Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (23 page)

After merging onto the freeway, he checked the digital clock in the dash—11:51. By morning, every media outlet around the globe would be hard at work spreading fear into the hearts of every living soul. He added volume to the radio, eager not to miss the news of the disastrous plane crash in San Francisco.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just received news that a Freedom Airlines Boeing 767 has been hijacked out of Los Angeles International Airport!”

What
?

Samael added volume to the radio.

“Less than ten minutes ago, one of our reporters, who happened to be a passenger on board the hijacked plane, called, telling us the pilot had announced he was going to crash the plane into the Golden Gate Bridge at midnight!”

Samael switched to another station.

The reporter was in midsentence. “…the word is that the Freedom Airlines jet is being flown by only one pilot.”

One
pilot
!

The reporter continued, “The pilot flying the plane apparently made an announcement to the passengers telling them the captain was no longer in the cockpit, but, instead, somewhere on the 405 freeway trying to get home…something to do with the captain’s family being held hostage. We’re not yet sure if the two incidents are connected. Stay with us for more.”

Samael punched the accelerator, looking for the next exit off the freeway. Plastered with a strong dose of déjà vu, a dark cloud entered his soul. He remembered the horrified face of Rex Dean’s wife when, instead of hearing that a commercial airliner had crashed into the Golden Gate Bridge, the TV news reporter announced that a commercial airliner had been intercepted and shot down by military fighter jets. The news had left Samael with no choice but to end the life of his hostage. He’d made it look as if Captain Dean had murdered her before leaving for work, complete with a suicide note and a nice little poem.

After exiting the freeway, Samael checked the time—11:55. He calculated he should arrive at the house at approximately the same time the infusion pumps were scheduled to switch ON. If he had not heard that Mitchell was headed home, he would have continued to L.A., letting the lethal drugs take care of the family. It would be after midnight before the authorities would arrive at the Mitchell’s house. By then, the wife and children would be well on their way to a better place.

He checked the time—11:56. Once he ensured Mitchell had not yet arrived at the house, and it was past midnight, there would be no reason to enter the house. If, however, Mitchell happened to be at the house when he arrived, which he doubted, he would kill them all. In and out. He’d be quick.

* * *

Keri trembled as she watched the seconds on the digital clock tick away. She rolled her head to the left to see both children sound asleep—or in a comma.

11:59:55

11:59:56

11:59:57

11:59:58

The freak had promised that if Ryan’s jet hit the bridge at midnight, the infusion pumps would not turn ON. She listened, waiting for the sound of the pumps to click ON.

11:59:59

12:00:00

Click

Click

Click

The pumps were running.

12:00:05

Keri started to sob, partly because she was happy that her husband might still be alive, but mostly because she and her two children would never see him again.

12:00:15

Her eyes grew heavy with sleep. She fought it. She strained against the drugs pulling her into darkness. She tried to remember all she could about Ryan: the sound of his strong voice, his laugh; the tender way he held her; the way his skin felt; all their happy moments together.

12:00:33

It was useless. The thoughts slipped away. The hand of darkness tugged harder.

12:01:01

It was too much for her. She let go and closed her eyes.

God
,
please
take
care
of
Ryan
,
wherever
he
is
.
Let
the
children
not
be
in
pain
as
they
leave
this
world
.

The fear that had earlier consumed her was now gone. Peace had replaced the worry. A sensation of warmth covered her.

The opening of the front door was the last sound she heard before her world went black. Unsure if it was the freak returning, or rescuers coming to save her…she could care less.

CHAPTER 34

12:03 a.m.

Ryan breathed deep, yanked the door hard, and burst into the house, rushing the lunatic.

Two seconds, maybe three, the lunatic straightened from a crouch. Catching him off guard, Ryan jumped on his back, clamped his left arm around the man’s neck, squeezing like a nutcracker on a pecan, pressing hard against the sides of his neck, clamping off the life-giving blood flowing through his jugulars into his brain.

The man stammered, clawing at Ryan’s arm, thrusting his elbows wildly like battering rams. The blows to Ryan’s sides made him cough and wince from the pain. He had to hold the pressure on the man’s neck and not let the animal shake him off. He squeezed tighter. The man should drop in less than a minute.

Continuing to absorb blows to his side, Ryan refused to loosen his death hold on the maniac’s neck. It was his only hope. The crazed man spun round and round.

Ryan caught a glimpse of his family—Keri, David, and Martha—strapped to stretchers with IV’s in their arms. Each bed was identical, a small motor buzzing, fluids flowing through clear lines, but he couldn’t let go.

“
Drop
!
Drop
!
Drop
!”

Seeing his family stretched out on deathbeds sent a fresh burst of adrenalin through Ryan’s muscles. The lunatic kept spinning, grasping, and pumping his elbows, growing weaker by the second.

The man thrust backwards against a wall, pounding Ryan into the sheetrock with such force, the wall cracked, leaving an indentation of Ryan’s back in the powdery structure. Off the wall, the lunatic’s legs grew wobbly, he stumbled.

Latched to the lunatic’s neck like a hungry viper unwilling to release a juicy dinner rat, Ryan squeezed harder. The man spun around, now facing a mirror hanging above the fireplace.

Ryan pulled with all his might, one last time, amazed the lunatic was still standing.

A momentary glance over the man’s shoulder and into the mirror riveted chills up Ryan’s back. There were two men in the mirrored reflection; one was his; the other—a red-faced bearded man, gasping for air, seconds from unconsciousness.

Impossible
!

He must be delusional.

“Rex! Is that you?”

Unable to talk, the man’s chin moved up and down.

Ryan released his scissor grip on Rex’s neck. Both men collapsed to the floor.

“It is you! You’re alive! How is it possible?”

Rex Dean gasped and coughed, sucking in quick, sharp breaths, nodding rapidly.

Ryan wrapped his arms around Rex. “I thought you were dead!”

Ryan quickly remembered his family, jumped up, and raced to the gurneys.

“They’re good!” Rex said, coughing and fighting to get the words out. “I stopped it.”

Ryan, already by Keri’s side, said, “They’re not moving!”

“They’re breathing.” Rex coughed. “Good pulse. They’re fine.” Finding traction with his words. “I got here just in time.” Rex struggled to his feet, still rubbing his neck. “If I hadn’t, they’d be gone by now.”

Ryan gently stroked Keri’s cheek, her body lying motionless on the gurney, as were the children’s. The clear lines attached to the infusion pumps dangled free, buzzing, and pumping the drugs through the clear tubes and onto the floor.

“We need to get them to a hospital,” Ryan said. “I’m calling 911.”

“I’ve already called. They should be here in a couple of minutes.”

Ryan looked at Rex. “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be dead. We went to your funeral.”

“I’ll explain later.” Before Rex could say another word, SWAT agents burst into the den from the open patio door. Helmeted, dressed in black, with raised assault rifles, yelling, “GET DOWN! ON THE FLOOR! FACE DOWN!

Ryan and Rex dropped to the floor. With his ear against the hardwood floor, Ryan felt the reverberate sound of more booted feet drumming into the room from the direction of the foyer. Someone grabbed his hands, pulled them behind his back, his shoulders pulling at their sockets, followed by the cutting sting of plastic flex cuffs being cinched around his wrist. He winced.

“You’ve got the wrong guys!” Ryan said. “This is my family! This is Rex Dean! We’re both pilots with Freedom Airlines! Some maniac was holding my family hostage, threatening to murder them! I’m the captain on the plane that was hijacked tonight!”

While two agents helped Ryan and Rex to their feet, EMTs rushed into the den. Ryan watched as medical personnel wheeled away the gurneys with Keri and David. Martha was unstrapped from her bed and carried out.

“That’s my family!” Ryan pleaded. “The lunatic that did this is still out there somewhere! I must go with them!”

The agent said, “Calm down. They’re in good hands. Before I can let you go, I need to see some identification.”

“My wallet is in my back pocket. Hurry! I want to go with my family!”

The agent dug Ryan’s wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open. He studied it briefly. “Okay, Mr. Mitchell. Let me cut those cuffs off.”

Once the cuffs were off, Ryan turned to Rex with a look that required no words. Rex said, “Go! I’ll be fine. Go be with your family!”

Ryan ran out of the den.

* * *

The shrill sound of sirens faded in the distance. The agent asked Rex, “Did you say your name was Dean?”

“Yes, Rex Dean.”

After a moment of thought, the agent locked eyes with Rex. “Rex Dean is dead. I was the lead agent on that case. I’ll never forget it.”

During the weeks that followed the unprecedented shooting down of a commercial airliner, Rex’s picture and the horrid story hit television news stations and all forms of print media from coast to coast and around the world. With his scraggly beard and hair over his ears, Rex was almost unrecognizable from the earlier pictures.

The agent searched Rex for a wallet. He pulled one from his back pocket and flipped it open. He studied the California driver’s license photo carefully—clean shaven, hair cut close. He glanced up at Rex’s face, studied it for a moment, then back at the wallet. Adjacent to the DMV mug shot was a photo of Rex and Emily together.

The agent closed the wallet. “And now you’re alive. How convenient. I don’t care how you did it, your twisted plan didn’t work.”

“No, you idiot!” Rex said, “You’ve got it all wrong!”

The agent snapped back, “Don’t get smart with me—”

“We’ve got a body in the downstairs bathroom!”A voice called out from the foyer.

PART III

“
You
prepare
a
table
before
me
in
the
presence
of
my
enemies
;
You
anoint
my
head
with
oil
,
my
cup
runs
over
.
Surely
goodness
and
mercy
shall
follow
me
all
the
days
of
my
life
;
and
I
will
dwell
in
the
house
of
the
Lord
forever
.” Psalm 23:5, 6

CHAPTER 35

12:15 a.m.

Samael arrived back at the Mitchell’s house only minutes after midnight. He positioned the Suburban on the opposite side of the street, a few houses down. Seeing no sign that Mitchell had returned, Samael was relieved and decided to observe the house a moment longer. By now, Keri and her two children would be pumped full of drugs and well on their way to the afterlife.

It
would
be
nice
to
see
Mitchell
wheeling
up
to
the
house
,
about
now
,
frantically
rushing
in
to
save
his
family
.
What
better
way
to
leave
him
with
a
visual
message
of
the
meaning
of
trust
—
something
he
was
obviously
having
trouble
with
.

The silence of the night was suddenly stirred by darkened silhouettes of images rushing across the front lawns of the neighborhood houses—like roaches in a darkened kitchen scurrying about searching for a tasty morsel of food. The stealth-like invaders moved swiftly.

He counted: two, four, eight, perhaps ten men. As one man passed beneath a pool of light from a street lamp, the white letters on the man’s back screamed out: SWAT.

Samael chuckled at the gung-ho macho men, with their
hope
for
the
best
,
plan
for
the
worst
mentality. Beneath each Nomex flame-retardant combat suit, the knights in shining ballistic armor were merely children, trembling boys, hiding behind their guns, driven against their fears by the rush of adrenalin.

An ambulance screeched around the corner, pulling to the curb in front of the Mitchell home. He checked the time—12:17 a.m. By now, the infusion pumps had filled the three bodies full of lethal drugs. It was too late.

A soldier positioned at the front door of the Mitchell’s house waved to the ambulance crew, signaling for them to come. Five men took off in a sprint toward the house. Moments later, four men emerged from the house with two gurneys. The flimsy beds rattled down the short driveway as the fifth man trailed with the little girl cradled in his arms. The ambulance workers retracted the legs of the gurneys and slid them into the ambulance. The man carrying the little girl joined them.