15
“Here we go!” Kyle called out.
An hour after sunset, Lola Maloney had flown her Black Hawk by, a hundred meters ahead of the sailboat at less than five meters above the waves. They were getting close enough to the Venezuelan shore that they didn’t want her flying overhead to lower their cargo because she’d show up on the Coast Guard’s radar. Dead ahead, she tumbled out the two bundles of gear that they’d assembled while still on the Freedom.
Kyle kept his gaze on the packages’ blinking lights. It was like a drug delivery, which was an amusing parallel.
He eased the sailboat to a near standstill, bow to the wind, coming even with their supplies to the lee side. Duane and Richie manned boat hooks. When they drifted down on the bundles, they snagged them and heaved them over the lifeli
