BROWN FIELD
MONDAY, 6:10 A.M.
IMAGES POURED INTO STEELE’S computer, bounced from the helicopter to the satellite and back down to San Diego. Steele took one look at the photos and reached for the scrambled cell phone.
Grace answered it on the first ring. “Joe’s driving fast and needs both hands to flip off people who get in the way. Can I help?”
Steele smiled. The more he saw of Grace, the better he liked her. Balls and brains were a tough combination to beat.
“Tell Faroe that the situation has changed at All Saints,” Steele said.
“Lane?” she asked, her voice raw.
“Not directly.”
At the other end of the call, Grace sagged with relief.
“What?” Faroe shouted so Steele could hear him.
Grace held the phone to Faroe’s ear.
“Wood is sending me digital photos from the helicopter,” Steele said. “Overnight, the soccer field grew a full crop of tents. Armed personnel are all over the place like ants on honey.”
“So Hector owns the army, too?”
“Do you believe in coincidences?” Steele asked dryly.
“Not that one. How many soldiers?”
“Too many. Any extraction of Lane would have to be extremely quiet. Softly, softly, catchee monkey, and mind the fangs and claws.”
“The chopper is too loud,” Faroe said. “We might fake an emergency landing, but we’d have to shoot our way out. The Aerospatiale isn’t built for that.”
“Wood and Murchison are examining water extractions. Jarrett and you could infiltrate wearing the uniform of the day. We would provide sniper coverage, of course, but if we used it…”
“It would all go from sugar to dog shit real quick,” Faroe finished.
He braked, hit the horn, and swerved around an idiot doing fifty in the fast lane while shaving and flossing his teeth.
“Can you cover the place from real-time satellite photos?” Faroe asked.
“If you don’t mind spending thousands of-”
“Spend it,” he cut in. “It’s on me. Can you get enough resolution for individual ID?”
“Not unless they look up and wave on command.”
“Is Lane’s sat tracker still working?”
“Yes,” Steele said. “He hasn’t moved.”
“Let me know if that changes. Anything else?”
“Your final option isn’t much of an option anymore.”