Jennifer, seeing she’d subdued Bayani by holding him on the ground with a joint lock. I strode over to him and said, “Where’s the other one?”
He said nothing. I leaned in and punched his face. “Where’s the fucking other one?”
He shouted in Tagalog.
I grabbed the arm Jennifer held, telling her to back off. I began to work it against the joint.
“You’re done. The only thing remaining is whether you get to use this arm in prison. Where is it?”
He screamed but said nothing. I felt the time ticking, wondering if there was an aircraft now floating to earth in pieces. I cranked again. “Where the fuck is it!”
Jennifer shouted. “Pike, I’ve got his phone. He’s got text messages in it with flight numbers.”
“What are they?”
She ran to me and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
“Jesus Christ, that’s our flight.”
I looked at my watch, seeing it was ten o’clock. “Damn. It’s on our plane and that thing is taking off right now.”
I scanned the field, seeing a multitude of aircraft, one leaving the confines of earth into the sky.
I dialed my phone. “Johnny, where are you?”
“Entering the airport. What’s the status of the target?”
“He’s down, but there’s a flight leaving with a barometric IED on it. Set to thirty thousand feet. We have to get that plane down.”
I heard him curse before coming back on. “Pike, how are we going to do that? We can’t bust in like the Lone Ranger. It’ll burn the Taskforce. There’s no way to explain how we know.”
What he said was correct. We were about to demolish an enormously complex and diverse counterterrorism apparatus and destroy a few political careers in the process. But there were probably two hundred souls on the aircraft that would appreciate the gesture.
“Fuck the Taskforce. Get to the tower. Contact that plane before it leaves radio range of Manila. Before it reaches thirty grand.”
I watched the contrails of the jet and wondered if I was going to see a fireball. Jennifer said, “Are we good?”
“No. We’re bad all the way around. That plane is probably going to explode. And bring the Taskforce down with it.”
Jennifer said, “Let’s get to the tower. The plane won’t reach thirty thousand for at least twenty minutes.”
“What, are you an airline pilot now?”
“My dad was. Remember, I know about such things.”
That was true. A few years ago, when we’d first met, we were being chased by the Transportation Security Administration inside the Atlanta airport because of mistaken identity. Jennifer had provided the way out using a Delta pilot’s lounge she knew about because of her father. I dropped Bayani’s arm, jumped on our tractor, and fired it up. He remained on the ground, wondering if the gift he was seeing was real. It was, and I’d kick myself if it ended in disaster and he was allowed to go free. I had no other choice.
We raced across the tarmac as fast as the tractor would go, finally alerting the authorities that something strange was going on as we crossed an active runway, wide-bodied jet captains screaming into their radios. I saw lights on vehicles and wondered how long it would take to get the plane to level off once I got someone with an official radio.
We might make it.
Behind me, Jennifer leaned into my ear, “Pike, tell them we’re Department of Homeland Security. Tell them we’re on the trail of a terrorist. Let the Taskforce clean up the mess.”
I kept driving, saying, “Department of Homeland Security? They’ll see right through that. Those guys do nothing overseas.”
I swerved around a pothole and she wrapped her hands around my chest. “Jesus. Watch where you’re going.”
I straightened out and she said, “Nobody knows what DHS does. Not even them. It’ll work. Make it out like we’ve tracked him from the States. It’s a Delta flight. A U.S. flag carrier. Just don’t let them see a passport. Nothing about Grolier Services.”
Yeah, that would be a
He said nothing. I leaned in and punched his face. “Where’s the fucking other one?”
He shouted in Tagalog.
I grabbed the arm Jennifer held, telling her to back off. I began to work it against the joint.
“You’re done. The only thing remaining is whether you get to use this arm in prison. Where is it?”
He screamed but said nothing. I felt the time ticking, wondering if there was an aircraft now floating to earth in pieces. I cranked again. “Where the fuck is it!”
Jennifer shouted. “Pike, I’ve got his phone. He’s got text messages in it with flight numbers.”
“What are they?”
She ran to me and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
“Jesus Christ, that’s our flight.”
I looked at my watch, seeing it was ten o’clock. “Damn. It’s on our plane and that thing is taking off right now.”
I scanned the field, seeing a multitude of aircraft, one leaving the confines of earth into the sky.
I dialed my phone. “Johnny, where are you?”
“Entering the airport. What’s the status of the target?”
“He’s down, but there’s a flight leaving with a barometric IED on it. Set to thirty thousand feet. We have to get that plane down.”
I heard him curse before coming back on. “Pike, how are we going to do that? We can’t bust in like the Lone Ranger. It’ll burn the Taskforce. There’s no way to explain how we know.”
What he said was correct. We were about to demolish an enormously complex and diverse counterterrorism apparatus and destroy a few political careers in the process. But there were probably two hundred souls on the aircraft that would appreciate the gesture.
“Fuck the Taskforce. Get to the tower. Contact that plane before it leaves radio range of Manila. Before it reaches thirty grand.”
I watched the contrails of the jet and wondered if I was going to see a fireball. Jennifer said, “Are we good?”
“No. We’re bad all the way around. That plane is probably going to explode. And bring the Taskforce down with it.”
Jennifer said, “Let’s get to the tower. The plane won’t reach thirty thousand for at least twenty minutes.”
“What, are you an airline pilot now?”
“My dad was. Remember, I know about such things.”
That was true. A few years ago, when we’d first met, we were being chased by the Transportation Security Administration inside the Atlanta airport because of mistaken identity. Jennifer had provided the way out using a Delta pilot’s lounge she knew about because of her father. I dropped Bayani’s arm, jumped on our tractor, and fired it up. He remained on the ground, wondering if the gift he was seeing was real. It was, and I’d kick myself if it ended in disaster and he was allowed to go free. I had no other choice.
We raced across the tarmac as fast as the tractor would go, finally alerting the authorities that something strange was going on as we crossed an active runway, wide-bodied jet captains screaming into their radios. I saw lights on vehicles and wondered how long it would take to get the plane to level off once I got someone with an official radio.
We might make it.
Behind me, Jennifer leaned into my ear, “Pike, tell them we’re Department of Homeland Security. Tell them we’re on the trail of a terrorist. Let the Taskforce clean up the mess.”
I kept driving, saying, “Department of Homeland Security? They’ll see right through that. Those guys do nothing overseas.”
I swerved around a pothole and she wrapped her hands around my chest. “Jesus. Watch where you’re going.”
I straightened out and she said, “Nobody knows what DHS does. Not even them. It’ll work. Make it out like we’ve tracked him from the States. It’s a Delta flight. A U.S. flag carrier. Just don’t let them see a passport. Nothing about Grolier Services.”
Yeah, that would be a
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