Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge

by Ward, Steve

  “It’s down!” Billy cried.

  “Thanks, Miami tower. We got three green.”

  “Niner Niner Kilo, way to go girl.”

  The male controller’s voice returned, “Wind is Zero Niner Zero at Seven. Clear to land.”

  “Clear to land,” she replied. Clear to land? Clear to land. The most beautiful words I ever heard.

  One mile off the end of the runway, the engine sputtered and coughed, then stopped cold. She switched tanks but nothing happened. She shoved down the nose, but this time she had 10,000 feet of runway in front of her and a full complement of emergency equipment ready and waiting.

  She tried to relax. Aided by a seven knot tailwind, the runway looked within reach. With the natural cockiness of a test pilot’s daughter, Christina wanted to make a perfect landing. She envisioned the Evening News showing close-ups of the final touchdown. Descending rapidly, she leveled the wings and gradually pulled back the yoke, milking her airspeed and the last few feet of altitude. She could see they were over the threshold. Staring at the far end of the runway for maximum depth perception, she flared the big plane smoothly, just inches off the deck, letting it sink. She squeaked down the two main gear in a flawless landing, nose slightly elevated. Rolling down the runway, she reduced back-pressure to lower the nose, pulled onto a taxiway and braked to a stop.

  Heather and Billy squealed with delight. There were “high fives” flying all over the cockpit.

  “Niner Niner Kilo, proceed on the taxiway and contact ground on 127.5.”

  “Sorry about that, Miami tower. You’re gonna have to come get us,” Christina laughed. “We’re bone dry of fuel.”

  As they waited for a tow, the elation subsided, and Christina’s mind returned to the black world of reality. Her thoughts drifted from Jessica to Hank to Weston. The vision of Jessica bleeding to death in her arms hammered its way into the depths of her soul. A sharp pain burned in her gut as she contemplated her new enemy. Weston, a man who would kill five innocent people just to get rid of a girlfriend, was gonna get his. Her mind reeled with schemes conceived during long hours of boredom on that island, vengeance for the worst kind of evil.

  “Listen, you guys,” Christina said, “we need to be careful what we say about Weston. The voice on the GPS has been recorded over, and there’s not a shred of evidence to prove what happened. I intend to take care of that shit-head myself, but I don’t want him to know that we know what happened.”

  Heather jumped on the notion and said, “She’s right. Billy, we need one more huge favor. As far as we know, your granddad just died of a heart attack. Will you promise never to mention Dr. Steve Weston or even acknowledge that you’ve heard of him?”

  “Dr. Steve who?” Billy chuckled. “Count on me, Heather. Just let me know if I can help stick it to that asshole.”

  Heather interrupted, “Also, I’d like to ask you both not to mention what that man on the beach was trying to do. I’ll have to live with that image, but I don’t want to read it in the papers. The media would eat me alive.”

  “One more thing,” Christina added. “Let’s keep William out of the killing business, just in case some creep wants to make something of it. Let’s stick with the story that Jessica killed both perpetrators. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they responded in unison.

  “Now let’s swear our oath to each other.”

  All three grabbed hands and swore their allegiance. A tow truck emerged out of nowhere and hooked up to the front landing gear. As the driver took off toward the terminal, Christina sat back fully relaxed and enjoyed the ride. All of a sudden she was concerned about her appearance.

  “You know there’s going to be news people in there with cameras” she said. “No offense, Heather, but I have to say we both look like hammered horseshit.”

  “My God, you’re right. How about my eye?”

  Christina turned to look. Both eyes were a horrid shade of purple. “Don’t worry, Heather, it just looks like someone hit you in the face with a Saturday night special.” She chuckled. “I know you’re well accustomed to being the most beautiful woman on the planet, but for once, you’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

  Christina felt wonderful. God, it’s great to be back to civilization. The girls started straightening their hair and wiping the dirt off their faces. Billy didn’t seem to care. The tow truck stopped at the bottom of some stairs, and they all got out and stretched their legs. As they climbed to the terminal, they were shocked by the mob of reporters.

  You’d think we just returned from the moon, Christina thought.

  Bright lights blinded them as microphones were shoved forward. Several reporters started shouting questions at the same time. The passage was completely blocked, and she began to wonder how they were going to get through. After being surrounded by mind-numbing serenity for weeks, the lights and ear-splitting shouts were hard to take. She winced and held up her hand to shade her eyes. Questions came rapid fire:

  “Where have you been?”

  “Where is the pilot of your plane?”

  “How did you get out of that hurricane?”

  “Where are the rest of your party?”

  “How did you survive so long?”

  Christina held up her arms trying to hush the mob. “If you want answers, you’ll have to be quiet!” she screamed above the noise. “If someone will get us something to drink, I’ll make a brief statement. Then you’ll need to let us pass, so we can talk with authorities.”

  The room fell dead silent, and a young male reporter quickly rounded up some soft drinks. More lights were turned on, and the cameras started to roll. She took a long gulp of an ice cold Coke, thinking how wonderful it tasted. “My oh my, how we take for granted the small pleasures of life,” she said taking a deep breath. “My name is Christina Matthews. We’ve been through a traumatic ordeal. On our way to the Exumas in a charter plane over a month ago, our pilot, Hank Rogers, died in flight. I had to take control of the airplane and make a forced landing on an abandoned island. After several weeks, we were attacked by drug runners, and Jessica Ward was killed as she managed to kill both perpetrators. We spent three more weeks there eating fish and drinking distilled seawater and rainwater.”

  “But why didn’t you just fly back?” one reporter injected a quick question.

  “Our plane was stuck on a short beach, and we had to wait for high winds associated with the hurricane to get it off the ground. We were able to use the GPS and the autopilot to navigate back to Miami. As you can see, Heather Daniels, William Rogers, the grandson of the pilot, and myself are the only survivors. We’re dirty, hungry and exhausted, but very fortunate to be alive. Now, if you’ll please clear the way, we need to pass.”

  Again, they all started firing questions.

  “That’s all we have to say right now!” Heather shouted back as they shoved their way through the crowd.

  Customs and police were waiting behind the press.

  “Well, just one more question then,” screamed a persistent reporter. “What caused the death of the pilot?”

  The mob quieted to hear the answer. Christina stopped and turned. “Uhhh . . . do we look like doctors? We have no way of knowing that. He just died instantly without a word.” Her gut ached once again as she envisioned Weston sitting in front of his TV, clapping his hands with joy.

  When they were done with the authorities, the girls made a number of phone calls. Heather talked with her parents, Christina called her dad and Billy’s parents showed up in the terminal. The ordeal had sealed a bond between the three, and it was hard to say goodbye. The time had come for the girls to part company with Billy, a fifteen-year-old kid who now seemed much older. They walked him to the lobby to find his parents. After all the screams and crying of elation had settled down, Christina spoke to them.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, you should know that your son literally saved our lives at least three times. He was incredibly courageous. We owe a lot to this young man.” Christina
wanted to make sure he got full credit for his heroic deeds. “You need to make sure he gets that Eagle Scout rating. He could teach Eagle Scouts a thing or two.”

  Heather supported her case putting her arm around Billy. “If you’re going to be stranded on an island, this is the guy you want with you. William, I’ll never forget what you did.”

  “Do you think I could come up to Atlanta and visit sometime?” Billy asked.

  “You bet,” answered Heather.

  “How about if we come to West Palm and visit you?” Christina added with every intention to follow up on the promise.

  Billy’s mother looked at the girls with wet, shifty eyes. She seemed anxious to get him out of there and left as soon as they were free.

  Christina suggested that Heather call Weston.

  “Why don’t you call him now and try to gauge his demeanor before he has a chance to prepare something?”

  “I can’t. What would I say?”

  “Just say, ‘Hello, this is Heather.’ See how he reacts to the fact that you’re still alive. I expect he’ll shit a brick. Then go have that ring checked.”

  Christina tried to call Lazer and discovered he was already on his way in a borrowed plane to pick them up. While they waited, she had to make the phone call, the one she had been dreading since they landed.

  “Hello.” It was clear the woman had been crying.

  “Mrs. Ward, this is Christina Matthews. I guess you’ve seen the news.”

  “Yes,” she said sobbing, “we just saw you on CNN. What happened to Jessica?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” Christina said, trying to clear her throat. “I’m afraid she didn’t make it. I’m afraid Jessica was killed.”

  “Oh, my God! So it’s true?” her mother wailed. She finally calmed down and asked. “How. . .how did she die?”

  “Well, she died a hero. We were attacked by two drug runners. They were going to kill us all and try to take the plane. One of them was hurting Heather, and Jessica managed to get free and kill him.”

  “Was she tortured or. . .raped?”

  “No, they tied her up, but she managed to get free and stab the guy. She picked up his gun and shot the other one. Unfortunately, she was shot at the same time. She died instantly.” Christina didn’t want to go into any more detail.

  “Where’s my baby’s body?”

  “We buried her on the island. I was able to get the exact longitude and latitude off the GPS, and I have given it to the authorities. Probably won’t be able to get in there though, not until after the hurricane passes. God knows if anything will be left.”

  “But where were you. . .when she was killed? Why didn’t you help her?”

  Christina choked. She wasn’t ready for that. She stammered a response, “Well. . .well, Billy and I were. . .looking for water. We heard the shots. . .and came running. . .but it was too late. I am sooo sorry I couldn’t help her. She died in my arms. She said, ‘Tell my mom I love her.’”

  Her mother started bawling again. Finally, she said, “Christina, thank you so much for calling. I know this must have been difficult. I’m glad. . .I’m glad you and Heather are still alive. Please stay in touch.”

  “Thanks, I will. I figured you’d hear all about it on the news, and the way the media distorts things, I just wanted to make sure you knew the truth, exactly what happened. Those guys were going to kill us. Jessica sacrificed her life for ours.” She felt a slice of pain deep in her chest, a very familiar pain.

  Jessica’s mom started wailing again, and Christina heard the phone click. As she ended the call, she turned to see Lazer coming down the hallway and ran into his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was perfect weather, the calm before the storm. Heather stared out the window of the twin Bonanza worried about her fiancé. A chill ran up her spine and she trembled. Before flying back to Atlanta, Lazer dropped Heather off at the Athens airport, and they said their goodbyes. Although there was still a chill in the relationship between the girls, old wounds seemed to fade.

  Heather knew exactly what she had to do. Only guessing what Christina had in mind, she feared the worst. She had to find some convincing evidence of Weston’s innocence, and fast! As soon as she got in her car, she worked up the nerve to go see him. First, she had to look him in the eyes and hear what he had to say. She drove across town with great trepidation and found his car in the parking lot. With some hesitation, she sucked it in and went right to his door ringing the bell. There was a long delay, so she rang it again and again. Finally, she heard someone shouting.

  “Okay! Okay! Goddammit, I’m coming!”

  The door opened and there stood Weston in his bathrobe; his hair was a tangled mess. He looked at Heather like she was someone else, someone selling Girl Sout cookies. Squinting, he moved his face closer and looked again. It was as though he had seen a ghost, and suddenly he turned white as a sheet. She didn’t say a word. He seemed only semi-conscious, like he was wasted on booze. He took a wobbly step backwards and suddenly appeared as if he might faint. She just stood there and waited.

  “Mah Gawd! Heather? Is it. . .I thought. . .you were. . .” he stuttered.

  “Dead?” she filled it in. “Why would you think that? Haven’t you seen the news?” she asked calmly.

  “No, as a matter of fact, I’ve been in bed. I’ve been. . .uh, sick. You really should’ve called. I got a terrible flu.” All of a sudden his expression changed; he looked panicked. He swung the door to, leaving just a crack.

  She wondered why he wasn’t jumping for joy, why he didn’t throw his arms around her, why she was still outside. Those weren’t the words she expected, not the words of a man whose lover had been lost for weeks, not the words of a man whose fiancée materialized out of thin air. Weston was his own judge and jury. By the look in his eyes peering through the crack in the door, she knew. He gave his own verdict: guilty as charged! Her knees buckled.

  Before he could say anything else, she heard a voice from the bedroom. It was the high pitched voice of a child, a female child with a Spanish accent.

  “Doctor Esteban. . .vengase, por favor.”

  Heather was confused and, at the same time, boiling mad, but most of all she was overcome by curiosity. She forced her way in the door and stomped into his apartment. Weston had no children, and she couldn’t imagine what child would be in his bedroom. Trying to block her path, he wobbled in a drugged stupor. She shoved him out of the way and marched over to the bedroom. What she saw kicked her in the gut. She stood there sucking the air for breath. A young girl, no more than thirteen, lay naked in his bed. There were sex toys scattered about and porn on the TV. She gasped with terror when she focused on the stark image of blood stains on the white sheet.

  “Que paso? Como se llama?” the girl asked, pulling the covers up to her neck.

  Without saying a word, Heather turned and ran for the front door. She couldn’t even look at him; she couldn’t breath; she couldn’t believe the abject horror of the monster she once loved.

  “Heather, wait,” he yelled. “It’s not what you think. There’s an explanation. Please!”

  Out by the car, nausea took control. Her knees crashed to the pavement, and she heaved a stream of vomit which splattered on the surface of the parking lot. Her stomach cramped, and she heaved again. At that moment, she couldn’t imagine how she had come to love such a fiend. Between retching gags, she looked at her hand and noticed the engagement ring. She took it off and put it in a pocket of her purse. At last, her stomach settled long enough to stand up and enter the car. She had to get out of that evil place, a place of ghouls and nightmares.

  Heather was crying so hard she could barely see to drive. Remembering what Christina had said, she couldn’t help but wonder if the ring was real. She looked like hell, but for once in her life, she didn’t care. As she drove through downtown Athens, she saw a sign; it was a jewelry store. She had to know. Wiping the mascara off her cheeks, she tried to get it together.
She got out of the car, walked in and asked for the manager.

  A large man with a pencil-thin mustache came out from the back room.

  “A friend of mine got this ring, and I thought it looked suspicious. Would you be so kind to take a look and give me a rough appraisal?”

  The floor manager gave her an inquisitive look, raising one eyebrow. He leered at her like he was going to appraise her chest instead of the diamond.

  “Sure, let me see,” he said with a big smile.

  He looked it over with his magnifying glass, then put it under a microscope. Finally, he put some kind of tool up against the metal in the ring. After no more than a minute he walked back and handed it to her. “Well, little lady, it’s the real thing all right. Right there you got yourself a very high quality Zirconium, mounted on a gold plated band. I estimate its value at about $25.”