The War Gate (21 page)

“So Buck is the pilot. That fits with the note. Anything on the passengers?”

“I pumped Ron for the info. You’re never going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Drake’s parents are scheduled to be onboard. An Emily Chambers is also on the passenger list.”

“Emily Chambers is my grandmother on my mother’s side. This is unbelievable. Three grandparents on the same flight to Bermuda.”

“How is that important?”

“They’re major stockholders in Cyberflow. Between the three of them, they own thirty percent of the company. They might be silent partners, but they’re entitled to those profits. If Drake was having trouble meeting those outlays, he might want to dump that debt. He would take control of that interest if the grandparents were out of the picture. I’ll bet it’s written in the will that way.”

“Do you think he’s capable of doing that to his own parents?”

“It hasn’t been proven that he’s incapable of doing it. Something is going to happen to this plane. I don’t think we can stop it from the ground. We have no evidence or legal reason to keep it from taking off.”

“Or real authority. If we raise a ruckus it could rouse the police. Then we could get arrested on several charges, which would include impersonating federal officials.”

“Then I’m going on that flight. They have to be caught in the act. I have to stop it.”

“Are you
serious
?” Sebastian’s voice carried down the hangar.

She hushed him. “I’m more than serious. We talked about the possibility of my boarding the plane.”

“I’ve changed my mind about that. You’re not going on that plane alone. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ve got to go alone. Hand me that gun.” She wasn’t about to budge.

“No problem. I’ll bring it with me.”

“Yeah, right. What’s our excuse for both of us taking the trip? Because we want to flight-check some pilot who works for some stupid little charter service? Get real. We’ll end up in Bermuda, way off our personal schedule and out of our environment.”

“At least we’ll stop anything from happening. Mission accomplished.”

She took him by the collar to emphasize her next words. “I need every bit of evidence against Drake I can get. This is the only way it’s going to work. Either you give me the gun or I go on without it.”

Sebastian passed her the thirty-eight revolver, looking fed up. “That is the wrong thing to be taking on a plane. You can’t use it.”

“I’m just going to use it for leverage if I see something going down.”

“Yeah, like the plane. I don’t like this—I hate the whole setup. What if this thing is meant to blow up a few minutes after takeoff? Remember that little bomb symbol?”

“That’s way too messy. Drake isn’t very bright. But he is not a moron. I have to be on that flight.” She knew her plan seemed harebrained because Sebastian was having a hard time grappling with it. But she had to commit to a plan of action right now. That meant damning the risk.

“You stay here, honey,” she said, her voice softening. “I’ll bring the plane back, I promise. Now give me a distraction.” She handed him her clipboard, then pushed the gun into her waistband behind her back.

He gave her a firm hug, then a passionate kiss. She could tell his heart still wasn’t in it when he walked down the length of the hangar toward Ron. Soon she heard his raised voice accompanied by the sound of a clipboard hitting the floor.

She walked to the Citation, stepping up to the hatch. After looking both ways, she clenched her teeth and stepped through to the other side.

She found herself in the plane’s cabin. The interior contained a double row of beige leather seats over brown shag carpeting. She pulled a porthole curtain back and peeked out a window. Neither Sebastian nor Ron were in the hangar. She moved down the aisle and opened a thin door on a box-like room—lavatory. It provided the only area she could hide from the passenger cabin. She looked toward the front of the plane. A curtain hung, pinned back to expose the cockpit interior. If that curtain stayed open, she would be able to monitor the pilot’s movements. She looked at her watch—it was five-thirty.

Voices came from outside. She peeked through the window. There were two men rounding the plane, dragging a large ice chest. She felt certain one of them had to be the pilot. She ducked into the lavatory, latching the door behind her. Her panic that she could be discovered if someone happened to test the door or needed to use the facility increased. It was too late for second thoughts. They would have to break the door down if they wanted to gain access.

She heard the boarding door latch click. The floor under her feet wobbled. A few voices reached her, but she couldn’t make out the words. A male voice boomed with laughter. Something scraped across the pavement, followed by a lady’s loud voice, “Pick that up, you old fart.” She seemed just a few yards away, and sounded like an older woman.

Avy hoped that the elderly passengers had already used bathroom facilities and wouldn’t need to enter the one on the aircraft. Seniors were fickle like that anyway. They would take care of business beforehand so they could avoid the awkwardness of using an in-flight facility. But what if someone got airsick? She wondered about that when she sat down on the toilet seat, preparing for a long wait before they were airborne. She tried to listen to pieces of conversation, but there was too much movement going on with the loading. If someone wanted in the lavatory, the pilot would have a passkey to open the lock. She tried not to worry about such things. This was not the time to lose it.

She heard the hatch slam. The craft wobbled again. A moment later, the engines whined to life, sending a vibration through the craft. Avy took hold of the grasp rails, planting her feet. She could feel the plane rolling out of the hangar onto the taxiway. The pilot’s voice told the passengers to buckle up. There came a jolt, then the sensation of moving again. After a number of tight turns, the craft stopped for a brief moment. Then the engines throttled forward until they howled. Perceptible thumps vibrated under her feet. Certain they were runway seams, she held on tight for takeoff. The next sensation she had was the g-force acting upon her body. They were airborne.

She waited ten minutes before it seemed they had leveled off. Cracking the door open, she chanced a look down the asile. There were three elders seated on the right side of the passenger cabin. The aisle was clear. The pilot sat in the left cockpit seat, wearing headphones. A large cooler was strapped on the other seat.

“I hope you made the reservations,” said Drake’s father.

“We’re booked at the Fairmont Southampton. I told you that twenty minutes ago. Are you going to ask me in another ten minutes?”

“I’ll think of a new question, then ask you in five.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? Did you take your Dramamine?”

“I thought you packed it.”

“I don’t take it or need it. That is your responsibility.”

“Please take a nap,” he said in a tired voice. “By the time you wake up, we’ll be there.”

“I’m too excited to take a nap. I’d rather watch the scenery.”

“There will be nothing out there but blue water.”

“All right then, I’ll take a nap.”

Five minutes later, Avy heard the first snore. After fifteen minutes, all three adults were slumped in their seats, expelling heavy breaths. The pilot had a navigational chart up against his face. Was now the time to confront the pilot? The problem was, he hadn’t done anything yet. She could approach him in an accusatory fashion with the claim that she had enough information to know that this flight was highly suspect. But she had nothing more than that. But if she waited for the scenario to unfold, it could allow things to snowball into disaster fast, putting all onboard at risk.

Before she had the chance to act, one of the passengers stirred, letting loose a loud sneeze. The woman unbuckled her seatbelt then struggled to push herself up from her seat.

Avy pulled the door shut. She could not latch it—that would arouse suspicion. She prepared herself. It would take precise timing to pull off the maneuver. She waited, watching the door latch for any sign of movement. When the lever turned, just when the door began to swing open, she stepped to the other side.

She now stood on the other side of the lavatory door against the bulkhead. The woman had just locked the closed door. The door handle did not move for five minutes before Avy heard the audible click. The seam opened in a torturous slow motion. At that precise moment, she stepped through to the other side and turned around. The door clicked shut. Once again, luck had been with her. So far, the Gate-Walking had been confined to the inside of the aircraft. She shuddered to think what might have happened if she had extended her travel too far. Would she have ended up outside the plane sharing airspace with the seagulls?

The sound of the jet engines began to decrease in intensity, creating a whistling sound through the cabin walls. The plane was slowing.

Avy looked around the edge of the door again. The old woman had resumed her seat. A moment later, her head lolled to the side. It seemed all of the passengers were now asleep, at least it looked that way. But a view of the cockpit showed the pilot standing. He was out of his seat, fumbling with the lid on the ice chest. She watched him, more than curious about his intentions. A glance at her watch revealed they had been airborne for twenty-five minutes.

What she saw next made her stiffen with fright.

The pilot pulled a large pack from inside the ice chest and began to unsnap buckles. He stepped through some straps, pulled a harness over his shoulders, and then cinched up a waist belt. Next, he bent over the console to twist a dial. The attitude of the plane did not change. Automatic pilot? Was the pilot going to bail out over the Atlantic Ocean? Was the plan to allow the craft to fly on until it surpassed its fuel limit then plunge, taking the grandparents with it?

She’d seen enough.

The pilot made a few quick adjustments on the parachute pack, then stepped from the cockpit into the aisle. Avy made quick strides down the aisle to stand in front of the exit hatch. When the pilot saw her, his face blanched white. A second later, he was all attitude.

“What in the flyin’ fuck,” he growled, “are you doing on this plane?”

“Step back into that cockpit and take that parachute off,” she said through her teeth. She wiggled her ID tag for emphasis. “You’re violating FAA regulations by contemplating leaving this aircraft in mid-flight. I know who you are, Buck. Your little plan isn’t going to work like you thought.”

He hesitated for a moment, looked at the hatch, then back at her. “I don’t think you have what it takes to stop me.”

He made a desperate lunge for her, but with the added weight of the pack, and in the confined area, she performed an easy sidestep around him. When he recovered, his eyes narrowed on her like a wolf’s. She knew she’d pissed him off good by out-maneuvering him.

The grandparents snored on, having not heard the exchange of words or the commotion.

She reached around her and brought out the thirty-eight, pointing it at his chest. “Oh, I’ve got plenty to stop you with. Keep your voice down.”

“Go ahead, shoot. This is a pressurized cabin. You’ll blow us out of the sky. Even if you manage to stop me, who is going to fly this rig?”

“I think the bullet has just enough velocity to go through your chest and end up in that parachute pack.” Then came the big lie. “I am also a licensed pilot. Bring it on.” She brought the muzzle of the pistol up against his neck, shoving hard.

Buck stood there for a moment, tiny beads of sweat popping from his forehead. It was a fast moment—he had no options.

His face sagged. He turned around to waddle toward the cockpit. She followed close behind with the gun held at the back of his head.

“Are you the stewardess?” said a voice from behind her. “Where have you been, dear?”

Avy glanced back toward the cabin, aware that one of the grandparents had awakened. Now that she could connect the voice to the face, she knew it was her grandmother, Emily Chambers. But the woman did not recognize her own granddaughter. “Yes, we’ll be serving refreshments in a few minutes,” said Avy over her shoulder while concealing the gun. “Try to relax.” Then to the pilot, “Take that pack off and get back behind the controls. Keep your mouth shut. I don’t want the passengers to panic.”

The pilot obliged, stuffing the parachute pack back into the ice chest. Avy pulled the privacy curtain closed, then shoved the ice chest to the rear of the cockpit. She stood next to the copilot’s seat waiting for him to resume control of the plane. He did not move. She could see the slightest tensing in his legs muscles, a perceptible shift in his body weight. Though he wasn’t looking straight at her, he had her in his peripheral vision. If she were not so apt at reading body language, she would have never seen it coming.

His arm swung around in an arc in what almost looked like slow motion. It just appeared that way because she was faster, anticipating the move. She swung her gun hand around in a right hook, catching him on the side of the temple. She ducked before his arm made contact with her face. He staggered once, then dropped to a knee behind the pilot’s seat. He remained there for a long time, his breaths coming with shuddering gasps.

At first, she thought she might have incapacitated him, or knocked him unconscious. She remained drawn back against the cockpit wall, poised in case he had it in him to try it again. The gash in the side of his head, along with the trickle of blood that reached his chin, appeared proof enough that he might be finished with any further resistance.

“Where in the hell did you get reflexes like that?” he slurred, reaching for the seat's back to pull himself up. He regained his stance in painful increments.

“You don’t even want to know.” She shook out a hanky, then threw it at him. “You’re bleeding.”

“Thanks to you.” He dabbed the wound, looking feverish, unsteady on his feet. “Now what?”

“Turn this plane around. Get back on a course to Raleigh.” She sat down and buckled in.

He disengaged the autopilot, took the controls. “ATC is gonna want to know why I’m returning,” he said, massaging the back of his neck. His eyes closed in apparent pain for a few seconds.