Zero-G (38 page)

The helicopter began a slow descent fifty yards away from the large metal box. The rotor blast kicked up dust and sand, and Tuck could feel the vibration of the powerful engine run through his body. If his family were indeed trapped inside that container, they would feel and hear his arrival.

THIRTY-FIVE

I
asked a straightforward question!” Quain's temper flared. A few feet away from where he stood lay the bleeding bodies of the two Secret Service men. Quain had not wanted to use the gun. There was always the risk of a gunshot being heard, but when he caught sight of the Secret Service agent slowly and foolishly making his way toward him, Quain did the only thing he could. The percussion of the 9mm blast rolled through the empty space of the hangar. The first Secret Service agent staggered back, clutched at his chest, then dropped to the concrete floor. Quain gave no thought to his next action: he turned and squeezed off another round, striking a second agent in the left shoulder. The man spun, cried in pain, and dropped to his knees.

At the first shot, nearly everyone in the hangar hit the ground. Several screamed, women wept, as did several men. Quain gazed over the frightened masses. Some covered their heads as if the bomb had gone off; others huddled on their knees as if in prayer. Only Tammy remained standing, shivering as if she stood on an Antarctic plateau with nothing more than a T-shirt and shorts to protect against the icy wind. Most amusing to Quain was the way old man Pistacchia stared at him. The man with him — a chauffeur, his guard, his personal assistant, whatever he was — had done his best to cover the old man's body with his own.

It was then that Quain had noticed the video feed from
Legacy
had gone black. He had been standing over Roos's shoulder watching every keystroke as he transferred money from one offshore account to Quain's. He turned to the three people seated at the control panel and asked, “What happened to the video?” No one answered.

Quain moved closer, put his face close to the communication tech's ear, and shouted at the top of his lungs,
“What happened to the video feed?”

The man shivered in fear. “I don't know. It just went blank.”

Quain stood erect. “When did it go blank?”

This time, he didn't have to ask twice. “Maybe five minutes ago.”

Quain nodded as if mulling over the statement. “Listen up, people. This man is lying to me, and it's about to get you killed.” He held up the dead-man's switch so that everyone in the room could witness his next act.

He released the switch.

The moment he did a piercing beep emanated from the backpack hanging from the frightened woman's shoulders. Her limbs shook as if suddenly struck by palsy.

“No, no, no, no. Please, please. Don't kill me. No, no, no.” . . .

Before the helicopter had fully touched down, Tuck was out the door and sprinting toward the battered container. “Myra! Dad? Kids?” he shouted the words while still ten yards from his destination. His heart no longer just beat, it pounded against his chest with rib-cracking intensity. He stopped just two feet away from the container and looked down. Footprints. Shoe prints of various sizes. Tuck didn't consider himself an expert in tracking, but he knew enough to know that four or more people had been standing here not long before.

“Myra?
Myra
!”

A muted voice: “Tuck! We're in here.”

“Are you all right?” Tuck put his face close to the doors.

“Unharmed. Scared. It's wonderful to hear your voice. The kids are here. Dad is here.”

Tuck looked down at the doors and saw that the two handles that opened the container were bound with a large Yale lock. “Hang tight, I'll be right back.”

“Tuck . . . wait . . .”

Tuck didn't wait for the rest of it. He sprinted to the helicopter. Riggins met him halfway. “They're in the container. There's a lock on the doors. Is there anything on the chopper I can use to break the lock?”

Riggins said, “I don't know, but I know how to find out.” He and Tuck ran through the soft dirt toward the chopper. What they found was a disappointment.

“We have a toolkit and a hacksaw; what you really need are bolt cutters.” The pilot and the copilot moved to the back of the craft and opened a toolkit. “The hacksaw might do the job, but it's going to take some time. Wait, I have a better idea. We just got a report from our other helicopter. The police and fire department have arrived at the hangar. I know the fire department carries bolt cutters on their trucks.”

“How long?” Tuck asked.

The pilot smiled. “A lot less time than it will take you to saw through a lock.”

Riggins looked at the man. “Make it happen.”

“Will do.” . . .

The piercing beeps stopped five seconds later as Quain once again pressed his thumb upon the dead man's switch. Verducci had watched it all with a kind of detachment like a theatergoer watches a play.

Five seconds. He let it run five seconds before pushing
the button again. There's a delay.

Verducci stood, and then carefully helped his employer rise to his feet. Pistacchia showed no signs of fear. The old man was as unshakable as concrete.

“Next time, folks, I won't stop the little countdown. Is that clear?”

Several people said, “Clear.”

Once again, Quain stepped to the young man at the control panel. “How long have the monitors been blank?”

“I don't know. They went dark not long after you spoke to Commander Tucker.”

Quain released a hot stream of obscenities. He turned to Roos, who still hovered over the laptop. “If you're not done by now, I will assume you're stalling.”

“It's done,” Roos said almost too softly to hear. “It takes time to transfer all six accounts. Offshore banking requires a lot of hoop jumping. But then again, I assume you already know that.”

“I know everything I need to know.” He moved to the laptop computer that Roos had been using and examined the screen. It appeared to Verducci that the man was satisfied. “Turn it off. I don't want you using the Internet to call for help.” As soon as Roos had powered down the laptop, Quain addressed the group. “All right, who are the jet jockeys that fly the business jet?”

“There you may have a problem.” The newest man in the group, the pilot of
Condor
, stepped forward. “They're not here.”

“Explain.”

“This is a VIP gathering,” Jim Tolson said. “In my book every pilot is a VIP, but unfortunately these guys weren't invited to the party. However, they are outside with the others. You want me to go get them?”

Verducci had never seen a man frown as much as Quain did at that moment.

Tolson spoke up. “If not, then I'm your man.”

“You're qualified to fly the business jet?” Quain looked doubtful.

“Listen, buddy, I'm clear to fly everything. In case you've forgotten, I just flew
Condor
to near-record altitudes. I think I can handle a business jet.”

“Then that's the way it's going to be. Don't mess with me. Remember, I still have a way of killing everyone here.”

“You'll get no trouble from me. I know how to take orders.” . . .

It took only ten minutes for the second helicopter to arrive and for one of the crewmen to emerge with bolt cutters in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. Tuck allowed himself a few moments of hope.

The crewman reported to Colonel Riggins and Tuck, “The fire department is on its way, just in case these don't do the trick. There was nothing for them to do there. California Highway Patrol will stay with the van and the body until the medical examiner and homicide arrives.”

It appeared that the man was going to give a longer report, but Tuck was in no mood to listen. He seized the bolt cutters and jogged to the container. By the time he had the powerful jaws of the scissorslike device clamped around the hardened steel of the lock, Riggins and his crewmen had joined him. It took Tuck two tries, but the lock gave way. Handing the bolt cutters to Riggins, Tuck quickly removed the lock, slipped open the latch, and swung the two doors wide. What he saw inside made his breath catch.

Tuck's family stood in line, each facing the same wall of the container, each standing with his or her hands extended. He took a step closer and examined what they cupped in their palms. Each held a small glass bottle.

Myra was the first in line, and she squinted through nearly closed eyes as the bright light of the desert sun poured into the makeshift prison.

“What — ?”

Tuck quieted the Colonel with a raised hand. “Um, hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi yourself, good lookin'.” Her words sounded sweet to his ears, but he knew something was wrong. He turned to Riggins. “You better let me handle this.”

With deliberate steps, Tuck walked into the container and stood before his wife. “Is that a present for me?” He studied the tiny glass bottle carefully, but could make no sense of it. It had a screw-top lid and a wire hanging from it. He looked up and could see where the distal end of the wire had connected to the ceiling.

“He told us these vials contain something that would kill us.” Her hands began to shake.

Tuck leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “If you don't mind, I think I'll take that.”

“Be careful.”

“You know me, I'm always careful.” As far as Tuck was concerned, the glass objects contained nitroglycerin. He doubted it would explode in his hands, but he treated it as if it would. As if in slow motion, he lifted the object from her palms and took it in his own hands. “Walk outside, and don't stop until you're at least halfway between us and the helicopter. Understand?”

“I'm not leaving without the children.”

“You're going to do exactly as I say.” The order came in the softest tone. “The kids will be right behind you. Now go.”

Myra hesitated only a moment before stepping from the shadowed container into the bright sun. Tuck turned, moved to the wall behind him, and gently set the vial on the metal floor. He moved to Penny. Tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped to her blouse; her lower lip trembled faster than Tuck thought possible.

“Hi . . . hi, Dad.” Had he not feared for her life and the life of the others he might've taken a moment to feel proud of her courage.

“Hi, baby. How are you?” As with Myra, he studied the object in his daughter's hand. It appeared to be the same as the one Myra had held.

“Scared. Real scared.”

“Yeah, you've had a rough day. You saw what Mom and I did?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, we're going to do the same thing. I'm going to take this thing from you, and then you're going to slowly and gently walk outside. Go to your mother.”

“But what about you?”

“I'll be out soon to collect hugs from everybody. Got a hug for your old man?”

“I've got a thousand of them.” She began to cry harder, and her hands shook. Tuck didn't waste another second; he reached forward and removed the object. As soon as he turned, he heard Penny leave. Sweat was forming on his brow and dripping into his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision.