The Last Hostage (34 page)

Kat pressed the transmit button immediately, speaking in little more than a whisper.

"Dane, Jess, are you there?"

"Yes," Dane's voice responded instantly.

"He's going to release kids and parents. Could you take them aboard your bird, or get them to the terminal?"

"We'll arrange it."

"Did you talk to Frank?"

"Yes, Kat. He said the command passes now to Washington and help's on the way to immobilize."

"No, Dane! Call him, tell him they can't risk that! I'm working on Wolfe. They must not put anything or anyone in here that will spook this man."

"I'll relay it, Kat, but your friend Frank thinks it's too late."

"Then call Washington. Get the number from Frank. Explain I'm making progress, but tell them I need all the background they can get on Rudolph Bostich."

"How will they talk to you?"

"Don't know yet. Hold on."

She could hear Ken making the PA. announcement, asking all families with children to get their things together and stand by to leave.

"We see the door opening, Kat."

"They'll be coming out in a moment. He's made a P.A. Tell Washington I'll either call them on a cell phone or relay through you and your Flitephone."

"The Flitephone won't work here, Kat, but we've got a satellite phone Bill says we can turn on when you need it."

The sound of passengers and a crying baby greeted her ears as she turned and looked through the partially opened door. She heard the P.A. coming on again.

"I know all of you want off, and I wish I could let you off. But the coward you saw run down the aisle some time ago, Rudolph Bostich, the prosecutor whose lies let my daughter's killer go free.., until Bostich confesses, and I mean signs a confession and admits what he did on a telephone to the judge in the case, I can't let all of you go. Melinda...

that was my daughter's name..."

Kat heard a choked sob as the PA. went silent. Through the door she could see Ken's left arm as it hung down by his side, his fingers still pressing the button on the small plastic trigger device, and she could hear him clear his throat.

The PA. clicked on again.

"Melinda would not want me to scare children, so for the young people on board, I'm truly sorry. In about five minutes I'm going to lower the stairs and have you take your parents and go. And the lady whose husband was left behind in Durango, I'll want you to go, too. Just, please, remember what I've told you, remember my daughter. What I'm doing is against the law, but the law has failed, and I have no choice."

Aboard AirBridge Flight 90, Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:50 P..M.

Annette watched the last family pull their bags out of the overhead bins and move forward anxiously, the wife turning to squeeze the free hand of an older gentleman across the aisle.

"Go on, now. I'll be fine," the older man said to her.

As the family passed the middle of the cabin, a youth Annette had spotted--a teenage boy--stood and looked around uncertainly, until he saw Annette coming up from the rear. He pointed to himself and raised an eyebrow, watching Annette's face as she moved to him.

"How old are you?"

"I'm... ah... fourteen, actually fifteen, this month. Can I go?"

She nodded and pointed toward the front. The gossamer hint of a smile flickered across his face, and he turned and walked forward briskly, watched, Annette saw, by Blenheim, the obnoxious tour company owner in the bulkhead seat who stood as the boy approached.

The man put a hand on the boy's shoulder and leaned over to say something to him in a voice Annette couldn't hear. The boy looked around, a startled expression on his face, then nodded at the man, who grabbed a briefcase and moved into the aisle, his hand tightly clasped to the boy's right shoulder.

They were thirty feet ahead of her, but she broke into a trot, covering the distance quickly.

"Sir?"

He pretended not to hear, moving with the boy toward the entryway where Ken stood watching the exodus.

"Sir! Stop!"

The passengers who were being left behind began turning to look as Annette reached them.

Blenheim turned and hesitated, holding the boy by the shoulder as he looked back with a startled expression.

"I'm trying to leave with my boy, here," he said, sounding pained.

"This is your son?" Annette asked, pointing to the boy, who was looking terrified.

Blenheim nodded. "What, now I need a birth certificate to please you?"

Annette looked the boy in the eye.

"Is this your father?"

There was a panicked hesitation before Blenheim jumped in. "This is ridiculous. Of course I'm his father!"

"I didn't ask you, sir."

She motioned to the boy to step around Blenheim and come back toward her, and she leveled a finger at the tour company owner before he could speak.

"Keep quiet, sir, and stay there."

The last family to leave was rounding the corner in front of Ken and moving toward the steps. Annette leaned over to speak in the boy's ear.

"You have to tell me the truth, son. Is that man really your father?"

The boy shook his head. "No, ma'am." "Is he related to you in any way?"

"No."

"You ever see him before he jumped to his feet and told you to pretend you were his son?"

"No, ma'am. But I don't mind."

"I do." She whirled on Blenheim, who'd been nothing but trouble since takeoff. "YOU! Step back, NOW!"

She ushered the teen safely past the man and watched until the boy had turned the corner and started down the steps.

Ken had been watching the exchange from his position in the entryway some twenty-five feet away.

"What's the problem, Annette?"

Violently conflicting emotions washed over her as she looked at Ken. He was the hijacker, yet he was the captain. She could have helped another passenger escape, yet she had held him back. She glanced at the obnoxious man, remembering his withering arrogance and insulting behavior at the first of the flight, and the decision suddenly became easier.

Blenheim stood wide-eyed in shock, backing up into one of the first class rows.

"Who is that, Annette?" Ken said.

She looked forward at Ken. "This is the Mikey I told you about in Colorado Springs who hates everything." Her eyes snapped back to Blenheim. "He just tried to sneak out pretending to be that boy's father."

Blenheim turned to look at Ken, who stared back for several very long seconds.

"Annette," Wolfe said at last, "strap him in a coach seat, then get on the P.A. and tell everyone on board what he tried to do, and tell them his name and the name of his company."

She smiled for the first time in hours. "With pleasure, Ken."

Aboard Gulfstream N5LL, Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:52

In the cockpit of N5LL, Bill North and his two pilots watched the brief exodus from Flight 90 in suspense, hoping it might continue.

But when the steps began to retract, fewer than half the people had left.

"Dane, if we're in agreement with what we discussed, hand me the mike, please."

"We are," he said, putting the microphone in North's hand.

"Kat, this is Bill North. Can you hear me?"

There was a brief hesitation. They could see Wolfe once more through the captain's side window on the 737, apparently getting settled in his left seat.

"I'm here, Bill. So is Ken Wolfe," Kat responded.

"Understood. It's Wolfe I want to talk to."

Dane looked up at his boss and nodded again, then glanced back through the door as Jess helped several more of the passengers aboard the Gulfstream.

"This is Ken Wolfe. Who's speaking?"

"Bill North, Captain. I own the Gulfstream, and as you may know, I'm vice chairman of AirBridge Airlines. Look, I've got a proposition for you."

"What are you doing here, Mr. North?" Ken's voice carried a shocked tone.

"I've been here all along, Captain. I was getting ready to fly to our headquarters to respond to this thing when you popped into my home airport at Salt Lake."

"Mr. North, look--"

"Bill, please."

There was a long silence.

"Okay. Look, I'm sorry for all of this, but I've got no choice."

"I want to offer you something, Ken."

"I'm not after money."

"I'm not offering money. I'm offering a trade. Let's swap aircraft.

You leave the rest of those folks over there, bring Kat and your other hostage, and come take my bird. My pilots have volunteered to fly you wherever you want to go, I'll stay as a hostage, and I'm sure you know the Gulfstream Four can get you almost anywhere."

"No thanks, Mr. North."

"Captain, come on. You and I both know you can't get that Boeing out of here safely. The temperature over the runway is rising, the density altitude is above eleven thousand feet, and you're going to risk everyone's life if you try it. Those are our passengers. You're a responsible airline captain. You simply can't imperil them with a wild takeoff attempt. This Gulfstream can hop out of here just fine. Your Boeing can't."

Dane pointed toward the right window, his voice a stage whisper.

"The fueler is finished loading. He's sucked up two trucks. About thirty thousand pounds worth."

More silence. Bill North found himself searching frantically for a different approach.

"Ken? You know I'm the majority stockholder in Tom Davidson's airline, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you know I personally helped Tom get you the job with Air-Bridge and move you to Colorado?"

"I'm... grateful, sir. No, I didn't know that."

"Well, I did. And I want to help now. Please, Ken, let those people go, and let's handle this between you and me."

Ken's voice returned, neither strident nor anguished.

"The subject's closed, Mr. North. If you want to help, then yank some strings with the government to get them to comply with my demands. This is my last day as a pilot or an employee of yours. We both know that. I can't back down until those demands are met."

"Well," Bill replied, glancing at Dane and raising an eyebrow.

"Why don't you tell me exactly what those demands are?"

There was no answer.

Bill called twice more, and on the third call Kat's voice responded, subdued and metered.

"Thanks, Bill, but he says no."

"He's really going to try it then?" Bill asked her.

The response was hesitant. "I... don't know. He wants me to stop talking now."

"Kat, we don't have the performance charts over here, but Dane is type-rated in the seven-thirty-seven, and in his opinion, a takeoff attempt would be suicide."

There was a short click of the transmitter, but no voice.

"We're here, Kat," Bill added, "if, you know, there's anything more we can do."

Bill North and Dane Bailey sat in silence for nearly a minute, their eyes on the adjacent Boeing, their thoughts on how to prevent Ken Wolfe from attempting a takeoff.

"We could taxi out and block the runway, I suppose," Bill said.

Dane was shaking his head. "No way. We don't want to corner a man with a bomb. God knows what else might push him over the edge, but blocking the runway, or shooting out his tires, or anything like that is exactly what would push me over the edge. That's... intolerable to a pilot."

Bill North searched Dane's face carefully. "Why, Dane?"

He snorted softly. "Boss, you're an aggressive chess player. I've watched you. You don't like to lose. In chess, in business, in anything."

Bill North smiled in response.

"So how do you feel when someone checkmates you?"

"I'm not following this, Dane."

"How do you feel in that crystalline moment of shock when you realize you've been boxed in, when you recognize that there's nowhere to move, nowhere to go, no strategy left to employ, nothing left but admission of defeat? Checkmate or stalemate. One second you're conducting a battle with a myriad of options, the next, because of a strategic or tactical oversight, you've lost it all. How does it make you feel?"

Bill North cocked his head. "In a word? Panicked."

Dane was nodding aggressively. "Exactly. A strong, controlling individual is panicked. 'This can't be! I can't be out of options.' And when you realize you are, there's a fatalistic urge to regain control by bailing out of the game, resigning on your own terms."

"And pilots are controllers."

"To the depth of our being, Bill. Just like you are in business. If we block Wolfe, we're stalemating him, and his only option to regain control is to trigger that bomb."

Bill North sighed. "How about getting to that bomb? Didn't Kat say it was supposed to be in the forward cargo bin? Couldn't someone open the bin and get all the bags out?"