Lindsay McKenna – Mission: Christmas: The Christmas Wild Bunch / Snowbound with a Prince (страница 3)
“Can you fill me in on this latest flight?” Dallas asked, folding her hands on the table and holding his gaze. She saw shock mixed with confusion in the depths of his blue eyes. Good. That’s where Dallas wanted him. Still, he was ruggedly handsome, with those rebellious strands of black hair falling across his broad brow. So much about him called to her on a feminine level.
Dallas hid her reaction to Murdoch, who epitomized the American cowboy. There was a swagger in his stride, a weathered look to his darkly tanned face. And if she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit she was drawn to his firm mouth, tight with emotion. She liked the shape of it, how the upper lip was slightly thinner than the lower one. His nose was lean and aquiline, reminding her of the profile of a Roman general on an old coin. Yes, there was a lot to like about Murdoch in the looks department, but Dallas knew better than to go there. She had to work with this guy and needed to gain his confidence. Could she?
Mike grabbed a map of the Sonoran desert area and threw it on the table before her. “I don’t expect you know anything about this type of operation,” he began in a gravelly tone as he spread it flat. “This is the real Wild West, Major. We’re the good guys, trying to stop all the Latinos trying to bring marijuana, cocaine and heroin across our border. They’ll use any isolated airstrip they can find as a place to unload their drugs.” Jabbing at one section with his finger, he said, “This is the Vicente Guerro area, about fifty miles south of Nogales in the Sonoran mountains. It’s a real hotbed of activity right now, because me and my friends have been flying to the west, near Altar, and forcing them to this new region. The Mexican pilots fly Cessna Stationairs, same as we do, what we call C-206s. They’re an ideal aircraft for the terrain, able to navigate short landing strips in the middle of nowhere, and still carry huge loads of drugs. Recently, we interdicted 836 pounds of marijuana at that strip. We flew our own 206s in at dawn and caught the bastards on the ground, just loading up.”
Hearing the satisfaction in his tone, Dallas nodded. “That’s excellent, Agent Murdoch.”
Not expecting praise, much less understanding from the new X.O., Mike stared at her. She was only three feet away, and he could smell the scent of roses. Was it her perfume? Or maybe the shampoo she used on her shiny, dark brown hair. He hated that he even noticed. Hated even more that he was affected by her. “Do you have any idea what this type of operation entails?” he growled, shooting her a dark glance. He wanted to put her in her place, manipulate her into being a quiet mouse in the corner when their team decided on tactics and strategy.
As she examined the map, Dallas saw a lot of red dots scattered across the mountainous regions of Sonora. “Are the dots landing strips?” she asked, disregarding his question completely.
Frowning, Mike said, “Yes, they are.” Okay, maybe he’d underestimated her alertness. But no woman could possibly know what danger they faced daily, or manage the crazy flying they did as they chased these hombres.
“The Turbo Cessna 206 needs 835 feet to take off in,” she said, pointing to the topo map. “Its service ceiling is 27,000 feet, so the druggies can use strips in the valleys or high deserts to their advantage. But with that type of ceiling, they can use mountain strips as well.” She traced a line of dots with her index finger. “From my experience in Peru, I know the druggies like to take off from such areas, fly low and fast, below radar range. Down there, once they made it into Bolivian airspace, they would land at similar dirt strips, to off-load their bales to awaiting trucks, or other aircraft that would take them out of South America.”
Sitting down, Murdoch stared at her. “You flew drug flights in South America?” Shock ran through him. She was too attractive, too clean, her flight uniform too pressed and neat, to do that kind of grungy, dangerous work.
“Yes, I did, Mr. Murdoch. I was part of a U.S. Army black ops for six years down there.”
She noted his stunned expression.
Glancing again at the map, she tapped it. “I never dealt with smugglers in a desert, just jungle conditions. My teammates and I flew Apache helos. We learned where new airstrips were being hacked out of the jungle, by flying daily reconnoitering ops to locate them. We also had the use of satellite intel. We’d be in the air before dawn, because most of the druggies flew C-206s that lacked the radar needed to avoid hitting mountains. They flew daylight hours only. During my years of service, our unit was responsible for stopping over a million pounds of cocaine from leaving Peru. We worked with the Peruvian government, the CIA and other intel organizations to accomplish our goals.”
Mike gulped. When Major Klein lifted her head and met his stare, he saw her full lips pull into a slight smile. It was the glitter in her eyes that made him realize she was no stranger to the game of drug running. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course not. We were black ops. We still are. I just transferred out of there to move on to this assignment.”
His new X.O. could have poured salt into his wounds, and she didn’t. But he could never trust her. She was a woman, dammit. And after his divorce, he didn’t want anything to do with women.
Yet Major Dallas Klein was going to be his boss. What the hell was he going to do?
The September dawn was cool in the Sonoran desert. Girding herself, Dallas carried her flight bag across the tarmac of the airstrip, an M16 rifle across her shoulder. Parked just ahead of her was the tan-and-white Cessna 206 Stationair she would fly. This was her first day on the job, and she knew Murdoch would test her.
The sky to the east was pink, and she enjoyed the desert scenery, which reminded her of Israel. Dallas lamented that her month-long visit to Tel Aviv had gone by so quickly. She missed her parents already.
This latest assignment would be temporary. There was a new black ops forming for the Black Jaguar Squadron. Right now, it was in the planning stages at the Pentagon. Dallas had been alerted that she was up for consideration as the C.O. of the as-yet-unveiled project. Because the all-woman BJS had been so successful in Peru, the boys at the Pentagon had finally seen the light. They wanted to take the BJS model to other parts of the world, only with men added to the mix.
Still, it was going to be overseen and run by a woman—her—and that made Dallas feel good. At least the military was getting over its hissy fit about women pilots performing in combat. They could and did, as well as any man. In the meantime, Dallas wanted to stay active out in the field, until the important new ops assignment came together.
Tightening her grip on the handle of her duffel bag, she greeted the mechanic just opening the doors on the C-206.
“Morning to you, Major Klein,” the man called, lifting his hand in a wave. “I’m Scotty, your mechanic.” He flashed her a toothy smile, doffed his dark green Border Patrol cap and ran a hand through his thick, gray-streaked brown hair.
Smiling, Dallas walked over and shook his hand. “Thanks for the welcome, Scotty.” The mandatory Kevlar bulletproof vests were sitting in the cockpit, she noted. She placed her duffel bag next to her vest on the copilot’s seat. “Can you tell me where Agent Murdoch might be?” She glanced at her watch. “Take off is in ten minutes.”
Chuckling, Scotty finished cleaning the cockpit Plexiglas and said, “Hey, the Wild Bunch parties hard and plays hard, Major.” He raised his bushy brows. “I’m way past that kind of scene myself, but those rascals…Before Randy Grant got killed—he was Agent Murdoch’s partner—those four dudes would take off for the nightclubs in Nogales as soon as they hit the tarmac and finished their reports. You would see them staggering back here the next morning, smelling of alcohol…”
His smile waned and his brown eyes grew serious as he walked back around the single-propeller Cessna to where she stood. “I’m a teetotaler now, and don’t go for any of that, but the Wild Bunch does.” Shrugging, he added, “They get the job done, despite everything.”
“They come out here for a mission still
The lean mechanic gave her a pained look. “This is your first day here, Major. Before you hang ’em, see what they do.” He patted the fuselage of the C-206. “You’ve just signed on to a very dirty, dangerous business.”
The cool breeze brought the sweet scent of broom snakeweed, a huge desert bush covered with tiny yellow flowers. Dallas looked around the quiet facility. A black-eared jackrabbit loped across the small airstrip and disappeared up a hill covered with the blooming plants. “I know it’s dangerous, Scotty.” Frowning, she asked, “How did Agent Murdoch’s partner die?”