Choke Point

TWENTY-SEVEN

‘All right,’ said Kozak. ‘Clear to move. Go …’

30K shifted over to the forward landing gear and paused once again.

‘Still clear,’ Kozak reported.

Rising so that the blanket fully obscured him, 30K placed the tracker up high in the undercarriage, where it would remain in place via trusty 3M tape and magnets. The tracker was about the size of an iPod Classic and weighed about the same.

30K wasn’t through yet. He wanted to get a listening device in the cabin; however, the mechanics had not opened any doors nor had they lowered the rear cargo hatch. He considered planting the device within one of the stacks of cargo, which assumedly would be loaded on to the plane.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Kozak. ‘You’re done. Get out of there.’

30K took a deep breath.

‘Just got a call from the boss,’ Kozak added. ‘He wants us back. Come on … get out of there.’

Half-assed wasn’t the way he rolled, but if planting the listening the device meant creating a diversion and possibly blowing his cover, then his little brother was right. Gritting his teeth, he slipped back, out of the hangar, and met up with Kozak outside.

‘This sucks. I only got the tracker on the plane.’

‘That’s good enough.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Stuff at the warehouse. I’ll tell you on the way back.’

They jogged away from the hangar and were breathless by the time they reached their pickup truck. 30K seized the wheel and tore off, rumbling back on to the highway and toward the port.

He checked the rearview mirror, where dust clouds whipped behind the truck. For now, they were the only car on the desert highway.

But within five minutes they were passing several other shipping trucks heading back toward the airport, along with another motorcycle carrier.