JANET

Dutch closed his rucksack and checked his watch. Two hours before wheels up. He eyed the bar but decided he better not. Especially with so little sleep over the last twenty-four hours. He should have made coffee. Maybe there would be some at the airstrip when he got there.

From the bedroom, Joanna called for him. He cracked his neck, shouldered his rucksack and went in to check on her and the kid.

Joanna was wearing a blue wrap dress with a faint flowery pattern and putting in a pair of earrings in front of the mirror beside the bed. The kid was sprawled over the green covers, his head sunken between two massive pillows. “Jesus, did you give him the whole thing?” said Dutch, seeing a bit of drool leaking down the corner of the kid’s mouth.

“Almost,” she said. “He’ll be fine.”

“What’s the deal with him anyway? Why do you need him?” said Dutch, tapping his knuckles against the kid’s toes.

“He’s going to help me do what I do best,” said Joanna, smoothing out her dress.

“What’s that?” said Dutch.

“Create chaos,” she said, turning and letting the dress swirl around her. “How do I look?”

“Like a flower,” said Dutch. “What in the hell is going on? Last I heard, this job was dead in the water. Next thing I know, you’re calling me in the middle of the night, saying we have a green light and I have a few hours to get my shit together. We’re scrambling!”

“This could be our only chance,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and smoothing Booker’s hair. “I was ready to call the whole thing off. A full year of no progress doesn’t bode well. But if everything goes my way downstairs, Booker is my ticket into Groom Lake.”

“Good God,” said Dutch, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re still not cleared to get onto the plane?”

“I’ll be riding your JANET flight this afternoon,” she said, standing up. “I just need to square a few things with a friend of mine downstairs.”

“We’ve been putting this whole thing together for months now. Months! I still have no idea what we’re even after! And now this? Are you sure this is going to work?” said Dutch.

“No,” said Joanna, checking her nails. “But I’ll know in about fifteen minutes.”

Smoothing out his mustache, Dutch said, “Listen, we’ve worked together on a lot of things, but this? We’re unprepared. We don’t even know what the hell we’re looking for yet. It could be anywhere. It could be anything!”

“We know the size,” she said, brandishing the white envelope Tom had given her. “And we know the general location it’s in.”

Dutch shook his head and rang his hands, saying, “Yes, but we don’t know where in that location. For all we know, it could be smack-dab in the middle of the room for everyone to see! How is this plan supposed to work if that’s the case?”

“Do you trust me?” she said.

“Yes,” said Dutch, with a sigh.

“Then don’t worry about it,” she said.

“Joanna, we’ve done some crazy stuff for the CIA before now. But we’re talking Groom Lake here. Area-51. I’m not comfortable handing over nuclear launch codes or schematics for some spy plane once this is all said and done. We’re not those people. We’re the people who take money from drug dealers in South America or grab intel on Russian sleeper agents hiding in the United States. This could be a huge mistake.”

Joanna reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I know. Trust me one more time. I wouldn’t call you unless I was a hundred percent sure.”

“What about that duffle bag? You never said anything about smuggling something into Groom Lake.”

“Don’t worry so much,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything once we land.”

“You don’t even know what we’re stealing,” said Dutch.

“But I know the man who hired us,” she said. “And he’s downstairs waiting for me. I’ll see you on the plane.” As she made to leave, she stopped in the doorway and said, “Oh, one more thing. Could you take him downstairs for me? I’m sure there will be a car sent to pick me and Booker up shortly.”

“What?” said Dutch, looking back over his shoulder at Booker, still snoring away on the bed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” she said, disappearing out the bedroom door.

“How am I supposed to get him out of here?” he called.

“Call for a wheelchair and leave him outside,” she said.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said, looking down at Booker. “Who’s coming to get him? Joanna?” He scratched his head, thinking that this whole thing was a bad idea. When it was apparent Joanna had already left, he sighed, stretched, and said, “Well, kid, here we go.”