Chapter Ten
Agent Hank Myers’ private flight landed at Meacham Airport at six-forty in the morning. Dangerous weather systems between their origin and their destination meant that Roscoe, an experienced pilot and one of Hank’s poker buddies, had to improvise on the fly to skirt the huge thunderstorms once they’d finally been cleared for takeoff.
“Thanks, Roscoe,” Hank said, extending his hand to his friend in gratitude.
“Anytime, buddy. Hope you find him. Watch your back, man.”
Hank gathered his overnight bag and hustled down the narrow steps to the waiting car he’d called ahead to arrange.
He climbed into the back seat and rattled off the address to the driver, finishing with, “As soon as possible, please.”
“Just so you know, traffic is already heavy,” the driver replied, holding Ha
