Roman didn’t respond, focused on his work as he was. They sat in relative silence then, interrupted by the thrum of the engines and the clicking of buttons as Roman finished what he was doing and finally taxied them out of the hangar and onto the strip, and got them into the sky. Elena watched the world blur around them and the landscape below fade into indeterminate blobs of light and color. When she realized they hadn’t spoken at all since leaving the hangar, she let out a tiny sigh of relief; it seemed that Roman’s endless questions were over.
After what felt to Elena like a small eternity, she leaned back in her seat and looked more closely at the sea of tiny buttons and blinking lights. She had never been in a cockpit before. Everything looked so complicated.
Growing tired of staring at the console and all of its complexities, she next watched the clouds for as long as she could bear, then eventually pulled a meal replacement bar and a heavy leatherbound tome from her suitcase. She munched with relative contentment while she read.
“Dostoyevsky?” Roman asked. She looked up to find him staring at her with the faintest hint of intrigue.
“Uh… yeah? Why?” She gave him a sideways look.
“Just didn’t expect that is all,” he said.
“What, just because I’m pretty, you think I can’t read?” Elena nodded toward her suitcase. “Today, Dostoyevsky, and tomorrow, Nietzsche.”
“Never would have pegged you as the philosophy type,” Roman said quietly, looking back toward the front of the plane. Elena rolled her eyes and buried her attention back in her book.
Hours passed while she remained engrossed in her reading, until she noticed Roman fidgeting.
He kept checking that small screen he’d been examining earlier, and she saw something unfamiliar on his face: a flicker of concern.
“Everything… okay?” she asked. Any trace of contempt had fled from her voice now—her earlier irritation had long since passed, and this man was the pilot; if he was concerned, she was, as well. Maybe chauffeurone wasn’t the nicest person, and maybe she generally hated his guts, but a problem with the plane meant a problem with them getting home—and Elena wanted nothing more than to be at the Sokolov mansion and out of this plane.
“To be honest, no. You’re going to have to help me so we don’t crash,” Roman said gravely.
Elena could only stare back at him, praying he was joking.
3
Roman
“You’re serious?” Elena asked.
Roman nodded. His eyes scanned the monitor, checking the readings for what seemed like the twentieth time, before looking back to her. He hated to ask this catty, loathsome woman for anything at all, especially help, but their lives were at stake.
“Do you see that, there?” He pointed to a small gauge near the center of one of the monitor screens. “There’s an engine indication advisory. The oil temperature in engine three is over a hundred degrees hotter than the other engines.”
“Uh, so, what? You want me to climb out onto the wing and fix it while we’re flying?” Elena asked. She blew out a sarcastic puff of air as her hands twisted together in her lap, her book falling to the side. Despite the jab, she looked genuinely worried, and despite the circumstances, Roman got a little satisfaction out of watching her sweat.
“No,” he answered with a small smile. “I need to remain focused and sit here to fly the plane since autopilot and navigation has been on the fritz, and I need you to talk me through the steps to fix the problem.” Before Roman could continue, Elena interrupted.
“Like I know anything about airplane engines! Are you crazy?” she shrieked.
“If you’d let me finish…” He glared at her. “There should be a manual under your seat. I need you to check the index and find the section on electrical issues. Turn to the page listed and look for an entry regarding engine temperature.”
Elena pulled a massive, spiral-bound manual from beneath her seat and began flipping through it furiously. She skimmed the index, a single manicured finger trailing down the page, until she found what she was looking for. Roman alternated between watching her, watching the console and monitors, and focusing on flying the plane.
Roman’s time in the Russian army, coupled with his experience working for the Sokolovs, had forged him to be especially good under pressure. From the look on Elena’s face and the shaking of her hands, it was clear she hadn’t had anything to offer her the same training. She looked to be a few breaths away from panicking, and he wondered if eyes were even focusing on the words in front of her. If they were going to get through this, they needed to work together as a team.
“Elena.” Roman tried to soften his voice and sound soothing. “If you routinely read heavy literature like Dostoyevsky, then you are smart, and you are capable. You can do this. All you have to do is find the right pages, and then read aloud. I’ll take care of the rest.”
His encouragement seemed to work. He heard Elena inhale and exhale a few times with intent, this being followed by the careful shuffling of pages.
“Got it. Electrical. Uhhh… let’s see here,” she said. “Engines one, two, three, four, overheating. Oh geez, this makes no sense.”
“It’s okay. Just read what it says. Even if you don’t know what it means, I will. You can do this. We will get through this,” Roman said as he watched the engine three temperature gauge slowly continue to climb.
Elena rattled off a series of technical directions. Roman reached above them, flipped a few switches, and held a button to restart one of the on-board generators. He watched the temperature gauge, but there was no change. Engine three still risked overheating, and they still had quite a distance to go until they were back in Boston.
Shit-shit-shit, Roman thought. He did his best to remain outwardly cool to avoid upsetting Elena.
“Resetting the generator didn’t work,” he told her. “I know our load isn’t too heavy because the plane is practically empty. Let’s see… go to the engine section and look for ‘engine oil high temp.’” His palms had begun to sweat now, and his hold on the steering yoke slipped for just a minute.
The plane shook and rattled. Elena let out a small scream, and Roman did his best not to jump at the sudden sound.
“We’re going to be okay, it’s just turbulence. Are you on the right page yet?” he asked with more forced calmness.
The problem wasn’t turbulence.
“Like, how are you not freaking out right now, Roman? We are gonna crash and we are gonna die,” Elena said, her tone somewhere between terrified and joking. She kept flipping, though, and Roman kept a tight grip on the yoke. He focused on his breathing.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to us,” he said, a resolve he didn’t quite feel coming through in his voice. The plane rattled again, but this time Elena didn’t scream. Roman could only hope she would be able to keep it together. Even though it pained him to momentarily push aside his frustration with her, he was glad his reassurance seemed to be helping her calm down.
When they got out of this, Roman might even be able to forgive her for being so disrespectful.
Might.
“Got it!” Elena exclaimed. She held the manual close to her face and squinted as she read the next set of directions aloud.
Roman’s heart sank when he heard what she said. He asked her to repeat it, and when she did, he bit the inside of his cheek to stay focused.
“We need to manually reset the engine. When that starts, the monitor here will display some scary-looking warnings. After the engine is offline, we’ll have about five minutes to go through the reset procedure.”
“We?” she repeated. “As in, we, me and you, and not just you?” Elena asked.
“Yes, we,” Roman replied in earnest. “All you need to do is push some buttons and pull some levers when I say so. Nice and easy.”
Suddenly, the plane jolted and jarred, sending both of them jerking forward. If not for their seat belts, they each would have collided face-first with the consol
e. Elena looked terrified, and grabbed his arm for just a moment to steady herself.
Her gripping him had been instinctive, wanting security—in him. It had been a woman’s touch. Roman felt something stir deep in a part of him he’d long forgotten, but shoved the emotion aside quickly.
“Are you ready?” he asked, and held the yoke steady and looked at the monitor one last time. The temperature in engine three was still rising.
“Ready,” Elena said in a determined whisper. Roman reached above them and held the button for the engine to start the reset procedure. After a few seconds, a bright red warning began to flash on the engine monitor. The plane lurched again. Roman’s heart leapt into his throat and sweat beaded on his skin. The air in the cockpit suddenly felt stale in his lungs.
“Flip the switch that says ECAM underneath it,” Roman said. He fought against the yoke to keep the plane under control while Elena searched for the right switch. She flipped it.
“What next?” she asked.
He guided her through the procedure, his own hands busy with the yoke and other needs at every moment. She continued to press a careful series of buttons and toggles, and Roman was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she acted on each of his demands.
The plane bounced again as engine three sputtered. A tiny cry escaped Elena’s lips, but she continued her work while Roman guided the plane and double-checked their coordinates.
“Now, slowly—carefully—pull back on the lever that says three.” He nodded toward four large levers that sat in the middle of the seats, between the two of them. “Make sure it says three, and only three, or else one of our functional engines will be nonfunctional.”
“Three. Got it. No pressure, right?” Elena huffed. She pulled back on the lever and the plane bounced wildly, so that she froze where she was and stared at him, unsure whether to go forward with the instruction or not. Roman’s knuckles turned white as he held the yoke with all his strength to guide them back on course.
“Slowly! I said slowly.” This time he hadn’t been able to keep the agitation and fear out of his voice.
“That was slow!” she snapped back.
“Slower!”
“Why don’t you do it, then? Jesus fucking Christ, you’re the pilot, not me. Why isn’t this plane safe to begin with? Don’t you know how to do your fucking job!” she screamed at him.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Roman shot back at her. Of all the people in the world to have to rely on now, why was it her?
“My mother is dead, idiot, but that’s not the point. Why don’t you just pull the lever since I’m not slow enough?”
“Because I have a plane to fly! You can do this, Elena, just ease it back.” Roman gritted his teeth and continued to hang onto the yoke. He heard her growl in exasperation, but had to keep his eyes on what he was doing; he had to trust she’d figure it out.
Just when Roman began to doubt her, she put her hand back on the lever and lowered it—slowly. As soon as it was all the way down, he quickly coached her through another series of buttons.
The monitor started beeping in a rapid, ear-splitting tone.
“Oh shit! What now?” Elena sounded panicked again.
“Same as before, lever three, nice and slow, but this time you’re going to push it forward,” Roman instructed her.
“Forward. Right. Sure.” She carefully pushed the lever upward, back into its original position.
As soon as lever three clicked into place, the beeping stopped and the monitor quit flashing. The plane made a gentle whirring.
And then, all was still. Roman exhaled and glanced from the front window to the monitor, and then to Elena. She still wore a residual look of panic, but he watched as it faded to uncertainty, and then hesitant relief.
“We did it,” he said gently. “We’re going to get home safe.”
4
Elena
The rest of the flight was tense. She pretended to read for a while. Her eyes scanned the page, but no information dared enter her brain. They had almost died. Or, at least, it felt like they’d almost died.
The incident continued to replay over and over in her head. Every time the plane hit a bump of turbulence, she paled and glanced to the engine temperature monitors. Roman, however, seemed as cool and reserved as ever, even when speaking into his headset to air traffic. On occasion, Elena would look over and scrutinize his face, but every time she did, he seemed focused. Almost relaxed.
When they’d first met at the café with Alexandra, she had flirted with him not only as a distraction, but because he was genuinely attractive. His thick hair fell straight across the eyebrows, falling like slashes across his face. His eyes were the same color as a stormy sky, a captivating deep grey that kept sucking her in at odd moments. And even though he’d worn a nondescript black suit each time Elena had seen him, she could tell from the cut of the suit and the way it moved against his skin that he had a hard, fit body.
Attractiveness aside, however, she also remembered the way he had burst into her apartment and bossed her around when Alexandra had stopped by. Who did that? Who just walked into someone else’s home and told them what to do?
Then, just when she’d thought he couldn’t get any ruder, tonight he’d had the nerve to question her. Not only question her, she realized, but also talk to her with the same even, almost condescending tone, that a parent used on a surly teenager.
Still, he had remained so unshakably calm during the emergency... He’d known just what to say, and how to say it, to give Elena the courage she needed. Maybe chaufferone wasn’t so bad after all.
“How often does that happen?” Elena finally asked, breaking the long silence.
“What, an engine overheating?” Roman glanced to her. “I’ve never had that happen before.”
“Wow. Lucky us.” It was all Elena could think to say. Her heart had continued to race long after the emergency, and she felt almost dizzy now that the adrenaline rush had been left behind.
“Not too lucky. We’re low on fuel.” Roman pointed to a small circular gauge. Elena stared at it, wide-eyed, then turned to stare at him.
“How much further do we have to go? Please don’t tell me I need to pull out the manual again or something,” Elena said, trying to hide her second round of panic for the night. She saw Roman’s mouth twitch. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a tiny, faint smile.
“A few miles. We’re almost ready to land, and we’ve been descending for a long time now. I’m surprised you didn’t notice,” Roman said.
“You bastard!” She swatted at the air next to him in a dramatic gesture. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“Payback, Ms. Popov, for the troubles you have caused me.” Roman’s faint smile widened into a smirk.
“I’m not even going there right now.” Elena rolled her eyes. “But I will remind you, chaufferone, that I saved the day by reading you that manual.” She crossed her arms and scooted deeper into her seat.
“And I will remind you that, without me to guide you and fly the plane, we both would have been eaten by sharks or frozen in the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Just gotta outdo me, don’t you?” Elena snorted. “Ass.”
Despite his mean joke, Roman was right; within minutes, she felt the plane jump and screech as they touched down on the runway. The landing was easy, and knowing they were no longer in the air was bliss to Elena.
When the plane stopped moving and the door opened, Roman gestured for Elena to climb down first. She went to stand, though, and found her muscles weak from the adrenaline. Carefully, she grabbed her suitcase and made her way down one stair at a time. Roman followed.
On the last step, her knees buckled. The suitcase hit the ground and a cry escaped Elena’s lips, but rather than feel the cold sting of concrete, she felt strong arms scooping her up. Roman had caught her, and was holding her tightly. The adrenaline from their harrowing flight was joined by a new surge of excitement when she felt the warmth of h
is body.
Without thinking, Elena lifted her head and joined their mouths for an intense, spur of the moment kiss. Her knees went weak again with the contact, and this time it had nothing to do with the flight. Roman tasted like mint, and although he seemed startled at first, she felt his lips working against hers, prolonging the kiss.
Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over.
Elena cleared her throat and tried to walk away as Roman set her down awkwardly, but her knees buckled again even before he let her go. Roman steadied her, and linked their arms to prevent her from stumbling again. He stooped to pick up her luggage with his free hand and then escorted her carefully off the runway.
Yeah. Maybe chaufferone wasn’t so bad after all.
5
Roman
After a long, nerve-racking flight, the last thing Roman wanted to do was get behind the wheel of a car and drive, but he would do what needed to be done. Elena sat in the back of the town car with her suitcase next to her, staring out the window with a pout. He was grateful for the silence—it was far preferable to her sarcasm and eye-rolling—but there was a question that kept plaguing him.
“What was that about?” Roman asked her. He heard her shift her weight in the plush leather seat.
“What was what about?” Elena replied after a pause.
“The kiss.”
“Pshfft. I don’t know. Just glad to be alive after I got off that stupid plane. But it wasn’t all me, you know. You kissed me back.”
Roman wasn’t sure what to say in response, so he remained silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he had shared a kiss. It had been… good. But Elena was still a Popov, a sworn enemy, and so Roman tried to push away the feelings she had stirred in him. Still… Her lips had been warm, her taste sweet, and he hated himself for being unable to forget it.
The Sokolov Brothers: The Complete Series Page 13