Killer Summer

47

As the call went dead, the plane shook, and to the left Kevin heard a series of loud pops followed by silence. The roar now came only from the right.

He checked his bars: zero. He powered down the phone, saving the battery for when they landed.

He looked at the phone cradled in his hand. If they caught him-and they would-they’d confiscate it. The trick was to hide it, come back for it later. He tried slipping it under the pad he was lying on, but it made an obvious bulge. Just outside the sliding partition, he spotted a hand-towel dispenser. With the pilots busy and Summer and her captor facing forward, their backs to him, Kevin reached out of the storage compartment.

His finger deciphered the dispenser’s front panel and he opened it, slipping his phone inside.

The challenge was to think like his uncle. For all he knew, these guys were planning a 9/11-style suicide flight into some skyscraper in Seattle or Salt Lake. Or maybe they were hijacking the Lear to pick up some criminal, like on Prison Break.

He relived all that he’d seen on his brief tour of the jet: a fire extinguisher next to the galley, knives and a corkscrew in the drawer, a flashlight above the toilet, a first-aid kit.

He assumed there would be cleaning supplies, possibly beneath the sink or in one of the larger drawers in the galley.

The wiry guy had taken down Summer with one hand. Kevin wasn’t going to let that happen to him. He’d seen enough movies to know the good guy never got a second chance. He’d get one shot, if he was lucky. He was Bruce Willis in Die Hard, Matt Damon in Bourne, Daniel Craig as 007. He had plenty of reference material to draw upon.

But could he actually stab a guy? He convinced himself not to think about it. Just do it, all the Nike ads told him.

One factor in his favor was the element of surprise. His Uncle Walt was not a hunter but was an expert marksman and one of the best trackers in the country. Kevin had been on overnights with Walt when he would locate an animal or herd and then see how long and how far he could stay with them. Hours, sometimes days, and many, many miles. What he’d learned on those outings came less from watching his uncle track-although he picked up some pointers-and more from the late-night stories told around the campfire. It was then that Walt had talked about Kevin’s father. And he learned about the use of the element of surprise.

Remaining hidden made him feel like a coward. What would Bruce or Matt or Daniel do?

He pictured himself going through each motion. Then, with some sixth sense alerting him, he sneaked a peek out into the plane’s main compartment.

The wiry guy was coming up the aisle straight for him.

Trapped, Kevin thought it better to show himself than to surprise a guy like that.

He reached to push the partition back just as the creep stopped and opened one of the window shades that was pulsing yellow and orange. The man pushed his face against the window, turned around, and ran toward the cockpit, shouting, “WE’RE ON FIRE!”

Kevin slid open the partition. He climbed down into the galley, his back to the emergency exit. The door’s small window revealed the source of the guy’s anxiety: the engine was on fire.

Kevin’s heart leaped into his throat.

He peered around the panel to see Summer looking back at him. Her face was blotchy. He wasn’t sure she saw him. She was staring off into space. She seemed to be in shock.

He undid the clasp that secured the fire extinguisher and pulled the ring pin. To him, it felt like pulling the pin on a hand grenade. Time began counting down in his head.

If Kevin was going to take a run at the wiry guy, it was now or never.

What if he was the last line of defense between them and another 9/11? What if these guys planned a suicide dive into the Sun Valley Lodge or the wine auction? A guy once had tried to bomb the Cutter Conference. Anything was possible.

The cabin went dark, and the jet banked to the left. His eyes adjusted to the green glow from an LED on the flashlight.

His inner ear crackled, telling him the plane was descending rapidly.

He had to get himself strapped into a seat. He had no choice about that. He raised the fire extinguisher, rounded the corner, and charged.

The guy, facing forward, was swearing a blue streak at the top of his lungs. The pilots didn’t seem to hear him. Kevin continued down the aisle. The guy looked much bigger up close, strong and dangerous. He had a birthmark or tattoo on the side of his neck.

“Ahhhhh!” Kevin shouted.

The guy’s head came around, his hands lifting defensively.

Kevin pulled the trigger.