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He tried Doc first, but the call went straight to voicemail, so he called Cope.
“What’s happening?” Striker asked when Cope answered.
“Did you listen to your messages?”
“No.”
“DEA agents found the plane.”
“And?” he shouted.
Razor’s and Monk’s heads shot up; both looked at Striker.
“I’m waiting for confirmation as to the specifics, but the word I received was there were three critically injured and one fatality,” Cope told him.
Striker put his head in his hands and turned toward the window. “Goddammit. Where are they?”
“As you know, the plane was found in Macuira National Park. Because of the situation in Venezuela, the survivors were airlifted to the university hospital in Magdalena. I’ve made arrangements for a private aircraft to take you to Simón Bolívar International Airport where a car will take you directly to the hospital.”
“Who’s the fatality, Cope?” he asked, making eye contact with Razor and Monk, who both hung their heads.
“I’m sorry, Striker. I don’t have confirmation on that yet.”
“Who knows about this?”
“Which part?”
“The next leg of our trip.”
“Right now, you, me, the owner of the plane, Mantis, and Trap. He’ll make the rest of the arrangements as soon as you’ve deboarded.”
“Tell me, Cope, do the DEA agents think the crash was accidental?”
“Not sure yet, but there’s a crew headed to the wreckage to investigate.”
“Where’s the black box?”
“With the DEA until the investigators arrive.”
“How soon until we head out?”
“Like I said, Trap is making the arrangements.”
“What about the rest of our team?”
“Working on transport for Doc, Gunner, and Eighty-eight now.”
“Ranger and Diesel?”
“In the air. We’ll make that determination after you arrive at the hospital.”
“Thanks, Cope. If you hear anything about the condition of our team, contact me immediately.”
“Roger that, and, Striker, Godspeed.”
“Hey, wait. Who’s the plane’s owner?”
Cope hesitated, which sent Striker’s blood pressure up. “I can’t tell you that, but I need you to trust me.”
