“That’s a surprising answer, coming from you.”

“One thing Anita made me realize is, sometimes two people can get a better story.”

Brent looked down the hallway toward where Anita’s gurney appeared, the nurses wheeling her from the room.

“Is she really going to be okay?” the producer asked.

“The bullet didn’t just break her arm. It shattered bones,” Brent told him. “The doctor warned me that he might not be able to save it.”

65

In the gathering darkness, Page and Tori climbed into the Cessna. Behind them, the airport’s office had a light over the door. Other lights gleamed through the windows. Page was careful not to look in that direction. Human eyes needed thirty minutes to adjust fully to the dark. Bright light could ruin night vision in an instant, with the result that another thirty minutes would be required.

The only color of light that didn’t compromise night vision was red. As a consequence, the two flashlights Page kept in his flight bag came with a choice of lenses, clear or red. He switched to the latter and used a cord to hang the flashlight around his neck. Tori did the same.

In the dark, human eyes had difficulty seeing anything that was straight ahead. For that reason, Page focused on murky objects to the right and left, doing a slow scan to make sure it was safe to switch on the engine.

“Clear!” he shouted through his open window, warning anyone in the vicinity to stay away.

He turned the ignition key, and the engine roared to life. He used his left thumb to press the radio button on the Cessna’s controls, speaking into his headset’s microphone, addressing any active planes in the area.

“Rostov traffic, Cessna Four Three Alpha is taxiing to one five.”

He tested the brakes, did another scan of the shadowy area around him, and guided the plane along the yellow taxiway line.

“Tori, the way you answered that reporter’s question…”

“I told you this afternoon. For the first time, I feel as if I under- stand you. Maybe I should have asked to go along with you in your police car so I could get an idea of what you go through each day. The terrible things people do to one another.”

“I didn’t talk about them because I didn’t want you to feel what I do.”

“Thank you for trying to shield me.” She fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Whatever the cancer doctors say after my operation on Tuesday, whether my life is going to be short or long, I can’t imagine not sharing it with you. And I don’t want you to stop being a policeman. You’re too good at it. Now quit talking and get this crate in the air.”

Page taxied past the indistinct shapes of airplanes in the tie-down area and reached the entrance to the runway. The final checklist helped him to calm his emotions and concentrate on the task ahead.

He radioed his intentions, then increased speed along the runway. At fifty-five knots, he pulled back the yoke. The plane rose through the darkness.

Looking down, he noticed a steady stream of headlights moving toward the blocked-off observation area. The vehicles were parking along the road in a line much longer than the one the evening before. The viewing area had floodlights pointed toward the concrete barriers, presumably to emphasize that the place was off-limits. The lights from three helicopters showed where they hovered, keeping a safe distance from one another. Listening to their radio communications, Page learned that they were television news choppers.

“A wonderful clear sky,” Tori said. “Look at the glow from the streets and houses in Rostov. And there-headlights from cars driving in from Mexico. I can actually count six pairs.”

Page banked the Cessna in a slow, gentle circle, using the flood- lights at the observation area as a reference.

“How high do you plan to go?” Tori asked.

“Enough to get above everything,” he answered.

“Sounds like the way to run a life.”

66

The concrete barriers were wide enough for Medrano to stand on. Raising his left hand to shield his eyes from the glaring floodlights, he watched in dismay as the crowd got larger.

“This area’s closed!” he shouted through a bullhorn. “Turn around! Drive back to town!”

Amid the clamor of the crowd, someone yelled back at him, “This road’s public property! My taxes paid for it! I’ve got a right to stay here as long as I want!”

“It isn’t safe!” Medrano responded. “I’m telling you, go back to town!”

“You know where you can go?” somebody shouted. “To hell!”

People stretched to grip the top of the barriers and climb over.

“What is it you don’t want us to see?” a woman demanded. “What are you hiding?”

“Turn off those damned floodlights!” a man complained. “They hurt my eyes!”

“Yeah, those aren’t the kind of lights we came for!”

No sooner did police officers pull one group of people off the barricades than another group tried to climb them.

Three helicopters roared above the viewing area, keeping a distance from one another, aiming their landing lights and exterior television cameras toward the commotion.

I don’t have anywhere near enough officers, Medrano thought, surveying the chaos.

Somebody yelled, “If you won’t let us over those barricades, we’ll go around them! My wife’s got Alzheimer’s! We’re here for the miracle!”

Medrano watched helplessly as hundreds of people headed down the road and veered toward a field on the right. But some went in the opposite direction, toward the abandoned military airfield, and that was one place Medrano definitely couldn’t let anyone go.

“Stop them from getting onto that airbase!” he shouted to his officers. “They’ll blow themselves up!”

Jumping from the barricade, Medrano bent his knees as he landed on the road’s gravel shoulder. Breathless, he straightened and ran to- ward the base. There, a man and a furiously barking German shepherd warned people not to climb the barbed-wire fence.

Suddenly the floodlights failed. People shouted in alarm. As darkness enveloped him, all Medrano saw were the residual images of the glaring lights imprinted on his eyes.

Somebody must have sabotaged the generator! he thought.

But it wasn’t only the generator. Automobile engines and head- lights suddenly failed. In place of the helicopters’ hectic thumping, the only sound from the air was the whistle of slowing rotors.

Medrano flinched from the sound of a massive crash. It took him a stunned moment to realize that one of the helicopters had plum- meted to the ground. The impact echoed from the field on the opposite side of the road, accompanied by a soaring fireball.

A second crash reverberated from the same direction. Medrano crouched sightlessly, worried about where the third crash would occur.

On the road. There wasn’t one impact but several as the final helicopter dropped onto cars, crumpling and shredding metal as rotors tore into asphalt. An explosion knocked him backward.