Impeachable Offense by Neesa Hart

Author:Neesa Hart [Hart, Neesa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2004-11-05T12:19:20+00:00

“I don’t know.” Brad glanced at the horizon. “The pilot was going to try to land. I lost sight of the plane as I came down.”

“No smoke. And no flames.” Willy folded the night-vision goggles and slipped them into his back pocket. “He might have made it.”

“I hope so.”

“We could have sold that wreckage,” Gus said.

“Salvage?” Brad asked.

“No, eBay,” Willy said.

Gus was eyeing Brad’s parachute. “What about that thing? You still want it?”

Willy smacked his arm again. “Cut it out, Gus.”

“But we’re only a couple hundred bucks short,” Gus protested. “We could probably get at least eighty bucks for that.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Brad volunteered as he began gathering up the chute. “You help me get out of here, and I’ll give you the chute.”

“Deal,” Gus said. “Where were you headed?”

“Washington, D.C.” Brad checked the GPS beacon in the front pocket of the rig. It was still working, giving anyone monitoring it, at least for the moment, his location.

“So where am I?” he asked Willy as he began stuffing the voluminous chute into the rig. “Besides earth?”

“In Longford.” Gus supplied. He dropped the flashlight and started grabbing handfuls of the parachute for Brad.

“Kansas,” Willy added.

I M P E A C H A B L E O F F E N S E

167

That, Brad thought, explained the amber waves of grain.

“How close is Longford to any place I might have heard of?” He saw the outline of a farmhouse silhouetted in the moonlight about a hundred yards from the spot.

“Not very,” Willy admitted. “We used to be the Whiskey Capital of the United States, at least until Prohibition. Then the whole town just went downhill. We’ve got a population of about a hundred now—101 if you count old man Beas-ley who farms just outside the town limits.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his denim overalls. “’Cause of that Prohibition business, folks around here don’t like Washington too much.” His eyes narrowed. “Say, you’re not one of those ATF agents are you?”

“No.”

Willy looked disappointed. “Well, that’ll make it easier for me to explain you to my dad anyway.”

Gus helped Brad cram the rest of the chute into the pack. “I’ll carry that for you, mister.” He glanced at Willy.

“Eighty bucks, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Willy told him. He looked at Brad and tipped his head toward the farmhouse. “The house is this way.

And since you ain’t going anywhere tonight at least, Mom can find you a bed. You need to call your base or something—let ‘em know you’re all right?”

“Not right now,” Brad said. What he needed was time to think and plan. By now, the Galaxy had either managed to land or had crashed. If it had crashed, he might have twelve hours or so before recovery experts realized he wasn’t aboard. If they’d landed, word was already out. Either way, somebody would be scouring Kansas for him by sunup.

“Come on inside, then,” Willy said. “It’s fixin’ to get dark as pitch.”

“And Miss Clara’ll feed you some pie,” Gus added.

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