Simple Genius

Chapter 83

The small plane was loaded with the cargo from the truck. There was plenty of room with the seats removed. Champ Pollion climbed in the cockpit and readied the Cessna for takeoff. Even with the rain starting to fall more heavily and the winds picking up he figured he’d have no problem meeting his schedule. The men finished loading the cargo on the plane, but, out of Champ’s sight, kept several large plastic bales on the truck. They drove off and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Champ nimbly went through his preflight checklist and next hit a switch; the prop roared to life. Champ had just put on his headset when the door was thrown open and Michelle poked her head in.

“Hey, Champ, got room for one more?”

He looked at her for several seconds, as though she couldn’t possibly be real. A moment later his hand flew to the sidearm on his belt, only Michelle’s fist was faster. The blow knocked Champ sideways in his seat, blood spurting from his nose.

He rolled over into the co-pilot’s seat and then out the other door. Michelle jumped across the seat after him.

Champ fell out onto the ground and Michelle was right on top of him. As he tried to get up she hit him with a brutal kick that caught the man on the side of his head and dropped him again. His leg shot out and tripped her. She went tumbling back against the plane. The Cessna was vibrating, its engine chafing against the plane’s restraints.

Champ managed to pull his gun, but Michelle’s well-aimed kick sent it flying out of his hand. A second later he landed a fist to her side and Michelle’s ribs screamed in agony. The next second, a foot followed the fist and Michelle realized she was in for a real fight as she fell to the ground but just as quickly regained her feet.

The two faced off against the backdrop of the whirring plane.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Champ screamed.

“Making a citizen’s arrest,” Michelle yelled back as her gaze darted over him, looking for any opening.

“You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Me! Since when does a respected physicist turn into a drug runner for the CIA? That’s what’s in the bales, right? Drugs?”

“Michelle, you don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“So explain it to me.”

“I can’t, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me! What about Monk Turing? Len Rivest?”

“I’m just trying to do my job. You have to believe that.”

“Sorry, Champ, I’m fresh out of trust.” While they’d been speaking she’d been inching toward him. Now, Michelle whirled and connected a kick to his head sending the man flying backward. Yet before she could strike again, he’d recovered and slammed a foot into her shoulder, sending her back on her ass. She leapt up and avoided another blow, managing to duck under his swing, and delivered a hard shot to his kidney. Amazingly, it didn’t drop him. He staggered back, breathing hard, but with his defenses still intact.

“You’re good,” she called out over the plane’s engine.

“Maybe not as good as you,” he admitted. He looked over his shoulder. “Michelle, you need to get out of here.”

“Why, so you can fly off with the drugs?”

“I’m doing nothing criminal. You have to trust me.”

“I told you, I’m fresh out.” She leaped and her foot connected with his chest. He fell back and unfortunately landed next to his gun. He grabbed the pistol, took point blank aim and—

Michelle dove back into the cockpit and slammed the door shut as a round from Champ’s pistol exploded through the glass. Michelle frantically scanned the controls. She’d watched Champ go through his flight checklist when they’d gone up. Now that attention to detail paid off. She released the foot brake, pushed the throttle ahead and the Cessna shot forward.

Another bullet came winging through the cockpit and this time Michelle could not get out of the way. She grunted in pain as the slug bit hotly into her arm leaving a bloody crease before exiting out the opposite window. She rammed the throttle ahead and the Cessna picked up speed, zipping down the concrete toward the main runway. Champ sprinted after her, his gun waving in his hand. He sent another shot at the plane’s tail but missed.

“Stop,” he screamed. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Stop!”

Michelle had no intention of taking the Cessna off the ground. She throttled forward at the same time she stood on the right foot pedal throwing the small plane into a one-eighty. Champ stopped dead as the plane turned directly at him. He raised his gun to fire but instead turned and ran. As fleet as he was Michelle had to throttle back to keep from running over him. As the plane bore down on him he screamed and threw himself sideways, rolled down an embankment and crashed into a set of gasoline drums.

Michelle cut the throttle, engaged the brake, jumped out and raced down the embankment. She didn’t wait for Champ to attempt to get up. She launched herself from halfway up the rise and landed on top of him, her elbow slamming into the back of his head. Champ let out one groan and then his eyes closed and his body went limp.

“You’re not dying on me, Champ,” she said furiously as she rolled him over and checked his pulse. “Prison is calling, you stupid genius freak.” His breathing was steady and his pulse strong and he would no doubt wake soon with a monster headache and an overpowering desire to call his lawyer. She looked around, spotted some cable hanging on the exterior wall of a storage shed, and used that to tie him up.

She searched his pockets, found his cell phone and car keys and ran back to the plane. Throwing the door open she climbed in, cut the engine, jabbed one of the keys into the bale nearest her and checked it. Heroin, she was almost certain. She stuffed some of it in a bag she pulled from a storage compartment in the plane. As she was turning to leave, a sound caught her ears from the back of the plane, behind the bales. Then she saw one of the packages move a bit.

She began heaving the bales out of the way. At the very rear of the cabin something was wrapped in a blanket. And that something was squirming.

Michelle pulled at the blanket and it finally fell away, revealing a tied-up and gagged Viggie.

Michelle quickly freed her and they raced off the plane.

“Mick—” Viggie began.

“Tell me later. Now, just run.”

They reached Champ’s Mercedes and climbed in. Michelle called Merkle Hayes at home, woke the man up and gave him a rundown of what had happened. “Get to Babbage Town with everybody you can,” she screamed into the phone.

“Holy shit,” was all the lawman could manage to say.

Michelle fired up the car and gunned the motor. With a wide-eyed Viggie hanging on to whatever she could, Michelle laid rubber down the entire length of the small parking lot before hitting the road, hanging a left and accelerating, leaving behind an unconscious genius ripe for a long prison sentence and a Cessna full of heroin courtesy of the CIA. She hit a hundred on the straightaway and kept her foot mashed to the floor.