CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Huey’s rotors tossed the palms like an incoming hurricane. The whap of its blades beat against my ears.

I said to Kris, “Help me.”

She didn’t say anything. I looked into her eyes but she didn’t see me. I touched her face and said, “Kris, I need you.”

She looked at me. Her eyes focused.

“Kris, don’t leave me now.”

She nodded.

“Can you get them down?”

“I think so,” she said.

I touched her cheek and she put her hand over mine. “I have to wave them off.” She nodded, and I sprinted toward the helipad. The Huey was at treetop level, its skids fifty feet from the concrete. Ice was in the door, directing the pilot’s descent.

Kelly had not been bluffing. A single nylon filament stretched across the concrete pad, attached to detonators on either side. The detonators were rigged to a spring switch that would trigger the explosives when pressure was applied to the wire, or if the wire was cut.

The wind from the chopper blades roared around my ears and blew dirt in my eyes. I could hear Ice hollering but I didn’t know if he was yelling at me or the pilot. They were going to land. Blind, unable to think, not knowing if the high explosives would blow from the pressure of the prop wash, I tried to wave them away. The wind tore at my clothes and hair, the noise sucked the air from my lungs, and I could feel the weight of the chopper hovering above me. They hadn’t seen me, or they thought I needed help. Either way, they were going to land.

Kris stood twenty feet away, her hair tossing about her face. She looked as if she were walking in her sleep.

I hollered, “Get the shotgun!”

She gaped at me in confusion.

“The gun! Get the gun!”

She ran off. Ice was in the door fifteen feet above my head, telling me to back away. I stood on the concrete and let the wind buffet me like I was so much weightless trash.

Kris ran to me and handed me the shotgun. Ice mouthed “No!” Hamster raised his rifle and aimed at my head.

I lifted the shotgun in two hands, racked a round, and aimed into the sky. “Go away!”

Kris pulled at my arm. “Stop it, they’ll shoot you!”

I shrugged her off and aimed the shotgun into the sky again.

Ice shook his head. The wind tore at our clothing. The helicopter’s belly hovered over the pad. Hamster held his rifle steady. I watched his finger move to the trigger. I fired once, pumped the action, and fired again.

The helicopter seemed to rock. Hamster leveled the rifle at my head. I stood in the wash and glare of the chopper’s lights, not moving from the pad. Tears blurred my vision and I had to wipe them away with the back of my hand.

When I could see again, I watched Ice put his hand on Hamster’s rifle. He spoke into his headphones, the rotors changed their pitch, the wind shifted, the oppressive weight of the helicopter tipped and lifted away. Kris stood next to me. The Huey circled us once, high overhead. Kris held my arm and I asked her if Phil and Marilyn were alive.

“Yes,” she said. “I got Phil down, but I was afraid to move Marilyn.”

I ran back to the garden. Phil was lying on his back. I felt the pulse in his neck and it was strong. Leaving Phil, I climbed up into the tree and untied the rope around Marilyn’s wrists. I saw that Kelly had one final surprise. He had run a nylon line from Marilyn’s neck to a grenade wedged into a branch above us. I gently removed the grenade, crimped the pin in place, and put it inside my shirt. Safe now, I lowered Marilyn to Kris. Marilyn was limp and I knew she was dead, just by the way she fell across the grass.

The Huey set down in the far parking lot. New helicopters came up over the horizon and began circling the hotel. The sun broke over the treetops and bathed us all in the false promise of a brand-new day.