Don't Look Down

She stared at him. "You a pilot?"

  "No, but—"

  "Let me do my job."

  Boy, everyone was getting real touchy, Wilder thought. It wasn't like they were going into a hot LZ.

  Bryce settled into the front right seat, trying to be nonchalant but looking pale, and Nash finally arrived and sat down in the back beside Wilder, his equipment bag at his feet. "Let's go, Karen," he said, patting her on the shoulder, and with a slight shudder the chopper lifted.

  Bryce got paler as the ground receded beneath them.

  Wilder leaned across and tapped him on the shoulder. "Buckle up."

  The actor jerked at the tap and then nodded. He fumbled with the shoulder straps, his hands shaking, and finally managed to get the male end into the female end. Wilder hoped he was better with women than with seat belts.

  "We're airborne," Nash announced into his headset, which Wilder had to assume was part of his standing operating procedure since any fool within miles would be able to see that.

  He watched Nash get the gear ready for Bryce's big scene. He hoped there was a barf bag in it. Bryce looked like he was going to be needing one.

  Nash hooked a thin metal cable to the locking snap link on the back of Bryce's hidden harness and played out its eight-foot length, making sure there were no kinks, routing it so it wouldn't catch on anything inside the bird, competent and professional. Wilder began to relax.

  Then Nash untied the six-foot loop of climbing rope attached to the other end of the cable and clipped the cable directly to a tie-down point on the floor of the chopper, and Wilder tensed again.

  That wasn't right. The rope was the cushioning for the steel cable, one-third stretch built into the nylon. Without the rope, the steel cable had no play at all. If Bryce fell out, the cable would keep him from splatting onto the road below, but the snap of the abrupt halt eight feet down could break his back. Wilder had seen the rig on the bridge and this was different. There was no need for different.

  Nash was stuffing the loop of rope back into his kit bag. Wilder put his hand on the bag and his head next to Nash's and yelled over the sound of the rotors, "What are you doing?"

  Nash glared at him. "Bryce is going to put his feet on the skids of the chopper," he yelled back. "He's going to have three points of contact with the aircraft at all times. The cable is just a safety."

  Bryce looked over his shoulder. "What's going on?" His voice was almost drowned out by the sound of the blades, and he was definitely green now.

  Wilder gave him a thumbs-up and turned back to Nash. "Why'd you take the rope off?"

  "He doesn't need it."

  "It's part of the gear, right?"

  "Yeah, but we don't want it caught on film and it adds three extra feet of fall and we're going to be low and I don't want him scraping along if he does fall."

  "What are you guys talking about?" Bryce yelled. "J.T.?"

  He sounded scared. Damn it, Wilder thought. Why was Nash dick ing with things? "Everything's fine," he yelled to Bryce. "We're almost set." He tried to pull the kit bag out of Nash's hands, but the stunt coordinator hung on.

  "The slack rope goes back on," Wilder yelled.

  "It's my stunt."

  Nash glared at him, and Wilder held his eyes. Come on, don't make me take it away from you. Put the rope back on.

  Nash looked away, out at the horizon. "All right. All right." He took the rope loop out and hooked it up again. Then he leaned forward and tapped Bryce on the shoulder. "We can still put Wilder in your place," he yelled.

  Bryce's face was pale and damp, but he shook his head.

  Wilder stuck his head next to the other two. "Really. It's no sweat, Bryce. I've lost count of the number of aircraft I've hung out of or jumped from. Normal part of my workday."

  Bryce swallowed as he glanced out the open door to the ground. He shook his head firmly. Wilder had seen that look before, when he'd been a jumpmaster for inexperienced jumpers. Bryce was scared but he had made up his mind to do it. Wilder glanced at Nash, who looked none too pleased.

  "Seat belt off," Nash ordered.

  Wilder watched Bryce fumble with the buckle and realized that the actor's hands were shaking badly now. Probably should have stuck with comedy.

  Wilder checked the outside. They were already a half mile down the road and the car was less than ten feet in front of them. The camera truck was about fifty feet in front of that. The road was perfectly straight. It should be simple.

  Nash yelled to Bryce, "Okay, mate, feet on the skids."

  Bryce turned toward the open door and cautiously slid his feet out, searching for the skid by feel, trying to look down.

  "Eyes on the horizon," Wilder yelled. He pointed over Bryce's shoulder. "Look at those towers." He kept his eyes on Bryce edging his way out the door and in his peripheral vision kept a lock on their relative position with the picture car. Althea was looking over her shoulder at them. Maybe she'd be impressed that was Bryce out on the skid and fall back into his bed.

  Nash stuck his head out the back door to do a quick check on where Bryce's feet were. Wilder resisted the urge to give him a nudge out the door since he didn't have a safety cable.

  "Okay, mate," Nash yelled to Bryce. "Put your weight on your feet. Don't worry, we've got the cable just in case. And the chopper will be steady. Right, Karen?"

  "Roger that," the pilot said.

  "Now point the gun at the car," Nash yelled.

  Wilder watched as Bryce awkwardly tried to aim the gun, but it was obvious the actor's entire focus was on the hand holding on to the chopper's door frame, not the one holding the MP-5. Well, he'd still give him points for effort. Bryce might be an idiot, but he was a game idiot. "Looking good, Bryce," he yelled and then sat back.

  It was going to be a very long afternoon.

  ***

  Below them, Lucy had checked with the EMT's leaning against the ambulance at the end of the toad, making sure they were the real deal and not some scam Connor had cooked up to cut costs. Reassured, she went back and sat down at the monitors beside Daisy and Pepper, who were squinting up at the sky.

  "Is J.T. in that helicopter?" Pepper asked, handing her an apple.

  "Yep," Lucy said, taking it. "Thank you. He's going to be okay, Pepper, he's probably jumped out of a hundred helicopters—"

  "Nice day for a disaster," Gloom said, sitting down on the other side of her.

  Daisy grinned at him, and Lucy felt better than she had since they'd pulled into the base camp lot two days ago. Mission accomplished, she thought as she bit into her apple. Or it would be as soon as she got Daisy out of there the day after tomorrow.

  "Hello, Gloom," Pepper sang out.

  "Hello, Peppermint. Taken any walks lately?"

  "No," Pepper said. "I am staying right here, and watching J.T., and looking for my ghost."

  "All right then." Lucy picked up her headphones. "How we doin' out there?" she said to Gloom.

  "Ask me when the stunts are over," Gloom said.

  Above them, Wilder edged his way out onto the skid, holding on for dear life as the wind beat at his tiger stripes.

  "Funny," Gloom said, squinting up at him. "I thought he'd be more dashing than that."

  "You try being dashing on a helicopter skid," Lucy said, but she was disappointed, too. From down here, Wilder's body language pretty much communicated "terrified." So much for her secret weapon.

  Well, he was still impressive on the ground.

  "He's probably just being extra careful," Daisy said, her voice doubtful.

  "Ready when you are," Connor said over the headphones.

  Gloom stood up. ''Here we go," he called to the set. "Stand by."

  "Roll sound," Lucy said, and listened to the set echo back, "Rolling."

  "Take one," the guy with the clapper said, snapping it shut in front of the camera.

  "Action," Lucy said and watched the copter in the monitor, Wilder standing stiffly on the skid. She put her apple down half eaten on the edge ok th
e monitor cart. It's not dangerous, he's cabled in—

  "Afternoon, ma'am," somebody said from behind her in a deep Cajun accent, and she jerked around to see a tall, handsome, weather-beaten man wearing aviator sunglasses and a worn leather flight jacket tipping his crumpled pilot's hat to her. She'd seen him before, she knew that, but at the moment it didn't come to her.

  "Cool sunglasses!" Pepper said.

  "Gloom." Lucy put her eyes back on the monitor, and Gloom turned toward them. "We got a gawker."

  "1 hank you very much, darlin'," the man was saying to Pepper. "And may I say, that's a very fetching outfit you have on today."

  Pepper smoothed down her WonderWear and beamed, and then he nodded to Lucy as Gloom stood up to get rid of him. "I was just wondering if you could direct me toward Captain J. T. Wilder."

  Gloom sat back down again.

  "Or failing that," the Cajun said, "a friendly actress in need of companionship. You wouldn't be a friendly actress now, would you, cheri?"

  "No, I'm the director and we're shooting a scene right now." Lucy stared at the monitor where Wilder looked positively wimpy on that skid. He really should stay on the ground, she thought. He's so good on the ground.

  "Very pleased to meet you," the man said. "I'm Rene LaFavre, J. T. Wilder's comrade-in-arms."

  "You're a friend of J.T,'s?" Pepper said, delighted. "So am I!"

  "J. T. is a man of discernment in his friendships," LaFavre said, smiling at her.

  "Yeah," Pepper said. "Do you want to come to my party tonight?"

  LaFavre put his hand over his heart. "Tragically, I have a previous engagement."

  "Mr. LaFavre," Lucy said, staring at the copter, where Wilder now looked rigid with terror.

  "That's Major LaFavre, darlin', but you can call me Rene."

  "Thank you, Rene. Captain Wilder is on that helicopter skid up there."

  LaFavre looked up. "I don't think so."

  Lucy squinted at the helicopter as it dropped closer and then looked at the monitor. "Gloom," she said, her voice rising. "That doesn't look like Wilder on the skid." She looked again as the helicopter dropped closer.

  "That's not Wilder," Lucy said, standing up. "That's Bryce. Connor," she yelled into her headset. "What the hell is Bryce doing on that skid?"

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Tyler saw the copter coming from the west, right on time.

  Then he looked at his cell phone and read the order he'd gotten fifteen minutes earlier: Mission canceled.

  What the hell did that mean? He was ready to go. Fuck, he was more than ready, he was primed.

  "Fuck you," he said to the phone. "I say it's a go."

  He tossed his empty beer can over his shoulder and got down to business. He was a half mile to the south, in one of the abandoned towers that dotted the old Weyerhaeuser paper mill factory on the Savannah River, using a regular scope as the sun was still a good two and a half hours from being gone. It was going to be a very difficult shot. Moving targets always were.

  The slanting rays of the sun were warm on his skin. A great fucking day. Perfect for shooting.

  He ran the sight over the bridge and brought it to rest on the Kid's mother. He could get her with one shot, so easy, let the Kid see what it was like to be alone, nobody fussing all the time. Right beside her was the Kid—

  Staring straight at him through those binoculars.

  He stepped back from the window and swore. She couldn't have seen him, the little bitch, but Jesus, she was freaky.

  The sound of the rotors grew louder and he snapped into mission mode and raised the gun to see the helicopter in the scope. He thought of the vulnerable points he could shoot to make it drop like a rock. The transmission. The appropriately named Jesus bolt that held the blades on. And with the chopper flying perpendicular to his position, he could put a shot right through both people in the front seat. One bullet, two kills, every sniper's dream. Actually four kills, as the chopper would then be unpiloted and crash, taking out the two in the back.

  That would be so cool, Tyler thought. Big points in a video game. Get him extra lives to move on to another level.

  The sound of the rotors grew louder, and Tyler turned the gun back toward the low-flying helicopter and slowed his breathing.

  Mission.

  He focused on the gun, the sight picture, his breathing, his heartbeat.

  In between beats, he fired.

  Wilder felt the aircraft shudder and dived to the floor for the nylon rope even as Bryce dropped from sight. His fingers closed on the rope as the safety cable snapped taut and he heard Nash swear as the snaking steel cable cut his hands. Then the rope broke free of the anchor point—fuck, the rope broke—and Wilder tightened his grasp on the nylon, Nash's skin-on-metal friction giving him the split second he needed to get a solid hold.

  "Get him down," Wilder yelled at Karen through the boom mike. "Now. The cable is not secured. It is not secure, and Nash and I are holding it."

  She obeyed instantly, bringing the chopper to no forward speed as she descended, ever so carefully.

  His arms were burning and he could see the blood flowing over Nash's hands, ripped by the cable. Bad for traction, he thought and braced himself as Karen brought the chopper in. Through the door he could see Armstrong running underneath—Lucy—and then Karen said, "He's down. He's safe. Lucy and some guy got him."

  "Fuck." Wilder could feel the weight off the rope but still he didn't let go. He looked at Nash with sympathy. "I got it."

  Nash nodded and slowly unwrapped his hands from the bloody steel, hissing in pain as he did so. Wilder let go of the rope and it disappeared over the side.

  He spoke into the mike as he got a bandage from the first-aid kit on his web gear. "Put us down as soon as they're out from under, and tell them we need the EMTs." Then he tapped Nash on the shoulder, holding up the bandage. Nash sat back and closed his eyes as Wilder went to work. The cuts looked painful but not serious, and Wilder relaxed enough to let in the thought that he'd been ignoring.

  Rope doesn't break, not like that.

  Nash swallowed and said, "Thanks, mate."

  "No worries," Wilder said, and worried.

  When the skid had broken, Lucy had yelled, "No!" and shoved Daisy to one side to get to Bryce before his pedaling legs hit gravel. LaFavre was right by her side, moving very fast for someone who talked so slow. They grabbed Bryce just as his feet touched down and pulled him back, slowing him to a trot, LaFavre smoothly unhooking the cable from the back of Bryce's harness as they brought him to a stop. Then there were people everywhere, taking Bryce from her, asking a thousand questions, all variations of, "Are you all right?"

  No, she wanted to say as she let them take him, the EMTs closing in. He's not all right. He just fell off a goddamn helicopter.

  Lucy picked up her headset again. "Who's hurt?" she said, remembering Wilder's call for the EMTs.

  "Nash cut his hands," Karen said, her voice almost lost in the rotor noise.

  Lucy swallowed. "How's Wilder?"

  "Fine," Karen said. "We're down in a minute. I can't see the skid. What happened?"

  Lucy looked at the helicopter. The right skid was dangling almost straight down. "The skid broke, I think."

  "Excuse me, ma'am," LaFavre said. "Are you talking to the pilot?"

  Lucy nodded.

  "Might I have a word with him?"

  "Her." Lucy gave him the headset.

  LaFavre smiled. "Her?" He held the headset between them so she could hear, and said, "Pilot, this is Major LaFavre, Task Force 160. You've got a bum right skid, detached in front, still attached the rear, but not able to sustain landing. Recommend you head to Hunter Airfield and swap that bad boy out. They can put a brace out for you. I could make a call for you and make sure you get special treatment." Lucy noticed that the accent came back stronger during the last sentence.

  "Shit," Karen said. "Change in plans. I can hover and drop Nash off so the EMTs can check him. Then
I have to go back to the airfield, I'll need Wilder for that."

  "And me, darling," LaFavre said.

  "Who the hell are you?" Karen snapped.

  "Why, I introduced myself, my cheri. Major Rene LaFavre. And who do I have the pleasure of discourse with?"

  "Lucy? Who the hell is this guy?" Karen sounded distracted.

  Lucy reached out and took the headset back before LaFavre asked Karen out for dinner and a sleepover.

  "He's a friend of Wilder's," she said into the headset to Karen. "A pilot. I want to talk to everybody in that copter when you're back."

  "Roger that," Karen said.

  When the chopper was hovering less than three feet off the ground, LaFavre and one of the EMTs grabbed Nash as Wilder passed him out on the side with the good skid. Despite his pain, Nash looked embarrassed about being passed from chopper to ground like a bag of potatoes. LaFavre tipped his cap at Lucy, then grabbed Wilder's offered hand, put a foot on the good skid, and jumped on board.

  Beyond them was Bryce, still white as a sheet but now surrounded by about twenty people, including Mary Vanity, who was offering him anything he wanted. He'd be fine, Lucy knew. He'd go to dinner on this story for years.

  She, on the other hand, was not fine. Something had gone very wrong up there and on this shoot, there was no chance it was an accident. "Stephanie," Lucy said, not bothering to look behind her. "Go get that cable and bring it to me. Then go to the base and pick up Karen and Wilder, and while you're there find out what happened to that skid. I want to know everything. Go. "

  Stephanie went.

  Lucy surveyed the scene, looking for anything, anybody who was out of place. Bryce was already expanding under the attention. Nash had closed his eyes and was wincing as an EMT and Doc checked his torn hands. LaFavre was in the hovering helicopter, and as she watched, he bowed at the waist, touching the brim of his cap in salute.

  Next to him, Wilder was braced in the door, looking straight at her.

  Lucy picked up her apple and bit into it again, thinking, It was supposed to have been you on that skid. Whatever was going on, he was in the middle of it. And she was going to find out what it was before somebody killed him.