They could just make out the helicopter skimming toward them over the marshy flats, could hear its blades whupping as it got closer, coming away from the city.
They lost sight of it for a second behind some housing project buildings, saw it again banking over the Cross Bay Causeway, pointing for the Rockaway Peninsula where they were standing with the ocean at their backs.
“You’re headed right for us,” Alexey said into his cell. “That’s us on the dune.”
He and Weecho were overlooking a tract of deserted oceanfront land, a grid of empty, broken-up streets, no buildings. They shielded their eyes while the chopper touched down on a dead-end drive, kicking up a layer of sand. The only sign of life was a black jeep parked on the cracked pavement, Alexey’s weekend wheels that Dara had driven them out in and was sitting in now.
The chopper door opened and a man in sunglasses jumped out. Weecho recognized him as one of the security guys from the night at the bungalow when he’d hidden under the bed with Juna. Two nights ago? Three? He was losing track.
Sunglasses held the door for the man he’d been at the bungalow guarding – Senator Patrick Hugh Gatchel. The two of them ducked under the rotor blades, both in suits, and headed past the jeep toward the dunes bordering the beach. Weecho could see Sunglasses trying some intimidation on Dara, saw her give him a sweet, couldn’t-care-less smile.
Gatchel approached the dune and Sunglasses made a show of surveying the surroundings. Alexey had told Weecho to pick the spot, someplace open and neutral, but neutral in their favor, like they came and went here on a regular basis. Like if you ever needed to bury something… Put an edge on the proceedings.
Alexey stepped down off the dune and shook hands with Gatchel.
“The remoteness is for both our benefits,” Alexey said, “these days of cameras where we least want them.” Gestured toward Weecho. “This is my colleague, Mr. Marti.”
Hand it to Gatchel, he kept a reasonably straight face when he looked at Weecho with his bleached chopped hair and dark Armanis. Didn’t show any sign of recognizing him from Yoon’s yacht party.
Gatchel said to Alexey, “Would you mind if I satisfied myself we’ll be talking in private?”
“Be our guest,” Alexey said. He’d changed from his sweats, had on a black turtleneck and dark slacks.
Held out his arms with Weecho while Sunglasses patted them down for a wire, Weecho knowing what the man would find when he felt around his back – still had the automatic from Lynch’s safe tucked there. Sunglasses frowned, reached under Weecho’s jeans jacket (actually Nina’s, the one Juna had found for him) and yanked the gun from his waistband.
“If you don’t mind,” Gatchel said, “we’ll keep that till we’re finished.”
Weecho didn’t know if Alexey knew he had the gun, but Alexey acted like it was part of the program.
“There’s a sniper rifle in that jeep,” Alexey said, “if you’d like to satisfy yourself on that.”
Sunglasses looked over at the jeep, saw Dara smiling back. Gave it his best macho, but stayed where he was.
Gatchel made a motion for Sunglasses to step away, out of hearing. Then said to Alexey, “I take it you don’t have the item in question with you.”
“It’s in safe keeping,” Alexey said, “with a colleague.”
Gatchel nodded. “The man who originally had it assures me he’ll have it back within twenty-four hours.”
CITEȘTI
Weecho: First Shots
Ficțiune adolescențiA hot young photographer shoots a conspiracy murder, has cops and the killer chasing after those pictures, hooks up with a fugitive punk girl to cover his back.
