Decency (46 page)

The Hostage Rescue Team was fully geared up. If they had to, they could deploy immediately anywhere the helicopter put them down. Sandoval and all of the Team members were working the maps, assigning responsibilities for power and phone and various approaches. There was no water line, no sewer, no gas line, and no cable TV. They determined there was only a single terrain feature offering any possibility for cover, a creek running through the property to within a hundred and fifty feet of the house. The only other cover was the shelter belt of trees on the north side.

When he heard that a vehicle was approaching, Sandoval grabbed a map and headed to the front of the Air Force MH-53 Pave Low Special Operations helicopter. He keyed the intercom for the pilot.

“We’ve got to head straight south and then approach landing from the east. We need to put as little noise footprint on the farm as possible.”

The pilot acknowledged, swung the big bird left to the south and dived, nearly pitching Sandoval forward into the cockpit. The pilot leveled at one hundred feet of altitude and feathered the rotor blades as much as safety and speed allowed to mush some of the normal
WHOP-WHOP-WHOP-WHOP
.

The pilot keyed the intercom to Sandoval.

“The wind is from the north. Your approach is going to give us a cross wind testing the limits. May need to come into the wind from the south, just to get you on the ground.”

Of the hundreds of capabilities incorporated into this helicopter, this mission demanded that it do that one thing, put the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, Sandoval, and their equipment, on the ground as soon as possible. That no other machine could do it as fast as the Pave Low was irrelevant.

Fitzgerald saw the tree line that buffered the house a mile ahead. Momentarily, what sounded like a helicopter in the distance caught his ear. But it faded.

…probably a helicopter returning to Offutt from training…

The Joint Stars display showed a vehicle creeping down from the top.

The loadmaster had been counting off hacks at thirty second intervals. He shouted to Sandoval.

“We’ll keep the gear up and hover as low as we can…you’ll be about five feet above the ground in…ten, nine, eight…”

The cross wind was pushing the machine sideways and the pilot fought it. The bird bounced and shuddered making the footing inside treacherous.

Sandoval and the Team were ready to make the short jump. They had done it before. They knew you cannot land where you do not know if the ground is too soft for you to take off. The field under them was of unknown hardness. It was as close as they could get to the site without hitting phone lines along the road. They also knew the equipment would make their landing harder.

“…three, two, Go!”

Two by two they disappeared out the back of the big bay doors.

Rolling with their momentum each popped up and moved away.

Well before the last of the Team left the aircraft, Sandoval was on his phone.

When Sandoval keyed his phone the roar of the helicopter filled the Situation Room. Even so, the thumpy back beat of currently popular hip-hop music was audible from the boom box the State Patrol had turned on.

“Horton, Santos. We’re on scene.”

For a split second Horton wondered if the displays he had and Sandoval won’t have were enough of an advantage to justify reversing himself and keeping command.

…Fitzgerald is at large…maybe the oncoming vehicle is someone coming home from work…the Pierces are coming…better observation of the approaching vehicles is here…

“You have
full
command and control.”

The helicopter roared a little louder as it rose. The
Thump-Thumpity
music got clearer.

“Roger. I have command and control.”

Fitzgerald eased the car to the tree line. He had done this before. He saw the house was dark. The only lights were the barn light and the light on the pole in front.

…nobody home…just like before…the door won’t be locked…

It was a short walk beside the tree line to retrieve the Mack 10 from its hiding place, then to cross through to the house. After three minutes inside he would be wealthy. The helicopter noise briefly rose again and faded, like before.

…probably still training…

A rock band played somewhere.

Captain Schneider met Sandoval at the fence line and cut the three barbed wire strands with the huge shears that would have been used to open the Jeep doors if necessary.

“We’re ready, Mr. Sandoval.”

“I need one of the trucks right now for the power and phone teams.”

“This way.”

Sandoval’s Team and equipment filed through the gap.

The two men assigned to cut the power and the two assigned to cut the phone line heaved into the front and the back of the 1989 Chevy pickup and drove to the points on the map where the service to the Pierce farm angled off toward the house.

The remainder filled the other two pickups, a ‘92 Ford, and the other a Chevy painted hunter camouflage so it was difficult to recognize the year. No one paid any attention to the sealed Jeep.

Sandoval’s truck led and the other two trucks followed with the State Patrol vans filling in behind.

Sandoval was in back and turned to the optics handler. “Tell us when to stop.”

The man stood and put infrared night vision binoculars on the house. The angle of the terrain fell away and the entire house was in the field of view.

“Stop.”

Fitzgerald stopped the rental car just north of the Pierce’s tree line and turned off the ignition. He left the lights on in case a high-balling local resident came onto the car too fast to miss a darkened shape.