Read Online Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of Stone by Lindsay McKenna - Free Book Online

moving her head from side to side and looking above her—“rubbernecking,” a term coined by World War II pilots. The Black Sharks were deadly hunters in their own right. When the Soviet Union broke up, Faro Valentino had marched in with his millions, purchased two state-of-the-art Kamovs and hired a cadre of out-of-work Soviet pilots, who liked being paid big bucks to fly cocaine in South America. The pilots were considered mercenaries for hire. And Faro had his pick of the best, waving his drug money under their noses.
    Grimly, Maya kept switching her gaze from her instruments to the space around them. Somewhere off to her left was Dallas and the other Apache. Because thegunships were painted black, she could not see them at all. And because of their stealth duties, they ran without outboard lights.
    “This time of morning there should be no other aircraft around,” Maya said to Jess.
    “Roger that. The civilians are still tucked in their beds, sleeping in Cuzco.”
    Chuckling, Maya returned to her duties. She could fly the Apache blind; she knew each movement and each sensation of this stalwart warrior they flew in. The Apache was a killing machine that responded to the most delicate touch. And had a heart that beat strongly within her. The soothing vibration of the engines moved throughout Maya’s body, and to her, it was like a mother holding a child and rocking it; it gave her that sense of completeness and wholeness. The Apache was one of the most marvelous inventions of the air, as far as she was concerned. It had been built by Boeing to protect the pilots, first and foremost, and secondly, to become a sky hunter that had no equal. And it did. The Kamov’s ability to sneak up on them was the one Achilles heel of this magnificent machine. And because of the type of flying they did, it was a constant threat. The Russian mercenary pilots were the cream of the crop, and they were hunters just like Maya. They lived to fly, hunt and kill. There was no difference between her and these pilots except that they were on the wrong side of the law, in Maya’s eyes. Greed ran those pilots. Morals ran her and her people.
    Beneath them, Maya knew, there was thick, continuous jungle. She and her teammates had to constantly fly among precipitous peaks covered in greenery. Most of the mountains were at least ten thousand feet high, some higher. Whatever the altitude, flying was not easyand required intense concentration in order not to crash into one of the unseen obstacles. The radar kept the shapes, elevation and height of the mountains on the HUD in front of Maya so that she could fly around them accordingly.
    “Hey, look at that red stripe on the eastern horizon,” Jess called out. “Bummer.”
    Dawn was coming. Maya scanned the bloodred horizon.
    “Think it’s a sign of things to come?” Jess asked.
    Maya took the natural world around her seriously. Maybe it was her background with the Jaguar Clan. Or her innate Indian heritage. It didn’t matter. There were signs all around them, all the time. The trick was in reading them correctly. “Damn,” she muttered.
    “Black Jaguar One, this is Two. Over.”
    Flicking down the button on the collective, Maya answered, “This is Black Jaguar One. Over.”
    “See the horizon?”
    Mouth quirking, Maya glared at the crimson ribbon. “Yeah, I see it.”
    “Not a good sign. Over.”
    “No. Keep your eyes peeled, ladies. I’m betting on more company than was originally invited.”
    “Roger. Out.”
    Jess chuckled. “Wouldn’t those good ole boys from Fort Rucker die laughing if they heard us looking at a red horizon as a sign of a coming Kamov attack?”
    Maya knew that there would be radio silence maintained between them and the new Apaches and Blackhawk coming in to meet them. Only once they met would they all switch to another radio frequency to speak for the first time. Ruthlessly grinning, she said, “Yeah, they’re gonna pee in their pants when they startflying