Point to point, the distance from Langdon to Lake Elmo stretched the outside limits for the Black Hawk’s fuel range, even adding in its emergency thirty-minute reserve. The pilots arranged for a refueling stop at the Minnesota National Guard training ground at Camp Ripley, just outside of Brainerd.
The flight plan took them over the Red River Valley, then south toward the Twin Cities. Estimated flight time: two and a half hours. That would put them on the ground in Minnesota between 3:30 and 4:00 in the afternoon.
Broker had never flown in the Black Hawk. Times had changed. As soon as he climbed in, he saw that this bird was special. None of the old noise, or death-on-the-highway reek of av gas, or exposed raw electrical circuits that he remembered from the bare-bones Vietnam Hueys. The cabin was carpeted and lined with two rows of bucket seats that faced in, like a conference room. There were even pockets for drinks in the chairs. Fabric dressed the walls to cover the soundproofing. The pilot and copilot were screened off behind a cockpit door. The crew chief tried his best to make himself invisible, squirreled back in a forward nook.
After they were airborne, Holly talked briefly on a headset, then pulled it down around his neck. “The crew is not happy, but they’ll get us there.” He leaned on his elbows over a complex communications console and rubbed his eyes.
“This is all pretty fancy,” Broker said.
“It’s the MDW.” Holly allowed himself a grin. “Military District of Washington model. Got the VIP package. Everything but a shower. Probably one of the reasons they’re pissed at me. Technically, this bird is a little over my pay grade, but I took it anyway.”
Yeager pointed to the radio. “Who can you talk to on that?”
“Anyone in the world,” Holly said. “But we ain’t breaking radio silence, because if we do, somebody is going to tell us to like, ah, land immediately.” Then he pointed to the cell phone on Yeager’s hip. “Keep trying to reach Fuller.”
Yeager tried again, got the machine. They settled in and waited. Broker realized that with the doors closed, they could carry on a normal conversation. But right now nobody felt like talking. An hour went by that way. Off to the northeast Broker spotted the triple puddle of Leech Lake, Cass Lake, and Lake Winnibigoshish.
Should he call his folks and tell them about Nina’s disappearance? Should they discuss the tactics and timing of telling Kit that her mommy was missing?
Another part of his mind counseled that this pursuit of Dale Shuster was pure denial. According to this part of his mind, he should be getting ready to identify a corpse and make funeral arrangements.
Yeager tried the Fuller number again, with the same result. The machine. He tried directory assistance for construction firms in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area with “Fuller” in their name. No luck. They sat and stared. The steady whack of the rotors torqued up the tension. Holly especially seemed to be getting wound tighter and tighter.
“Pretty smart,” Holly finally said. “Using a piece of construction equipment as a delivery system. Hell, we’re used to seeing them sitting all over the place. Drive right by, never give it a second thought.”
“We gotta wait and see,” Broker cautioned.
“Bullshit. Why go to all the trouble to mill out solid cast iron?” Holly’s voice trailed off as his eyes drifted out the windows. “I just worry we’ll be too late.”
Yeager sat calmly and listened. He had the look of an A student playing hookey; amazed pressure was building in his wide eyes.
Broker realized he’d been holding the pack of cigarettes since they took off. Holly reached down, produced an ashtray, asked for a smoke. Then Yeager put out his hand. “Left mine in the car.”
They lit up. Broker stared at the crumpled blue pack. Five left.
When Mille Lacs Lake was a shimmer in the distance, the pilot contacted the tower at Camp Ripley. They dropped to treetop level and eased down on the landing strip, topped off their tanks, and were airborne again.
Half an hour later they were over the silver ribbon of the St. Croix River, where it winds toward its juncture with the Mississippi. They banked and began a gradual descent southward along the river, then turned west. Holly was on his cell. Then he went forward and conferred with the pilot. Looking out the window, Broker saw a sight from twenty-six years ago. A red smoke grenade popped in an empty field next to a rural intersection. The Hawk swooped down and landed next to the smoke.
Seeing Broker eyeball the smoke, Holly grinned. “Like old times, huh?”
A gray government Chevy Nova waited for them next to the dissipating red smoke. Holly told the pilots to stand by, and then he, Broker, and Yeager ran to the waiting car.
The ground contact Holly had been talking to was a young, black Army MP sergeant from Fort Snelling. He had a Hudson’s map open, with the route to the Fuller address indicated in yellow Magic Marker. He was in uniform and he was wearing a sidearm.
“Let’s go,” Holly said.
Irv Fuller lived less than three minutes away on four wooded acres. A sign next to the address announced PRIVATE DRIVE. House numbers had been chiseled into a large granite boulder.
“Ole Irv looks like he’s doing all right,” Yeager said as they drove up a long asphalt drive screened by evergreens. The house was deceptive on approach, showing a limestone-faced Tudor, casement windows, and cedar shake in the front. But it was built into a hill with a third-story walkout on the back slope over a swimming pool. A large Morton building sat off the driveway apron. The doors to the Morton building and the three-bay garage were closed.
They got out and snooped the house. A gray-and-white cat stared at Broker from a window; otherwise, it looked like no one was home. The MP sergeant sat in his car reading an Easy Rawlins paperback while Broker, Holly, and Yeager continued to nose around.
“So, what do you think?” Broker asked.
“I see an office in there,” Holly said, pointing through a window. “Maybe there’s business cards, stationery, invoices…”
They had walked a circuit around the back, looking for a likely window, when a horn beeped out front.
Then they heard the purr of an engine coming down the drive as they jogged around front and saw a Mercedes sedan pull up to the Chevy. The MP was out talking to a blond woman dressed in gymrat Spandex, sweatband, sport top, and cross trainers. The woman was tapping her foot and had her arms folded across her chest.
As they walked up, Yeager speculated, “Irv’s first wife, Ginny Weller, was better from the waist up. I’d say Irv’s generally moving south in his life. This one’s better on the bottom.”
She was attractive enough but Broker thought she’d better back off on the tanning booth unless she was working on donating her skin for a crocodile purse. She was uncertain, seeing an Army uniform and gun belt and then Yeager’s uniform in her driveway.
“Is something wrong?” She asked.
“Mrs. Fuller?” Yeager asked.
“Yes. Sydney Fuller.”
“I’m deputy Jim Yeager, Cavalier County Sheriff’s Department in Langdon-where Irv’s from. We know each other.”
“Yes…” She shook her head. “He’s all right. I just dropped him off at the job an hour and a half ago. Before I went to my step class at the-”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s somebody else from Langdon we’re looking for who might be in contact with Irv. Dale Shuster.”
Sydney oriented quickly. “Sure. They had some business recently. Irv bought some machinery.”
“We really need to get in touch with Irv.” Yeager nodded to the house.
“You’ll need his cell.” She gave Yeager the number and proceeded to talk, relieved this was a routine visit: “We took a run over to the Dells for two days. It’s the rain. The site was too muddy to work. We came back after lunch and I dropped him off to look it over. He figures by tomorrow they can start digging.”
“And where’s the site?” Yeager asked.
“Prairie Island.”
Yeager saw Holly immediately react and flip open his cell phone. At the same time, Broker’s eyes went wide and hard. “What is it?” Yeager asked Broker.
Broker moved forward, rasing his hand up to silence Yeager. “Did you say Prairie Island?” he asked Sydney Fuller, his voice struggling to stay calm.
Still smiling, she was made a little uncertain now by Broker’s intensity. “Yes,” she said, “Irv landed the contract to…”
Suddenly she winced and put her hands to her ears. “What’s that noise?” she gasped, staring at the way Holly abruptly circled his hand and ran out on her lawn, phone jammed to his ear. Totally un-prepared for the Black Hawk appearing in a fury of spinning machinery over her line of evergreens, she screamed and waved her arms. “My flower beds!”
Broker came through the flowers and mulch churning in the prop wash, grabbed her arm, shook her to get her attention, and yelled, “You mean the power plant?”
Aghast at the whirlwind whipping her yard, she shouted, indignant, “Yes, goddammit, the power plant.” She yanked her arm away. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Fuck! Let’s go!” Broker shouted to Yeager and started to sprint for the chopper. Yeager turned to Sydney Fuller, his face a question mark.
Sydney yelled, “Prairie Island, the nuclear power plant, okay?”
Yeager turned and ran.