Maybe they’ll forget to open the lid and I won’t have to endure the long flight in here.
The thought began as humorous, but Orano couldn’t escape the notion that he truly would be better off dying of asphyxiation. He could easily become acclimated to his snug prison, but the ritual they had planned for his arrival in Nigeria would be horrific.
The air inside the coffin already felt heavy with exhaled carbon dioxide and, without realizing it, Orano began taking shallow breaths to conserve the limited oxygen. His subconscious, it appeared, had no intention of giving up so easily.
********
Han scrambled onto the diplomatic jet’s port side wing after receiving a boost from Myrick. The body of the Boeing 737 shielded him from the tower as well as the terminal, giving him much-needed privacy. They had only moments before emergency crews would descend on the runway, so their makeshift plan of attack centered on getting him aboard as fast as possible. That meant using powers normal people didn’t know—couldn’t know—existed.
Although the roar of the jet’s idling engines made it impossible to hear, Han knew the rest of his team were standing on the runway in front of the cockpit, screaming at the pilot for disrupting their landing. They hoped to cause enough of a commotion to draw the attention of anyone who might be inside.
Crossing his fingers that they’d succeeded, Han poked his head and shoulders through the fuselage. Being able to change his molecular structure to allow him to pass through solid objects often came in handy, especially when he needed to gain entry without the benefit of a door.
Two men huddled outside the cockpit, their backs turned. One wore a dark suit while the other jeans and a T-shirt. They blocked most of his view past them, but a crisp white captain’s uniform was visible moving around the small space. The rest of the cabin appeared empty, with the exception of a rather expensive-looking coffin lying across the aisle in front of the door. Han couldn’t help but think about the old children’s game: One of these things does not belong here.
It occurred to him that Julian could have very well made a mistake. This flight could be exactly what it purported to be, and that coffin might very well hold a recently deceased consulate employee. In which case, his planned actions would be way more awkward.
Pulling the rest of his body inside the aircraft, he said a silent prayer that Julian’s genius held true and moved silently toward the casket. He’d need to release Orano first, even up the odds a bit, then take his kidnappers into custody. He had surprise and stealth on his side, which would be enough to get him a seriously pissed off energy-ball-thrower on his side, too.
“Hey! Who are you?” The shocked voice came from the tail end.
Han whirled around to find an older man in jeans exiting the small bathroom. It took less than a breath for Han to realize his mistake. One of the men at the cockpit had been a flight attendant, not the second kidnapper.
Han assumed the posture of the truly indignant—shoulders back, chin high, face in a pure scowl—and began yelling in Mandarin. He pulled out his cell phone and held it up for them to see, as though everything should make sense. When he received nothing but confused looks in return, he showed his disgust at their lack of understanding by spitting on the floor at his feet. He typed furiously on his screen as he stormed up the aisle, took a seat a few rows from the front, and then casually fastened his seatbelt.
It took all of his willpower to not burst out laughing at their incredulous expressions. Although he couldn’t see the man still behind him, the shoulder shrugs of the ones in front told Han that they were as perplexed as he’d hoped they’d be.
A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder. “Sir, you are on the wrong aircraft. You really must—”
A gust of wind blew past Han as the bathroom guy took flight. His body lifted off the floor and slammed into the opposite wall before crashing awkwardly onto the seat backs. His eyes, wide with shock, quickly became empty as he lost consciousness.
“Welcome to the party,” Han called over his shoulder as he ran through the seats in front of him.
“Thanks for the invite,” Mirissa called back, blasting the two other men with her telekinesis. “Though, next time text me a less blurry picture. I almost materialized inside of a drink cart.”
The pilot stepped out of the cockpit with his hands raised high above his head. “I just fly the plane. I know nothing of your fight with these men.”
“Sit,” Han ordered, then pulled a handful of zip ties from his pocket. Once he’d secured the captain and the two men up front, he handed a tie to Mirissa.
“I’ll get Orano. You get that one.” Han pointed to the bathroom guy still sprawled along the chairs, then grabbed the lid of the casket and pulled. When it didn’t open, he tried again, this time using both hands. Still, it wouldn’t lift. What the hell?
“Let me help.” Mirissa crouched at his side. “On three. One, two, three.”
Even with both of them straining, the lid remained sealed. Han inspected its edges, looking for a lock of some sort but found none. There didn’t appear to be anything holding it closed.
“Orano, can you hear me?” he yelled.
The answer came, albeit slowly. “Yes.”
“We’re trying to get you out, but we can’t open the lid. Do you know how to unlock it?”
Another stretch of silence. “No.”
Han sent Mirissa a worried glance. “Are you okay in there?” he asked.
“Need … air.”
Han shot to his feet and stepped back. “Brace yourself. We’re going to smash through.”
Mirissa waited for a beat to give Orano a chance to comply, then threw both of her hands forward, letting loose on the casket. Although it slammed up against the bulkhead, it remained in one piece.
“Try again,” Han said.
This time, Mirissa hit the coffin so hard with her powers that chunks of wood exploded into the air, along with pieces of the surrounding aircraft. Victory, however, remained out of reach. Although she’d shattered the wood, the box it concealed remained intact.
“Lead? Really?” Han grabbed his phone and called Myrine.
“Do you have him?” Myrine asked without preamble.
“Not yet. He’s in a lead box. We can’t find the lock and we can’t open it, and he’s running out of air. I need you guys in here.”
“No!” Myrine whisper-yelled in a way only mothers could. “The only thing keeping the officials that have gathered around us out of that aircraft is its diplomatic status. If you open the door, and they see anything suspicious—like two extra passengers that weren’t on board earlier—we’re done.”
“Then how the hell do we get him out of the box? And off the airplane?”
“Get Julian on it. If anyone can figure it out it’s him. As for getting out of here afterward, I’m working on it.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Save his life, Han.”
“Will do.” Han disconnected and immediately called Julian, putting the phone on speaker. He described their situation as best he could and, at the computer genius’s request, took pictures of every inch of the seal around the coffin’s lid and texted them to him.
“Give me minute,” Julian said as he tapped on his keyboard.
“We only have a minute, Julian,” Han replied.
“Okay. There doesn’t appear to be any locking mechanism visible ….”
“Yeah, we already know that,” Han said.
“Stop interrupting me. I’m trying to think.”
Han gritted his teeth. He knew Julian didn’t intend to talk to people as though they were third graders, but that didn’t stop it from annoying him when the genius did it.
“It has to be a maglock,” Julian exclaimed as though having a eureka moment. “Two seriously heavy-duty magnets holding it shut.”
“So, how do we open it?”
“You won’t be able to pry it open. Those things can hold with up to two thousand pounds of pressure. There’s got to be a remote that
turns it off.”
Both Han and Mirissa glared at the pilot still secured in his seat.
“I don’t know,” he said, eyes wide and brows raised. “I swear! I thought a dead body was in there.”
Han began searching through the pockets of the older man who’d been hanging out by the cockpit. The guy’s eyes were closed, but he certainly wasn’t sleeping. Han couldn’t make out the language—Latin maybe—but he chanted something over and over again.
“Where’s the remote?” Han demanded.
No response. The man simply chanted louder. When Han pulled him up by the shoulders and yelled the same question, the man once again ignored him. His increase in chant volume the only proof that he’d even heard.
“My guy’s got nothing on him, either,” Mirissa called from where the bathroom guy still lay unconscious. “But at least mine’s not chanting.”
“What’s our other option, Julian?” Han asked.
“You’ll need to cut its power. Hopefully, it’ll unlock then,” Julian said.
“Hopefully?” Mirissa asked.
“Well, if it’s in fail-safe mode, it’ll disengage as soon as the power’s cut. If it’s in fail-secure mode, it’ll stay locked up tight and you’ll never get it open.”
“Jesus,” Han whispered.
“Hey. If they wanted him dead, they would have killed him already,” Mirissa said. “They kept him alive for a reason, which means they wouldn’t risk a faulty battery screwing that up.”
Julian continued, “You just need to find the battery and disconnect it. Although, if your pictures are accurate, my guess would be that the power source is on the inside.”
Han smiled as hope blossomed. “Now that I can handle.” He knelt next to the casket. “I hope you’re decent in there, big guy, ’cause I’m coming through.”
Han pushed his face through the top of the box until he could see Orano. “Hi. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to be looking around for a battery. Just pretend I’m not here.”
He’d only modified the molecules in his head and neck, so the rest of his body stayed solid. He used his hands and knees to maneuver around the perimeter of the space, checking for a wire. He found the locking mechanism easily, but the battery and wires must have been secured within the casket walls. He could see no sign of the power source.
“Okay. I’m going to see if Julian has any ideas for me. I’ll be back in a second. Hang in there.” Before Han pulled his head out of the casket, a mumbled response from Orano stopped him. “What did you say?”
“I said, shut up. You’re taking all of my air.”
Han smiled at his friend’s acerbic tone but thought better of spouting a snappy comeback. The guy didn’t need him sucking up any more oxygen than necessary, and Han didn’t need to waste any more time. Once he’d pulled himself out of the casket, he updated Julian.
“I can talk you through making an electromagnetic pulse,” Julian said. “You just need to get a disposable camera, some copper wire, and a light switch. Oh, and a soldering iron. It’s actually super easy to do.”
“I’m sure it is, but we don’t have time to send someone to a hardware store to get all of that stuff. We need an immediate solution, Julian. He’s running out of time.” Han paced the small aisle waiting for a miracle, trying to ignore the incessant chanting now coming from both of the kidnappers.
“What if I could slide something between the magnets?” Mirissa asked.
“Well, yeah. That would decrease the hold exponentially, but if you can’t separate them, how are you planning to accomplish that?” For the first time since their conversation began, Julian stopped typing and simply listened.
“Every time I teleport, there’s a chance that I could materialize inside a solid object,” Mirissa began. “That’s why I can’t jump to anywhere that I haven't seen before either in person or in a picture. Even then it’s always a risk. But what if, just this once, I do that intentionally? Not my whole body, just my hand.”
“Oh, hell no!” Han protested. “We’ll find another way.”
“Listen. I’ve actually thought this out. I’ll only keep it there long enough for you to lift the lid and slide something heavy under it to prop it open. With my enhanced healing abilities, my hand will recover in no time.”
Julian became the voice of reason next. “It won’t work. When your hand materializes, there will only be a thin layer of tissue separating the magnets. It’ll have no effect at all. You’d need a sheet of non-magnetic metal to interrupt the magnetic force.”
“I might be able to do that.” Mirissa beamed. “When I teleport, my clothes and whatever I have on me come along for the ride. I can just tape the metal to my hand, and it’ll materialize at the same time I do. What kind of metal do I need, Julian?”
“Well, there are lots of choices. Lithium, Sodium, Potassium, Rubidium, Cesium, Francium—”
“Julian!” Han interrupted. “Something we’d have handy on this jet.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Julian began typing again. “Silver would work. That’s an expensive private jet. I bet its silverware lives up to the name.”
Mirissa tore open the drawers in the small area behind the cockpit where the flight attendants secured their supplies. “Got it,” she said as she came over with a handful of gleaming silver knives. “Now we just need to tape them to my hand.”
“Not this time, Mirissa. Your idea is brilliant, but for me, not you.” Han knew she wouldn’t argue. He could accomplish exactly the same thing she could, but without injury.
They found a roll of tape in one of the drawers and secured the handles of six knives to his wrist, positioning the blades so they overlapped slightly and matched the length of his middle finger. Han altered the molecular structure of his hand so that it would pass through the walls of the casket.
He lined up his hand with the maglock, ensuring the knives spanned its full width, and pushed his fingers and the makeshift silver plate into position. Using his other hand to hold his arm steady, Han pulled his fingers down and away from the knives, until his hand came fully outside of the box, leaving the now solid knives jammed between the two magnets. Once Mirissa removed the tape, they were ready.
Both of them grabbed the lid and pulled, but it remained locked. “It didn’t work,” Han yelled at Julian as though it was the genius’s fault.
“If you lined it up correctly, it worked. It just might not be as easy as we’d hoped. That lock might have been made for heavy-duty doors, which means it’ll hold with twelve hundred pounds of pressure. Slipping a metal plate the thickness of a knife blade in there won’t bring that down to zero. You’ll still need to pull against three or four hundred pounds.”
“Oh come on. There’s barely even a lip to hold onto. I destroyed most of the wooden box on our first attempt to open it. How are we supposed to exert that kind of pull?” Mirissa’s frustrated tone echoed Han’s feelings perfectly.
Julian’s silence—a rare occurrence in any situation—told them that he didn’t have an answer to their question.
“We’re too close to give up now,” Han spat out, then grabbed the lid with Mirissa and pulled with every bit of strength he possessed.
The chanting, which had become a constant background noise, changed slightly as they fought to open the casket. The addition to the rhythmic recitation went almost unnoticed, until Han recognized the sound for what it was. A guttural roar.
“Come on, big guy!” he yelled at the behemoth of a man inside the box. “Bench press this thing like a hot woman is watching.”
Slowly, the lid began to rise. Han pulled while Orano pushed, and Mirissa shoved a stack of plastic tray tables she’d torn from the backs of several seats into the opening. With the lid wedged open almost six inches, Orano relaxed and gulped in much-needed deep breaths. Han reached his hands into the space, yanked away the silky material underneath the lock, and ripped out the now exposed wires.
With power cut off from the magnets, the lid swung easily ba
ck. Mirissa used her blade to remove the rest of Orano’s restraints and helped him out of the box that had held him prisoner for more than two hours. His wrists were bleeding from where he’d apparently been bound but, other than that, he didn’t appear injured.
After giving his teammates a nod of thanks, Orano crouched in front of the older kidnapper.
“You can stop your chanting now. I’m not going to be dying anytime soon.”
Han’s phone dinged and a message from Myrine lit up the screen. “Looks like we can go outside now.”
They opened the jet’s door to find the night lit up. Instead of the expected security and emergency vehicles dotting the tarmac, a small military contingent sat waiting for them.
Myrine stood at the base of a metal staircase. “Director Finley worked his magic. Our training mission is complete, and the airport officials are being congratulated on their stellar response time as we speak. I believe there will be several commendations and perhaps a promotion or two.”
Han smiled at just how easily the CIA Director could cover things up. “What do you want us to do with the Nigerians?”
“We have transport ready to take them off our hands. They’ll be detained and questioned by Finley’s guys for now.”
Han, Mirissa, and Orano each grabbed one of the men and headed down the stairs. The pilot, still zip tied to his seat let out a low groan.
“Sit tight. I’ll be back in a second,” Han instructed the man. “I’ll tell them that you tried to help us.”
********
Once alone, the pilot went to work. With his hands bound to the armrest, he bent forward as far as he could and lifted off the seat until the small maglock remote fell out of his chest pocket. He quickly kicked it under the chair and out of sight.
Next, he twisted his body to allow the fingers of one hand to reach inside his pants pocket and pull out his cell phone. A second later, the familiar double ring sounded through the small speaker.
“Yes?” their leader answered.
“I’m about to be taken into custody with the others. We failed. Tulay is still free and protected by a clan of powerful Demons.”
Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) Page 13