“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “How could a helicopter just vanish?”
“He’s low over land somewhere,” the pilot replied. “It’s hard to spot a helicopter from above when it’s flying low.
Stone began concentrating on looking down. “There… No, that’s a car.”
“See what I mean?”
“Well, it doesn’t matter how low he flies if he’s going to Westchester,” Stone said. “We’ve got that covered, and they’ll see the chopper when it lands.”
“What if he’s not going to Westchester?” the pilot aske
d.
“What are the alternatives?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know- Albany? Hartford? Bridgeport?”
Stone remembered something. “When I was getting my instrument rating, I flew some approaches at Oxford, Connecticut.”
“That’s worth a try,” the pilot said, flipping through his airport guide. “Five-thousand-foot runway-that’s plenty for a corporate jet. If you’ve got Westchester covered, they won’t miss us.”
“It’s on the way to Hartford,” Stone said. “Let’s at least take a look at it.”
The pilot put the airport’s identifier, OXC, into his GPS and swung right, following the needle.
“How long?” Stone asked.
“Twelve minutes,” the pilot replied.
IN THE other helicopter the pilot turned and addressed Larsen. “Five minutes,” he said.
“I’ll call the airplane,” Larsen said to Sharpe. He tapped a speed-dial key on his cell phone and listened. “I’m not getting through,” he said.
“We may be moving too fast for the cell phone to capture a tower,” Sharpe said. “It doesn’t matter, we’ll be there in five minutes.”
“SIX MINUTES,” Stone’s pilot said.
“Has this thing got any more speed?” Stone asked.
“I’ll push it,” the pilot said. Then, a moment later, “Four minutes.” He looked up. “Can you see the airport?” he asked.
Stone looked hard. “No. We’re too low; it just looks like country-side.”
The pilot climbed another two hundred feet. “There,” he said. “Twelve o’clock and five miles.”
“There’s the other chopper,” Stone said, “setting down now, and I can see what looks like a Citation on the ramp.” He turned toward the rear. “Looks like we’ve got ’em, Dino,” he said.
Dino reached into his jacket and produced a Colt.45, 1911 model, and checked it. Mitzi was checking her weapon, too.
“You are wearing your vest, aren’t you?”
She pretended not to be able to hear him.
Stone turned back to the pilot. “Set this thing down right in front of the jet, and keep the rotor turning. He won’t be able to taxi.”
“Got it,” the pilot said, and started to descend fast. He called Oxford tower and announced his intentions.
Stone watched as people began to get out of the helicopter and hand baggage to a uniformed pilot. He turned back to Mitzi. “As soon as your cell phone works, get hold of Brian and tell him we’re at Oxford, Connecticut.” He made cell phone motions.