Don't Look Down Read online

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I've got your helicopter."

  There was a long silence. "Bullshit."

  "Karen was picking it up at Hunter when she ran into some trouble." Wilder spoke slowly and clearly. "The trouble's a friend of mine named LaFavre and he has your bird. Thus, I have your helicopter. You want it back, you give me Pepper."

  "I don't fuckin' believe you."

  "Do you need the chopper to pick up the art or just for the rendezvous?" Wilder asked.

  Again there was a long silence.

  "Answer me," Wilder demanded. "Time's-a-wasting."

  "Just the rendezvous."

  "Good. You guys do whatever it is you're doing on the bridge. We'll stay out of your way. Bring Pepper to the rendezvous, I'll call in the chopper. Then we trade and you can get the hell out of our lives."

  This time Wilder waited.

  "Fuck you. All right."

  The phone went dead, and Lucy let out her breath. "Is this going to work?" she asked, her heart pounding.

  "Hell, yes," Wilder said. "Sufferin' Sappho, woman, have some faith."

  "Okay then," Lucy said, really wanting to believe him. "It's showtime."

  Chapter 20

  Wilder moved to his position near the railing. A container ship pushed by two tugboats came around the bend in the Savannah River, approaching the city's riverfront, about a mile from the bridge. It was much larger than the one they had seen the other day, a real mother of a-

  Screw me, he thought and punched in Crawford's number on his satellite phone even as he looked to the right and saw Nash standing at the edge, also staring at the cargo ship, weapon slung over his shoulder, fast-rope tied off to the railing next to him.

  Crawford didn't sound happy. "What do you want?" The sound of a helicopter thudded in the background and Wilder knew Crawford was flying toward the meeting location.

  "Letsky's art is on the damn cargo ship, isn't it?"

  "No."

  Liar, Wilder thought angrily. "Don't-"

  Crawford cut him off. "Letsky thinks his art is on the ship. Finnegan thought it was. Nash thinks it is. Because we let it leak that it was. There's a container holding cases that look like the cases the art was in on board the ship."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "What difference would it have made?" Crawford was speaking fast, trying to explain his way out of the shit hole he'd dug. "We never thought it would go this far. It was a setup from the very beginning to draw Letsky out to where we could get him. We thought that Finnegan and Letsky would try to steal the art off the ship on the high seas, where we could take them down with no civilians involved. The whole movie thing caught us off guard. That's why we had to scramble and put you on that set."

  "The SEAL platoon?"

  "They're with me. And they're not going to do a damn thing to stop Nash from taking the stuff. Their job is to take out Letsky."

  "You're an asshole," Wilder said and hung up.

  He looked at Nash, who seemed mesmerized by the approaching cargo ship. Three minutes, tops. Think fast, he told himself. If Nash looked in the containers to check them and found out the jade wasn't there… No leverage.

  No Pepper.

  Damn it, he thought and headed for the rail.

  Tyler scanned the container ship through his thermal scope. It was almost abreast of his location, less than a hundred feet away, so large it was blocking off the view of the Savannah riverfront completely. There was a cluster of warm bodies on the bridge, but as far as he could tell, there was no one forward of midship.

  He went back and leaned the sniper rifle against the metal door leading to the staircase and picked up another gun with a regular sight on it. There was enough light coming off the bridge, the town, and the spotlights on the ship itself, that he could check the containers stacked up on the deck. The source in Mexico had said the one they wanted would be on the top layer, starboard side, so it could be one of the first off.

  "What are you doing?"

  Tyler gritted his teeth and ignored her. He read letters and numbers, starting from the very front. Bingo. Fifth one back from the bow, on top, starboard. Tyler adjusted for distance and wind, then pulled the trigger. The specially loaded paintball arced through the air and splatted against the side of the container, marking it with a splotch of glowing chemical mixture.

  "Cool. What'd you do that for?"

  Tyler tossed the paintball gun away. He saw that the Kid was right next to the sniper rifle. "Get away from that."

  The Kid started and hit the gun, which slid toward the roof.

  "Damn it!" Tyler grabbed for it, but the rifle hit the ground. He picked it up, checking for damage, but there didn't appear to be any. He hissed at the Kid, doing his best gator imitation, and went back to looking at the ship.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing."

  "Are you gonna shoot somebody?"

  "Yeah. You."

  There was a long silence and then he turned around.

  She was sitting with her back against the wall, big tears rolling down her fat little filthy cheeks.

  "Crybaby."

  She sniffed and swallowed, smearing the tears off her cheeks with dirty palms. "Am not. You got any more Cheetos?"

  "No." He turned back to the scope in time to see somebody move on the bridge, and his smile widened.

  "Payday," he said to himself.

  "I said do you got any more Cheetos?"

  The Kid just never shut up. He took his drive-on rag, a strip of green cloth, grabbed her head, and wrapped it around her mouth.

  "Should have done that a long time ago," he said as he gathered his gear.

  She tried to claw it off, but he'd tied it good and tight. She began to gag, and then cry, and Tyler became worried that she'd choke on the rag. He'd never get his chopper if the little snot choked to death.

  He ripped the cloth off. "Take it easy. Breathe." He put his hand under her chin and she sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand, and he reacted instinctively, his other hand hitting her on the side of the head. She dropped in slow motion, the momentum of the blow sending her rolling toward the roof edge.

  Tyler grabbed her a split second before she went airborne.

  Fuck. If she had gone, no chopper.

  He threw her over his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

  His fucking phone rang again. Fucking proof of life.

  Tyler ignored it and hit the stairs.

  Wilder felt the weight of the pack on his back, especially the pull of the long black case on the right side. He was tempted to take the case out, but it was too soon. He had to play this as long and as tight as he could because Pepper was out there. And the goddamn ghost wasn't answering his phone.

  He could hear the chopper in the distance and looking to the east he could see its lights as it went in a holding pattern about a thousand feet away over the river. He "lanced over at Lucy at the monitors, her face grim as she listened to the phone ring. Still no answer.

  Wilder went over to where Althea was handcuffed to the back door of the truck.

  "How you doing, kid?" he said.

  "Okay." She looked paler than usual, but she tried to smile.

  "It's okay," he told her. "We're all watching out for you."

  "I know," she said. "But, J.T.?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Remember that gun you showed me? The Clock?"

  "I've got it right here," he told her to reassure her.

  "Could I have it?"

  "What?"

  "You know, to give to Bryce? So he can save me." She smiled at him wanly.

  "Uh, no," Wilder said, trying not to shudder at the idea of Bryce with live ammunition. "But he won't need it. He knows everything he has to without the gun. And he's got that big knife."

  "Oh." Althea nodded. "Okay."

  "Great." Wilder surveyed the bridge. Just the stunt people, Lucy, Gloom, and Bryce. Everybody else was gone, ordered off the brid