“Sure, bro, just let me know what you need.”
They set to work, opening the big roll-up hangar door and getting the plane ready to fly. There wasn’t enough time to do his usual full checks, so Derek settled for a cursory look over everything. He had flown it the night before and left everything in a flight-ready state, checking it twice so it would be good to go.
A young man wearing an official league shirt appeared at the hangar. “Mr. Devereux? Are you ready to fly your heat in ten minutes?”
Derek was occupied getting his personal gear in order. There wasn’t enough time to do much more than grab his flight suit and parachute off their hooks and pull them tight. “Ah, hi there, Simon. Yes, running a little late and scrambling, but I should be good to go around then. Has Rex gone yet? What was his time?”
Simon nodded. “Yes, sir, Rex just finished his run. He beat the official course record by about twenty seconds. It was some of the best flying I’ve ever seen!” He saw Derek’s frown and checked himself. “But it wasn’t perfect. I’m sure you can beat it, sir.”
“Let’s hope so.” Derek had flown faster runs than that multiple times the day before, but the conditions were different, and today he was much less rested. Not to mention in a foul mood. “Gary, can you keep an eye out for Sara in case she shows up? She might come to talk to me after the race.”
“No problem, bro. I’ll take her in and keep her safe.” Gary gave him a ridiculous salute, a throwback to their time growing up as boys. “It’s an honor serving with you, soldier. Now go out there and do your country proud.”
It brought a smile to Derek’s face. His little brother was the most dependable part of his life, and he didn’t know what he’d do without him.
He climbed up into the cockpit and ran through the pre-flight checklist as quickly as he could. Minutes later, he had permission to take off and was in the air.
It was wonderful, calming, and exhilarating at the same time. He loved flying, cutting through the air with his precise machine, the epitome of engineering conquering the elements and bending them to his will. With a few flips and rolls he satisfied himself the vehicle performed the way it was supposed to.
“All right, let’s do this,” he said under his breath. A pair of earnest blue eyes haunted his vision, but he shoved them aside, visualizing the run he was about to undergo. The one that had so much riding on it.
“You are cleared to begin,” Tom’s voice over the radio gave the signal his mind looked for, the familiarity helping him to fall into a routine and relax into what he called his “performance state of mind.” Only when he let his body do what it had to with no guidance or interference from his conscious brain was he able to lay down the fastest runs.
He started his approach, the beginning gate looming ahead of him. Once he passed between the two towering masts, the timers would start and he would launch into a choreographed aerial dance. He’d earned part of his prestige by executing with a mastery and grace unmatched by the other pilots.
A low, soft beeping filled the cabin, throwing Derek off as he passed the start gate. It pulled him from his performance state of mind, and he felt himself lose the edge he needed to win.
“What the hell is that?” He fought to ignore the sound and put it out of his mind, but the beeping got louder and louder, speeding up until it was ear piercing and frantic. “Goddamn it!”
It had to be something Rex snuck into his plane to distract him on his run. He kicked himself for not leaving himself the time to complete a full pre-flight check.
Time slipped away from him as he wove through another two gates—one he had to enter while upside down and the other his wingtips had to be vertical. The sound was piercing, and his headache came back full force under the impetus.
He couldn’t take it anymore; he had to silence it. Derek reached a straightaway and risked taking his eyes off the optimal flight path for a split second. With the sound echoing around the cockpit it was tough to lock down where it came from. There was a small compartment in the dash, almost like the change compartment in a car, although he didn’t pull up to any drive-through windows in his plane. He kept nothing inside of it and forgot it was there most of the time.
At the next opportunity, Derek pulled open the small drawer on the compartment and revealed a small ball no bigger than a large gumdrop. It was a sleek black, and there was writing on it. He couldn’t make it out before he had to pull his gaze away to fight through the next gate. It was a sloppy entry, and he barely avoided cutting through the fabric wall of the gate in what would have been an insurmountable penalty.
The beeping grew to an even more furious pace. When he was next able to look down, a blinking green light pulsed in time with the beeps.
He could finally make out the scribblings on the little ball.
It was the Onyx logo.
“What the hell is that doing there?” How had Rex gotten access to a piece of company hardware?
It didn’t make sense.
There wasn’t an off button on the ball, but the beeps and pulsing light stopped when Derek laid his hand on it. It wouldn’t come away or move an inch—it was securely fastened to the back of the little cubby.
The sudden silence worried Derek more than the noise.
A loud boom from the front of the plane sent a shock wave back through the craft that flung him back in his seat and blew the air from his lungs. The next moment, a brilliant explosion in the engine seared his eyes and blinded him.
“Fuck!”
The silence of the cockpit evaporated under the screaming wind as the integrity of the cabin disintegrated. Derek pulled the ejection lever instinctually. The benefit of practicing emergency procedures repeatedly was that when the time came to put them into use it required no conscious thought on his part. His body knew what needed to be done and acted before his mind processed the explosion and how dire the situation was.
The plane disintegrated around him as he jettisoned out and through the air, clear of the plane and attendant debris that could have taken him out. He watched the plane tumble through the air below him, more explosions rocking the body and blowing it apart. If he had waited one more second to pull the lever, he would have still been inside and unable to escape the inferno.
When he reached the apex of the jettisoned arc, Derek’s body again took control and brought itself into the correct position in the air to stabilize himself and ensure his chute would open with no malfunctions. He formed an arch with his hips thrust toward the ground as though he were a giant badminton birdie set to glide down to earth.
He pulled the chute as he accelerated toward the ground, watching it grow nearer. The fabric flared behind him and caught the air as it opened. Free fall halted, and the shoulder straps creaked as they absorbed his weight against the chute’s resistance.
There was a loud ripping sound, and Derek’s stomach lurched as he dropped another several inches before being brought up short again. He looked up to see the shoulder straps giving way. A deep and straight cut through most of the strap had begun to tear the rest of the way.
A million thoughts rushed through Derek’s mind, and he struggled to keep from being buried underneath the litany of useless contributions from his panicked brain. If the shoulder straps went, he would fall out of the canopy and drop to his death on the ground below.
He reached up as high as he could and grabbed for the webbing of the rigging, the strong material the lines of the parachute attached to. Just as his fingers were about close down, the shoulder strap gave way, and he fell.
Derek’s fingers caught in the lowest segment of the webbing, the fingertips crooked enough to prevent him from falling. The weight that had been evenly distributed across his shoulder and thigh straps was suddenly entirely on his fingertips, and he howled in pain as he hung on for his life.
All control of the chute was lost, and Derek looked on as the ground drifted by underfoot. He was still too high to hear anything from the ground, the wind whipping ar
ound him the only sound to compete with his grunts as he willed his muscles to hold on. He drifted further and further away from the airport and a safe landing space, out over the big lake alongside the air field’s property.
“Come on,” he said as he leaned to one side in an unsuccessful effort to circle back. Landing in the water was not high on his list of priorities—he could tangle in his equipment and drown. Flat ground was the far safer choice, with ground crews ready to respond.
Then he had bigger problems than where the chute would set him down. His fingers cramped from the effort of holding his entire body weight, and he focused his entire being onto just holding on.
Come on, Derek, you can do this. Just hold on. Just hold on. You can do this. Just hold on.
It became a mantra, a rallying cry. The mental litany continued, on and on, his only mission to not let his fingers give way under the intense pressure. He stopped looking at the ground, stopped thinking about anything but the need to keep holding on and not let go.
The wind died down and the quality of the surrounding sounds changed, and Derek squeezed one eye open to look around. He had dropped rapidly and approached the surface of the lake. It was too late to see where he would land, but he did what he could to brace for impact.
With the complete lack of control, there was no way for him to flare his parachute to make a light landing. It would hurt no matter what he did—both his vertical and horizontal speeds were far too fast.
The moment of impact was upon him, and he took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he bothered—a second later it was torn from his body as he slammed into the unforgiving surface of the water. It pulled him in and dragged him down as the chute continued on overhead. His fingers, trained to hold on for so long, couldn’t let go, frozen into position. The chute dragged him forward under the water, searing pain shooting through his arms and shoulders as his body was tugged in two separate directions.
He tried to scream, but nothing came out except for a gargle, and he lost the last of his precious air as the water rushed in to replace it. Unable to control his body’s reflexes, Derek gulped lungfuls of water, the chilled liquid entering his body and causing a violent reaction.
After a short period, the struggle ceased. The water had claimed him, and he lost all reason to resist. It was so much more peaceful to lie there and let the darkness claim him. He was owed rest, and it arrived.
Harsh, artificial light shone into Sara’s eyes as she blinked them open. The light triggered blinding pain in her forehead as she struggled to sit up and found that she couldn’t.
“What happened?” she asked no one in particular as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
It appeared to be an office, and could have been one of a dozen at the paper’s headquarters in Chicago. She had to fight through fog cobwebbing her thoughts to decide there was no way she could be in Chicago.
The light came from standard fluorescent lights, and she lay on a bench facing toward a desk that held an office chair before it. A window beside the desk showed her nothing but blue sky from her position. It all looked mundane.
“Why am I here?”
Sara tried to bring her hands to her head to press against her scalp and probe why she had such splitting pain there, but found her hands wouldn’t move the way she wanted them to. She looked down.
Her hands were bound with zip ties, and they were secured to similar zip ties that kept her feet together. The dress Becky had made for her was torn in a few places, and for a moment, that was worse than her own situation.
The office was empty of any other human presence, but Sara didn’t know whether to find that disturbing or comforting. How was she supposed to know who kept her here, or where “here” was?
“Hello?”
There was no response. Sara tried once more to sit up and now she knew the nature of her bonds she was more successful. It took effort, but she could push herself upright on her elbows and swing her feet off the bench. She had to remain hunched over since there was hardly any slack in her bonds.
How did I get here?
The air conditioning was aggressive. Too much so. Her legs, bare under the dress Becky had made for her, were freezing.
The dress… the date!
Memories came back to her in bits and pieces—the date with Derek, Ron’s appearance and his betrayal of her assignment to Derek. Derek’s response, and the way she had run away from the restaurant to avoid dealing with Ron after she slapped him.
Did Ron do this? He was a creep, and a big asshole, but this was pushing things too far, even for him. Still, it was all she had to go on.
“Ron? Are you out there? Did you do this?” She waited for a response.
There were a few sounds beyond the office door, and Sara waited with bated breath for a possible response.
The handle twisted, and the door opened. A man Sara had never seen before entered.
He was a tall, lean figure. His face was severe, and he held no expression on his face she could read. He looked at her with the interest a person might show to a goldfish in a bowl. A nice suit clothed him, but although the fabric itself fit well, it didn’t look like a natural fit for him. His movements were stiff and formal and very precise, and something about them jogged Sara’s memory. She had seen people like this before during one of her investigations.
Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She had only seen military agents hold themselves like that.
The man’s arm stayed behind him oddly, almost as though it was second nature for him to hide it from others’ sight.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why have you taken me here?”
He leaned against the edge of the desk facing her, but didn’t respond to her questions. His eyes narrowed, and he spoke. “What information do you have on Derek Devereux?”
Sara shook her head. “I’m not telling you anything about Derek until you tell me what right you have to kidnap me and bring me here against my will. Where am I? What kind of place is this?”
The man’s face tightened. “Girl, you can make this a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate. I hold all the cards here, and I could make you disappear with no one the wiser. So you had better talk, and talk quick. Otherwise, you’ll find out what it’s like to get on my bad side.”
“What do you want to know about Derek? It’s not like I can help you if I don’t even know what information you’re looking for. He’s a public figure, a celebrity. Almost all the details of his private life are right there in the tabloids for anyone to read.” Playing stupid was her best option.
The hidden hand appeared as it crashed through the surface of the desk. Wood splintered as the clenched fist tore through the fibers. The sight reminded Sara of something she had seen, but she couldn’t recall what. She shivered at the ease with which the man pulverized such a solid piece of furniture.
“Don’t play me for a fool, Ms. Flight. I know you have much more about Derek Devereux than you are letting on. If you don’t talk, then I will assume you are a threat, and eliminate you. Believe me when I say I hope that won’t become necessary.” He lifted his hand from the crater it had made in the glossy finish of the rich wooden surface, and finally Sara could get a good look at the appendage.
That’s not a normal hand!
It was black and glossy, reminiscent of the carbon fiber accents on a few of Derek’s cars. A carefully crafted masterpiece, it looked very similar to a real hand but was obviously not one. It could have been a fancy and unique glove, but there was a certain something about the way the digits moved that telegraphed the mechanical nature of the workings underneath the surface.
And on the edge of the palm, on what would have been the padded part of the thumb joint on a normal human hand, was the Onyx Company logo.
Her eyes widened before she could help herself.
To see the Devereux company logo on this man’s hand asking questions about Derek—she was confused. And the power of that hand! She wouldn’t be surprised if he
could punch through metal considering how easily he’d destroyed the desk.
Wait, punch through metal? Suddenly the familiarity of the damage came back to her. Her and Becky’s apartment was torn apart by someone who could drive a dagger into the metal of the door, who could rip into it and tear it apart like it was butter. The man standing in front of her was the only person she had met who might have been able to pull off something like that. And he had kidnapped her off the streets and brought her here to ask questions about Derek.
As an investigative journalist, she didn’t believe in coincidences that big. They didn’t exist. Not in her world, and not in any other—she was positive of it.
It had been too long since she’d last spoken, and she didn’t want him to know she was slowly puzzling her way through the facts. She needed to keep him talking in case he revealed more.
“Why would you have to eliminate me?” Sara asked. “What threat am I to you? I’m just a journalist. I know nothing about you, or what you want. I don’t know what I’m doing here or why Derek matters to you.”
He growled. “You can stop playing that act, Ms. Flight. My employer has a good idea of what you are capable of and the knowledge you can extract from your sources. He doesn’t want you anywhere near the Devereux brothers or the Onyx Company where you might stumble across things you don’t understand and are too big for you to see. It could compromise everything from the company’s goals to national security. That isn’t what you want to have on your conscience, is it, Ms. Flight?”
At least he genuinely seems to have a goal other than getting information from me and killing me. It didn’t give her total confidence in the situation, but it made her feel better about her prospects than she had when the man turned a perfectly good desk into kindling.
“So, the company is up to something big?”
The mechanical hand whirred gently as it clenched tight. He had remarkable control over the thing. It wasn’t a typical replacement for a lost hand, but appeared to have at least as much utility as a real one. Not to mention the sheer strength behind it.
Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) Page 16