As the canvas was raised, light flowed in and illuminated the most modern machines on the farm. A shiny tractor sat hitched to a Cessna Skyhawk SP. The plane would have shined too, if not for the do-it-yourself paint job. A patchwork of green and black blotches camouflaged the plane when viewed from above. The bottom was painted a solid pale gray
to blend with the sky when viewed from below. The registration numbers had been painted over and the transponder removed to create Jean-Claude’s version of a spy plane. It was decidedly low-tech, but the plane had carried him across the border undetected several times.
Jean-Claude was an excellent pilot, though not a licensed one. He’d only existed for two years, sporadically at that, venturing out of the shiny metal box to pay his taxes and move money out of
Italy
. Brad Foster received his pilot’s license at twenty-three and did anything he could to defray the cost of flying. He flew traffic reporters around the city, gave flying lessons, and flew himself on business trips when the company would reimburse him. Herman bought this plane, but Brad took little joy in flying it. These tension-packed trips were about stealth. When it was over he’d buy a faster plane and fly for the sheer joy of it.
Fueled and checked out, he towed the craft to the head of the runway. The sun would set soon. The hitch popped from the plane and he drove the tractor back inside and unfurled the canvas cover. He ran to the plane, conserving the last precious minutes of sunlight. The plane taxied across the long field that was once thick with vegetables, spun around and shot down the makeshift runway. It quickly leveled just above the treetops, flying as low as possible through the valley.
Anyone near the route would be alarmed by the low-flying plane and some might call the authorities, but by the time anyone responded, he’d be in
Italy
. Immediate threats would come from the air. He scoured the horizon for other planes and listened as the air traffic controllers instructed airborne pilots. The setting sun at his back hid him from anyone flying overhead en route to
Lyon
. The small craft was invisible to instruments as it skimmed seventy feet above the treetops. Even so, he avoided the path of any plane below ten thousand feet.
Jean-Claude descended to sixty feet above a long meadow exploding with purple flowers that bloomed in the warm May sun. He took no notice of the magnificent scenery as he buzzed low over the heads of a few straggling hikers. Headlights snaked their way through the mountain roads illuminating trees along the rocky slopes. Wary of the tall peaks and the planes above, he hardly noticed the darkness blotting out the scenery below until he began struggling to find the landing area.
A jagged slope descended toward a tiny village. He followed down into the valley and circled until he found a familiar pattern of lights. He climbed high to make his approach, cut the engine, and silently glided the Cessna toward the dark field. Vincent wouldn’t hear the engine from his house two miles away. Odd he hadn’t figured out how Jean-Claude made his way across after so many trips. There were other ways, all terrain vehicles and trains. He could sneak across in the trunk of a car, but apparently, Vincent wasn’t curious enough or smart enough to figure it out. Maybe he didn’t want to upset the arrangement. Jean-Claude would rather land on his farm and save the two-mile hike, but there was no need to tell Vincent now. Better to limit him to chauffeuring.
Jean-Claude switched on the landing lights as he descended to the level of the grassy field. A moment later the craft touched down, bumping and hopping over the uneven terrain, rolling to a stop tucked in a corner of the field. The dark shapes at the edge of the clearing gave no hint of trouble. The only structure in sight was an old shack, shadowy and still, that seemed to stoop more and more with each visit. When he was convinced it was safe, Jean-Claude jumped down from the plane with his briefcase in one hand and a machete in the other. He chopped two dozen saplings and piled them against the front of the plane until he was satisfied it would go unnoticed for the day.
He stored the machete and headed off into the trees.
The rocky slope was dense with waist-high bushes that rustled and cracked with every movement. Any creature within six hundred yards heard his labored climb up to the dirt road that led to Vincent’s farm. Passage on the packed earth of the road was quieter and he moved along in near silence.
A burst of rustling leaves startled Jean-Claude, freezing him as he listened to the sounds of the forest. He raised the .45 and swept the terrain ahead, ready to shoot anything that moved in his path. The deafening sound would frighten off any creature he’d encounter. The two-mile trek in the dark woods unnerved him. Crossing with a strong light had been easier until he realized it exposed his every move. Darkness concealed him, so he adjusted to walking by moonlight, calming the anxious voices in his head with assurances he didn’t really believe. For a thousand bucks he could have bought night-vision goggles online. He had no idea why he hadn’t.
Jean-Claude holstered the gun and moved on down the road. If he stepped on a snake, it would wrap itself around his leg biting his calves over and over with sharp fangs. The leather sneakers offered no protection.
Fifty yards down the road, he heard a loud rustling in the trees. Something heavy dashed downhill away from him, directly toward the farm. He pictured himself bumping into a bear and feeling its claws swipe him off his feet. The animal’s crushing weight would pin him, squeezing the breath from his lungs as the enormous front teeth gnawed his flesh. The image froze him and again he drew the .45.
Before he made another step, he whispered, “Mr. Bear, I suggest you pick on someone who’s not carrying a semi-automatic handgun.”
He moved on with the gun leveled in front of him, a steady trickle of sweat dropping from his forehead to sting his eyes as he maneuvered through the darkness.
The road paralleled the path of the animal he’d spooked. He walked along hesitantly, attuned to every sound in the trees ahead. Every step brought him closer to the mauling he anticipated, but the animal didn’t show itself. Several times a falling branch or a scurrying in the leaves immobilized him with fear. He told himself these little explosions of ruckus were squirrels or rabbits, but he didn’t think these animals nocturnal. He pushed along nervously silent, dreading his next encounter.
A discarded tire at the roadside marked his approach to Vincent’s farm. He left the road and descended a tree covered slope. Progress was noisy, alerting any creature nearby to his approach and at the same time deafening him to their movements. He stopped every several yards to listen for anyone or anything attracted by the breaking branches and rustling leaves.
Snap. A breaking twig echoed in the stillness fifty yards away.
Jean-Claude’s head whipped toward the sound.
A light flickered twice.
Jean-Claude whistled out a low note followed by a shrill ending and repeated his call two more times.
The light flickered three more times, signaling him to come forward.
Jean-Claude dragged his feet through the tangled underbrush toward the small circle of light. The commotion of branches and leaves underfoot didn’t concern him anymore. He was almost out. The short, thin figure waiting for him waggled the light as he pushed the last few yards to the narrow path. Vincent shook his hand and lit the way as they hiked along the edges of the fields that sloped down toward his home.
The moonlight cast a glow on rows of seedlings dancing in the light breeze. With Vincent beside him and a wide field of view to assure him no animals were nearby, Jean-Claude relaxed for the first time in hours.
“Vinny, what would I ever do without you
?
” Jean-Claude asked.
“You could cross over in a car like everyone else.”
“Sounds easy.”
“Yes, and there are lights,” Vincent chuckled, knowing how nervous the dark woods made Jean-Claude. Vincent worked this land season after season. He was at home here. Nothing in the forest bothered him unless it ventured into his fields to graze.
“Driving would ease your nerves,” Vincent said. “But I’m not complaining. This work’s easier than farming.”
Brad looked back at the woods and wondered about the animal he’d heard running this way. He hoped it would move on before his return hike the next morning. That would be his final crossing.
Vincent was glad for the company this time of year. The isolated farm made an ideal layover point, but Vincent had months of pent up conversation to let loose. He endlessly recounted the happenings on the farm since Jean-Claude’s last visit. The chatter continued into the stone farmhouse and didn’t stop when Jean-Claude stretched out on the couch to get some sleep. The accented English rambled on into his dreams.
Jean-Claude’s eyes popped open as Vincent emerged from the kitchen, paced across the tiny living area and disappeared into the hall, only to step out of the kitchen again a moment later. Vincent had been circling all morning, peering out over the fields that surrounded the tiny house as if he expected an army to assemble among the vegetables and attack.
“Relax. You’re making me nervous,” Jean-Claude barked.
“Better to be prepared, no
?
”
“I hiked here in the middle of the night. No one knows I’m here.”
“Marcus knows. There must be others.”
“We’ve got nothing worth stealing.” Jean-Claude kicked the empty briefcase under the coffee table. “When that’s full, we’ll both worry.”
“Si, Si.” Vincent collapsed into a reclining chair, pretending not to watch the long dirt driveway.
The hours before the trek to town stretched Vincent’s nerves and Jean-Claude’s tolerance, until the two men buckled into the glistening Mercedes parked out front. The contrast between the pristine automobile and the ancient stone building couldn’t have been more glaring. The sagging roofline and peeling paint were neglected, but Vincent bought himself plush leather seats and satellite radio.
Jean-Claude turned a bewildered eye to Vincent’s dark profile. “How can you afford this car
?
”
“You afford it for me.”
Vincent’s cut was enough for a few payments, but not a new car. Did he think this was going to go on forever
?
Jean-Claude couldn’t tell him this was the last trip. Vincent would discover it for himself soon enough. He’d have to find another way to earn his payments or he’d be forced to sell the car. Vincent drove on unencumbered by the guilt Jean-Claude suffered in the passenger’s seat. He was enthralled by the performance of his new car as he raced it up to speed and banked hard through tight turns. He slowed at the edge of town and they turned off the main road and wound down densely packed streets. They squeezed between a row of cars on one side and trash cans and debris that spilled off the opposite curb careful not to scratch the paint. They rolled to a stop beyond a small alley. The clogged back street would slow their exit, but Jean-Claude avoided showing himself in town as much as possible.
They stalked down the alley on foot skirting cardboard boxes and trashcans between the low stone buildings. Jean-Claude stopped a few paces from the wide sidewalk and scanned the faces in the park across the street. A group of mothers sat with several children toddling around. Beyond them, the fountain bustled with neatly dressed people enjoying an early lunch. Several older men read the paper and tossed crumbs to the birds jostling for position at their feet. None of them looked threatening.
Jean-Claude led Vincent out onto sidewalk and briskly toward the bank.
The people rushing past took no notice of them, but up ahead on the street-side bench, one man watched their approach with interest. He was thin and young, a man who should be working on Thursday afternoon. Maybe he was.
The holster rubbed against Jean-Claude’s arm as he walked. Closer now, the man on the bench leaned back casually to disguise his interest. Jean-Claude considered walking past the bank. He slowed, but as he did, Vincent strode ahead completely unaware of the threat Jean-Claude sensed.