There was something in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before, a distant, almost haunted look, as if he were looking through her, as if she didn’t really count in the equation that was governing his thoughts and actions.
“The people stay, Kat.”
“Dammit, at least let a few off. There’s a wife back there whose husband you sent on a wild goose chase in Durango. The poor guy’s petrified because she’s pregnant and scared. Please, Ken! At least let her off.”
“And while I’m at it, a few more, right?”
Kat nodded, aware that he was hesitating and thinking it over.
“There’s no difference between keeping twenty or a hundred and twenty, Ken, except that releasing a hundred gives the FBI reason to give you something in return.”
“First it’s a single frightened wife, now it’s a hundred.
“The point’s still valid, plus you’re too heavy to take off with a full load of people and fuel.”
Ken glanced at the right window. “You see a fuel truck out there?”
Kat looked around at the ramp. “Yes, there’s one there.”
Ken nodded. “And he’s still pumping. As soon as he’s finished, we’re out of here.”
A very cold feeling was spreading down her back.
“Ken, a hundred thirty passengers, baggage, and fuel and according to that Gulfstream crew, there’s no way you can lift this seven-thirty-seven off this runway. You’ll kill all of us trying!”
“I guess we’ll see, Kat.”
She stared at him as he adjusted the air conditioning and pressurization panel overhead, then pulled the P.A. microphone from the pedestal and pressed the button.
“Folks, there’s going to be a small delay in my ability to let you off the aircraft. We may need to fly to another airport to do that. In the meantime, just so no one will be tempted, I’ve pressurized the aircraft. None of the doors or emergency exits will open, so please don’t try.”
He reached down to replace the microphone as Kat shook her head.
“I don’t believe you.”
Ken stopped and glanced up at her. “What?”
“What about the kids?”
He straightened up, a puzzled look on his face.
“What kids?”
She gestured to the back, a short, angry, staccato gesture. “There are kids back there you’ve been virtually terrorizing for the past few hours. The ones who’re now in tears and shaking and holding on to their parents. Is this how you avenge Melinda’s death? Your little girl was terrorized, tortured, and murdered. You’re threatening to do the same to these kids.”
She’d been trying to spark a small explosion, and she’d finally succeeded.
“Shut up! Goddam you, just shut the hell up!” he snarled at her. “How dare you compare a brief inconvenience for anyone back there to what Lumin did?” His eyes were wide with anger, his left hand gripping the glareshield for control. “You want to talk about kids? Let’s talk about kids! This one, for instance!” He reached in his shirt pocket and removed something, slapping it down on the center console. Kat looked at the pretty face of a smiling young girl.
“Melinda?” she asked.
He nodded. “That’s the kid I care about. Besides, how the hell do you know whether there’re any kids back there?”
Kat kept her voice low and steady. “Because it’s true, and you know it. To get Melinda’s killer, you’ve blinded yourself to the effects on all those people, and blinded yourself to the effect on the kids—the children just like Melinda.”
Ken replaced the picture in his pocket and shook his head violently. “You’re guessing!”
“Call your flight attendants. I assume they’re still back there somewhere. Go ahead, Ken. Call them. Ask them. Find out!”
He straightened up, glowering at her, and slammed the palm of his hand into the padded edge of the glareshield, causing Kat to wince.
“Dammit, Kat, don’t push me too far! I forced you in here to break Bostich, not to take over. You’re on thin ice here.”
She nodded, trying to keep the butterflies in check.
“I know, Ken. You’ve got all the cards. You’ve got a bomb and you’ve got a gun, I already know that. You’re willing to take my life to get what you want, and kill everyone aboard. But I also know what you’re trying to accomplish here, and right now you’re embarrassed that you didn’t think about the kids, and you know I’m right, and one more—”
“That’s ENOUGH!” he yelled in her face.
“NO!” she yelled back, eyes flaring. “It’s not enough! You don’t need the kids aboard to get this done. Ken? Ken, listen to me! The FBI needs progress in the form of released passengers, and those kids back there need off of this nightmare. Don’t you think they’re terrified watching their parents being scared? Don’t you think they can understand what it means when the pilot gets on the P.A. and threatens to blow them up?”
She saw him transfer the small electronic trigger to his right hand, his finger carefully sliding onto the depressed button, his left hand disappearing toward his map case. The flash of chrome from the barrel of the deputy’s gun caught her by surprise. He pulled it out and looked at her, breathing hard, his jaw set, his eyes aflame. Kat felt her heart racing as she watched the barrel, expecting it to descend toward her accompanied by the sound of the hammer clicking in place.
Instead, Ken Wolfe turned the barrel to the side until it was pointed at his own temple. His index finger slid to the trigger.
“Ken, NO!” Her eyes dropped to the trigger device in his right hand.
“Kat …” he closed his eyes briefly then opened them and swallowed hard. “Maybe I should finish it here and now. If I can’t get Bostich and I can’t get Lumin, then I might as well. I’m not going to live past today, anyway.”
“Ken, Jeez, at least defuse the bomb first!”
He glanced down at the trigger and nodded.
A burst of conflicting thoughts ricocheted through her head. Letting him defuse the bomb and shoot himself would end it, but what of Bostich and Lumin? If she talked him out of it, would she be perpetuating the hijacking? Would she be almost an accessory? Would she be responsible if something terrible happened later?
She almost missed the fact that he was lowering the gun, his finger off the trigger, saving her from the decision.
Kat took a deep breath. “Ken, defuse the bomb before your finger slips and you kill us all. Let the passengers out, and then let me question Bostich here, on the ground.”
He paused, his eyes on hers. “Kat, don’t—”
“Don’t what, Ken?” she asked quietly. “Don’t interfere? Come on. You know you miscalculated about the kids. Let them off. Let that poor man’s pregnant wife off, and put that gun back in your case. You can’t even consider shooting yourself until this is concluded, and you need to defuse that damn bomb. Suppose you tripped and dropped the trigger?”
He nodded slowly as he reached around to drop the gun in the bag, transferred the trigger back to his left hand, then reached for the interphone to call the rear galley.
Kat kept her eyes steady on him.
“Annette, do we have children aboard?” Ken asked into the interphone handset.
The feminine voice from the rear galley was cold and even, Kat thought.
“Of course.”
“How many?”
“I haven’t counted them, Ken, but at least one infant, a scattering of young children under ten, and probably three, maybe two, very young teens, like, say, eleven to thirteen. We also have a high school band. Why?”
Ken’s eyes were squarely on Kat’s, but there was no mockery. “All the kids, their parents, and the woman whose husband we left in Durango are going to get off. The high school band, too. Kids and chaperones. Everyone else stays.”
He replaced the interphone and unsnapped his seatbelt as he looked at her again. “Fasten your seatbelt, Kat, and keep it fastened. Do not get out of that seat.” He reached back for the gun and stuck
it in his belt as he swung out of the seat and left the cockpit to open the door and extend the stairs.
Kat pressed the transmit button immediately, speaking in little more than a whisper.
“Dane, Jess, are you there?”
“Yes,” Dane’s voice responded instantly.
“He’s going to release kids and parents. Could you take them aboard your bird, or get them to the terminal?”
“We’ll arrange it.”
“Did you talk to Frank?”
“Yes, Kat. He said the command passes now to Washington and help’s on the way to immobilize.”
“No, Dane! Call him, tell him they can’t risk that! I’m working on Wolfe. They must not put anything or anyone in here that will spook this man.”
“I’ll relay it, Kat, but your friend Frank thinks it’s too late.”
“Then call Washington. Get the number from Frank. Explain I’m making progress, but tell them I need all the background they can get on Rudolph Bostich.”
“How will they talk to you?”
“Don’t know yet. Hold on.”
She could hear Ken making the P.A. announcement, asking all families with children to get their things together and stand by to leave.
“We see the door opening, Kat.”
“They’ll be coming out in a moment. He’s made a P.A. Tell Washington I’ll either call them on a cell phone or relay through you and your Flitephone.”
“The Flitephone won’t work here, Kat, but we’ve got a satellite phone Bill says we can turn on when you need it.”
The sound of passengers and a crying baby greeted her ears as she turned and looked through the partially opened door. She heard the P.A. coming on again.
“I know all of you want off, and I wish I could let you off. But the coward you saw run down the aisle some time ago, Rudolph Bostich, the prosecutor whose lies let my daughter’s killer go free … until Bostich confesses, and I mean signs a confession and admits what he did on a telephone to the judge in the case, I can’t let all of you go. Melinda … that was my daughter’s name …”
Kat heard a choked sob as the P.A. went silent. Through the door she could see Ken’s left arm as it hung down by his side, his fingers still pressing the button on the small plastic trigger device, and she could hear him clear his throat.
The P.A. clicked on again.
“Melinda would not want me to scare children, so for the young people on board, I’m truly sorry. In about five minutes I’m going to lower the stairs and have you take your parents and go. And the lady whose husband was left behind in Durango, I’ll want you to go, too. Just, please, remember what I’ve told you, remember my daughter. What I’m doing is against the law, but the law has failed, and I have no choice.”
TWENTY-TWO
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90, Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:50 P.M.
Annette watched the last family pull their bags out of the overhead bins and move forward anxiously, the wife turning to squeeze the free hand of an older gentleman across the aisle.
“Go on, now. I’ll be fine,” the older man said to her.
As the family passed the middle of the cabin, a youth Annette had spotted—a teenage boy—stood and looked around uncertainly, until he saw Annette coming up from the rear. He pointed to himself and raised an eyebrow, watching Annette’s face as she moved to him.
“How old are you?”
“I’m … ah … fourteen, actually fifteen, this month. Can I go?”
She nodded and pointed toward the front. The gossamer hint of a smile flickered across his face, and he turned and walked forward briskly, watched, Annette saw, by Blenheim, the obnoxious tour company owner in the bulkhead seat who stood as the boy approached. The man put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and leaned over to say something to him in a voice Annette couldn’t hear. The boy looked around, a startled expression on his face, then nodded at the man, who grabbed a briefcase and moved into the aisle, his hand tightly clasped to the boy’s right shoulder.
They were thirty feet ahead of her, but she broke into a trot, covering the distance quickly.
“Sir?”
He pretended not to hear, moving with the boy toward the entryway where Ken stood watching the exodus.
“Sir! Stop!”
The passengers who were being left behind began turning to look as Annette reached them.
Blenheim turned and hesitated, holding the boy by the shoulder as he looked back with a startled expression.
“I’m trying to leave with my boy, here,” he said, sounding pained.
“This is your son?” Annette asked, pointing to the boy, who was looking terrified.
Blenheim nodded. “What, now I need a birth certificate to please you?”
Annette looked the boy in the eye.
“Is this your father?”
There was a panicked hesitation before Blenheim jumped in. “This is ridiculous. Of course I’m his father!”
“I didn’t ask you, sir.”
She motioned to the boy to step around Blenheim and come back toward her, and she leveled a finger at the tour company owner before he could speak.
“Keep quiet, sir, and stay there.”
The last family to leave was rounding the corner in front of Ken and moving toward the steps. Annette leaned over to speak in the boy’s ear.
“You have to tell me the truth, son. Is that man really your father?”
The boy shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Is he related to you in any way?”
“No.”
“You ever see him before he jumped to his feet and told you to pretend you were his son?”
“No, ma’am. But I don’t mind.”
“I do.” She whirled on Blenheim, who’d been nothing but trouble since takeoff. “YOU! Step back, NOW!”
She ushered the teen safely past the man and watched until the boy had turned the corner and started down the steps.
Ken had been watching the exchange from his position in the entryway some twenty-five feet away.
“What’s the problem, Annette?”
Violently conflicting emotions washed over her as she looked at Ken. He was the hijacker, yet he was the captain. She could have helped another passenger escape, yet she had held him back. She glanced at the obnoxious man, remembering his withering arrogance and insulting behavior at the first of the flight, and the decision suddenly became easier.
Blenheim stood wide-eyed in shock, backing up into one of the first class rows.
“Who is that, Annette?” Ken said.
She looked forward at Ken. “This is the Mikey I told you about in Colorado Springs who hates everything.” Her eyes snapped back to Blenheim. “He just tried to sneak out pretending to be that boy’s father.”
Blenheim turned to look at Ken, who stared back for several very long seconds.
“Annette,” Wolfe said at last, “strap him in a coach seat, then get on the P.A. and tell everyone on board what he tried to do, and tell them his name and the name of his company.”
She smiled for the first time in hours. “With pleasure, Ken.”
Aboard Gulfstream N5LL, Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:52 P.M.
In the cockpit of N5LL, Bill North and his two pilots watched the brief exodus from Flight 90 in suspense, hoping it might continue. But when the steps began to retract, fewer than half the people had left.
“Dane, if we’re in agreement with what we discussed, hand me the mike, please.”
“We are,” he said, putting the microphone in North’s hand.
“Kat, this is Bill North. Can you hear me?”
There was a brief hesitation. They could see Wolfe once more through the captain’s side window on the 737, apparently getting settled in his left seat.
“I’m here, Bill. So is Ken Wolfe,” Kat responded.
“Understood. It’s Wolfe I want to talk to.”
Dane looked up at his boss and nodded again, then glanced back through the door
as Jess helped several more of the passengers aboard the Gulfstream.
“This is Ken Wolfe. Who’s speaking?”
“Bill North, Captain. I own the Gulfstream, and as you may know, I’m vice chairman of AirBridge Airlines. Look, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“What are you doing here, Mr. North?” Ken’s voice carried a shocked tone.
“I’ve been here all along, Captain. I was getting ready to fly to our headquarters to respond to this thing when you popped into my home airport at Salt Lake.”
“Mr. North, look—”
“Bill, please.”
There was a long silence.
“Okay. Look, I’m sorry for all of this, but I’ve got no choice.”
“I want to offer you something, Ken.”
“I’m not after money.”
“I’m not offering money. I’m offering a trade. Let’s swap aircraft. You leave the rest of those folks over there, bring Kat and your other hostage, and come take my bird. My pilots have volunteered to fly you wherever you want to go, I’ll stay as a hostage, and I’m sure you know the Gulfstream Four can get you almost anywhere.”
“No thanks, Mr. North.”
“Captain, come on. You and I both know you can’t get that Boeing out of here safely. The temperature over the runway is rising, the density altitude is above eleven thousand feet, and you’re going to risk everyone’s life if you try it. Those are our passengers. You’re a responsible airline captain. You simply can’t imperil them with a wild takeoff attempt. This Gulfstream can hop out of here just fine. Your Boeing can’t.
Dane pointed toward the right window, his voice a stage whisper. “The fueler is finished loading. He’s sucked up two trucks. About thirty thousand pounds worth.”
More silence. Bill North found himself searching frantically for a different approach.
“Ken? You know I’m the majority stockholder in Tom Davidson’s airline, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know I personally helped Tom get you the job with AirBridge and move you to Colorado?”
“I’m … grateful, sir. No, I didn’t know that.”
The Last Hostage Page 25