ground as Payne cautiously peeked inside.

The plane was old and rickety. There were no seats, only loops of rope bolted to the interior wall for people to hold on to. Payne had seen this type of aircraft before. It was known as a coyote plane. The pilot would pack it full of illegal immigrants — each of whom had paid a hefty sum for the privilege — and smuggle them across the border into the United States. Sometimes the planes made it to land, but more often than not they touched down far off the coast and the passengers would swim ashore.

That was if they were lucky.

Payne had heard horror stories of pilots who, rather than risk being intercepted by the United States Coast Guard or other authorities, would simply fly miles out to sea and force their cargo into the water. Sometimes they wouldn’t even land the plane.

Today, however, there was no one on board.

‘Where are the passengers?’ Payne demanded.

‘No entiendo,’ the pilot insisted. ‘Qué está pasando?’

Jones was the more language-oriented of the two. He did his best to translate. ‘He doesn’t understand what you’re asking. He’s not sure what’s happening.’

‘Ask him about the two men from the beach. Where did they get off the plane?’

Jones translated the question and the pilot’s response. ‘He says they never got on the plane. He left them on the beach.’

‘What? Why would he do that?’

A moment later, Payne had his answer.

‘He says that was the plan. That’s what he was instructed to do. Wait for the man to come back down the rope, and when he gave him the signal from the beach, he was to take off and fly back to Rosarito. He only made it this far before the engine gave out.’

Payne was stunned. They had been tricked.

Masseri and Sahlberg had stayed behind on shore.

It was a risky plan, letting the plane leave as decoy.

But it had worked.

Masseri smiled. He had watched the plane take off from the relative safety of a cave at the edge of the rock wall. He had heard the arrival of the military helicopters, and he had laughed as they sped out across the sea, giving chase. Only after they had flown out of view did he deploy the small Zodiac he had hidden in the caves at the base of the cliff. The inflatable boat and its engine were prepped in under five minutes.

After loading his unconscious cargo, Masseri sped off into the darkness.

Now that he had secured his target, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He knew his mission was still not complete. He understood his ruse with the seaplane would only guarantee a head start, but for the first time in a long time he was comfortable with the situation. He was once again in control. He could dictate the next step. As long as he safely delivered his quarry, he was free to do as he pleased.

Masseri stared at Sahlberg and wondered why he was so important. The plan had been to keep him sedated with a steady stream of narcotics, but now Masseri wasn’t so sure.

It would be a long trip to where they were going.

He might enjoy the conversation.

And some answers.