The grating quality of his voice was hard to listen to.
“You were supposed to keep an eye on her. She’s here, isn’t she?”
The agent’s edginess made Lucas instantly nervous. He glanced over at Saul, who was standing right behind him, tugging on his goatee.
“Um, no, sir,” Lucas answered with reluctance. “She’s at Princess Ann Hospital.” He knew the minute the words were out of his mouth they’d screwed up royally—mostly him, since he’d let her talk him into going their separate ways.
“Her godfather’s bodyguards are protecting her,” he added, knowing that was no excuse. Fitz had given him and Saul one job—protect Charlotte Patterson until further notice—and they’d let him down.
“Her godfather’s bodyguards?” Fitz’s freckled face tightened with fury. “I assigned you to watch her because I knew her godfather wouldn’t skip the country without her.” He pointed a threatening finger in Lucas’s face. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re relieved of duty where Miss Patterson is concerned.”
Lucas gaped at him as he turned away. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Fitz wheeled back around. “Yes,” Fitz hissed. “Larry Martin is president of The Entity. We went to arrest him at dawn this morning only to learn he’d flown down to NAS Oceana. I’d suspected he would come for Charlotte, which is why I tasked you two with her protection. But she’s not even here!” he grated, throwing his hands up in frustration. “And don’t bother calling her either. Her phone is dead.” With that, he stalked out of the courtroom.
Lucas grabbed Saul’s arm. “Come on, we’re going, too.”
“To the hospital, sir?”
“The airfield. If Martin hears about Dwyer’s arrest, he’s going to try to leave the country.” Taking Charlotte with him, he added silently, too afraid to give voice to his fears.
With guilt shackling his chest, Lucas chased Fitz and his minions out of the building. Fitz might have relieved him of his duty, but that wasn’t Fitz’s call. Only God, who’d brought Lucas and Charlotte together, could ever relieve him of the need to look after her, to care for and to cherish her.
Once outside, they headed straight for Lucas’s truck, then squealed out of the parking lot in pursuit of the official black SUVs belonging to the FBI.
With Saul shooting him worried glances, Lucas articulated the questions in his head. “I wonder how Fitz knew Martin wouldn’t leave the country without Charlotte.”
“I don’t know,” Saul replied.
“I guess she was right about Fitz in one respect,” Lucas reflected.
“In what way, sir?”
“She felt like he had an agenda, and he did. Think about it,” he added, shooting Saul a look. “Fitz said he knew Martin would come for Charlotte, which was why he tasked us with her protection. He was using her as bait knowing Martin wouldn’t skip the country without her. The question is why she matters so much to Martin,” he added, thinking to himself. “I mean, I know they’re close but…”
Saul broke into his thoughts by calling his attention to the small plane strafing the treetops up ahead of them. “Tell me that’s not Martin’s plane.”
Lucas ducked and peered from under the roof of the car. The sudden acceleration of the SUVs ahead of him supplied an answer.
“Oh, no,” Lucas breathed, suddenly stricken. “We’re too late,” he stated in disbelief.
The SUVs veered toward the control tower, and Lucas did likewise.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Saul soothed. “The FBI can order them to turn around. You’ll get Charlotte back.”
Oh, I plan to, Lucas thought. And when I do, I’ll never let her slip away again.
Chapter 20
“Sir!” Larry Martin’s pilot called through the opening from the cockpit to the cabin. “Control at NAS Oceana is hailing us. The FBI is demanding we return to base or they’ll scramble jets and force us down.”
With an exclamation of dismay, Charlotte’s godfather shook off his seatbelt and powered his way up the aisle of the steeply rising craft.
“They’re bluffing,” she heard him say. “No one’s going to force us down. I’m the director of the DIA, for God’s sake.”
Charlotte watched with a sinking heart as he reached into the cockpit and snapped off the radio, silencing the insistent voice on the other end.
Looking pale and tense, Uncle Larry shot a glance back at Charlotte, then dropped into a seat up front. Charlotte watched him close his eyes and rub his stomach, which was clearly hurting him.
“Turn around!” she shouted from her seat in the rear, but both men ignored her. Mustering her strength, Charlotte unbuckled her seatbelt and fought her way up the aisle to join them. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart. The plane was still climbing steeply into the sky.
Noticing her advance, Martin tensed, his eyes flashing as they did whenever he spoke of hostile countries. “Sit down, Charlotte,” he barked at her.
The suspicion that he’d killed her parents fueled her determination to stand up to him. “No,” she retorted. “We’re turning around. I am not going to the Bahamas again.”
Martin rose from his seat to confront her. “I said, sit down!” He started toward her, intent on grappling her into the nearest seat.
Using the angle of the plane to her advantage, Charlotte grabbed him and tugged him abruptly toward her. As he pitched forward, she plowed her knee into his midriff, then chopped him hard on the back of the head, stepping out of the way as he dropped face-down into the aisle, unconscious.
“Hey!” Startled by her actions, the pilot’s hands wobbled on the control yoke. He gawked over his shoulder at her. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did,” Charlotte gritted, then bent over her godfather and searched under his jacket for the 9-millimeter pistol she knew he kept holstered there. Finding and retrieving it, she turned and bore down on the pilot, pointing the gun at him.
“Turn this plane around,” she commanded through her teeth, “back to Oceana.” Then she reached cautiously into the cabin with her left hand and switched the radio back on.
With a wary look at her, the pilot leveled off the plane, but he didn’t turn them around. Charlotte flipped the gun’s safety and aimed it at closer range at his head.
“Are you going to fly this plane back to base, or would you like me to fly it while you talk to your Maker?”
She was bluffing of course, but he had no way to know that. To her relief, he pulled the plane into a banking turn. Charlotte snatched the copilot’s headset off the hook and worked it onto her head in time to hear, “King Air, do you copy?”
The raspy voice uttering the question sounded vaguely familiar.
“This is Charlotte Patterson,” she announced. “Who is this?”
“Casey Fitzpatrick,” said the odd voice.
It was him, she realized, though he sounded dreadful. “You’re alive?” she exclaimed in amazement.
“We’ll talk about that later. What’s your status?” he rapped.
She flicked a worried look over her shoulder. “Larry Martin is down for the moment. The pilot is turning around under duress.”
An audible cheer went up on the other end. Charlotte thought she heard Lucas’s rich baritone. “Is…is Lieutenant Strong there?” she stammered, chest suddenly tight.
There was a pause on the other end. “Charlotte.”
It was Lucas. Her nose prickled with the urge to cry.
“Are you okay?”
More than anything, she wanted to be in his arms right then. “Uncle Larry’s with The Entity. He was the one who abducted me. He was trying to leave the country and take me with him.”
“I know, baby,” Lucas crooned. “As soon as you get back, the FBI will arrest him.”
“I should have realized,” she lamented, forbearing to scold him for calling her baby. She peered anxiously over the nose of the plane for any sign of Oceana’s airstrip. In the distance, she spotted a pencil
-thin line that looked like it. I think he killed my parents, she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Hey, guess what? Fitz arrested Dwyer, and Jaguar was declared innocent.”
A weight seemed to slip off Charlotte’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s great. What a relief!”
“I screwed up, Charlotte. I was supposed to protect you from Martin. I didn’t realize.”
“That’s not your fault, Lucas. I didn’t realize either.”
Hearing movement behind her, she turned to find Martin pushing groggily to his knees.
“Stay right there!” she ordered, turning the weapon on him as he turned a malevolent glare over his shoulder at her.
“Charlotte?”
Lucas’s anxious calling of her name coincided with the pilot reaching back with his right arm and grabbing for the pistol. As they wrestled over its possession, Martin came to his feet and charged her. Whether she squeezed the trigger or the pilot caused her to, Charlotte wasn’t sure, but the 9-millimeter discharged suddenly.
Martin screamed and staggered back, blood blooming on the fabric of his slacks as he collapsed into a seat, hands clapped to his groin.
Horrified, Charlotte continued to fight the pilot for control of the pistol. Ripping off his headset, she grabbed his full head of hair and slammed his head with all her strength against the side of the cockpit. Knocked unconscious, the pilot released her and slumped over the control yoke. The plane started into a dive.
“Charlotte, what’s happening?”
Charlotte flashed out a hand to keep from losing her balance. God help her, the plane was descending and the pilot was out cold!
Sparing a glance at her godfather, who was hunched over trying to stem the blood gushing from his groin, Charlotte tried to rouse the pilot.
“Wake up!” She shook him as she shouted into his ear. Eyeing the windscreen, she was horrified to note the angle of the plane.
The pilot didn’t stir. Oh, no. Oh, help. This can’t be happening.
“Charlotte,” Lucas repeated with urgency. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m in big trouble,” she blurted. “Uncle Larry’s been shot, and the pilot is unconscious. The plane’s going down,” she added. “We’re going to crash.”
“No, you’re not.”
He said it with so much certainty that she eyed her situation one more time. Oh, yes, they were. The plane was headed straight for the ground.
How ironic that she’d dreamed a similar scenario, over and over again. “I’m going to die,” she said, resigning herself to the inevitable. For a split second, she thought of Calvin and what this would do to him. Could Lucas patch her through to her brother in time to tell him how much she loved him? To tell him goodbye?
“No,” Lucas stated on a stubborn note, cutting through her thoughts. “I won’t let you. Listen to me, Charlotte. You need to get the pilot off the yoke and take over the plane. Pull him back and cinch him in tight with the harness belt.”
She hesitated, then sprang into action. She had nothing to lose by trying. “All right.”
Hauling the pilot off the controls, she was relieved to feel the nose of the plane lift instantly. Cinching his belt as tight as possible, she then dropped into the copilot’s seat and eyed the display in front of her. Her father had taught her years ago what most of the instruments were, but that was in an older plane with analogue displays. The digital ones looked completely unfamiliar.
“Tell me what to do,” she begged. “Hurry.”
“Find the throttles with the black handles,” Lucas instructed, “and pull them all the way back. Then pull back on the control yoke.”
“This isn’t going to work,” she informed him. It had never worked in her nightmares.
“Do it, baby. We have you on radar. You’re not that far off-course. Just bring the nose up twenty degrees, and I will talk you in.”
Yeah, right. It couldn’t be that easy, but at this juncture, she had no choice but to try.
God, please don’t let me die like this.
As she drew back the black handles, the engine noise diminished. Next, she pulled the control yoke, fighting the increasing pressure. To her amazement, the tops of the trees disappeared from view, but then she was looking at pure blue sky as she soared straight up. A moan of terror escaped her.
“Not too much,” Lucas cautioned, his voice remarkably calm. “Ease back down until the nose reaches the horizon and add some power back in with the black handles.”
She pushed the yoke forward until the horizon came into view and timidly added power.
“How fast are you going, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know.” Even to her own ears, she sounded terrified.
“Look at the airspeed indicator. It’s right in the middle of the instrument panel, clearly marked.”
Charlotte frantically searched the gauges in the middle of the dash and finally found the one for airspeed. “One hundred ten,” she said.
“More throttle!”
Responding to Lucas’s urgency, she jammed the throttles forward. The plane lunged, and the propeller noise became a scream.
“Easy, baby. Keep the handles about two-thirds of the way forward.”
Charlotte reduced the power. She was having a hard time holding the plane level. Each increase or decrease of power made the nose rise and fall, and the pressure of the yoke was tremendous.
“I can’t hold it!” she cried.
“Are you buckled in?”
“No.” The plane was all over the sky, rising and falling like a roller coaster.
“Do that first.” Lucas’s steady tone reined in her runaway panic.
“Done,” she said a second later.
“Now, do you see a big wheel sticking halfway out of the center console, close to the throttles?”
“You mean the trim wheel?” she asked, remembering it from her father’s lessons.
“Yes, that one. First, which way is the plane trying to go, up or down?”
“Uh…down.”
“Okay. Push the wheel away from you until you feel the pressure on the yoke ease off to nothing.”
Charlotte obeyed and, to her amazement, it worked. The control yoke was blessedly pressure-free.
“That’s better,” she said.
“Now, find the rudders on the floor,” Lucas added, “and push the left one until I tell you to stop. You’re a little off course.”
She did as he said, and the whole plane started skidding through the air. Oh, God.
“That’s it. Now release the pedal and have a look. Do you see the airstrip ahead of you?”
She’d kept one eye on it the entire time. “I see it.”
“Tap the right rudder with your toe and line yourself up exactly. Make small movements. You have plenty of time.”
She heard him muffle the radio and issue orders to have the airstrip cleared and to have emergency vehicles standing by. Her heart clutched with dread at the thought of approaching the ground.”
“I’m scared,” she confessed.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “Think of what Isaiah wrote: ‘Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with the righteousness of my right hand.’”
In that life or death moment, the words were a balm to her terrified soul. “I so much want to believe that,” she admitted.
“Then believe it,” he urged. “All things are possible with God. Besides, flying is easy in a turboprop. I’m going to talk you right through it. Okay?”
She expelled a shaky breath. “Okay. I’m a believer.”
“That’s my girl. Now that you’ve sped up, I need you to slow down. Pull back on the throttle handles until they’re about halfway back. As you slow down, the nose will drop. When that happens, pull the yoke back and roll back the wheel until the pressure’s gone again.”
As tense as a trapdoor, Charlotte followed his instructions. Like he�
��d said, the nose began to drop. She pulled back the yoke, bringing the plane level, then adjusted the wheel to reduce pressure, and the nose returned to the horizon. The white needle on the airspeed indicator began to drop.
“It’s dropped below one hundred fifty,” she relayed.
“Perfect. Now look way over by the pilot’s seat and find the landing gear. It looks like a pin with a lollipop on top.”
“Found it.”
“Pull it out and then push it all the way down. Then nudge the throttles forward just a bit.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, now.”
She did, and a mechanical sound followed. She sensed the plane slowing down, and she responded by nudging the throttles forward.
“What’s the airspeed now?” he asked.
“One hundred.”
“That’s a little slow.”
He tried to mask the tension in his tone, but she still heard it, prompting her to add more power and to roll the trim forward. The airspeed indicator began a slow climb up, allowing her to release the breath she was holding and inhale another one. Her blouse was sticking to her back.
Surely, her father had done this very thing while trying to keep his plane from crashing into the ocean. Don’t think of that!
“I’m back to one twenty,” she volunteered.
“Perfect.” Lucas’s voice was soothing again. “Now look along the top of the instrument panel. See the three green lights lit up?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That means the gear’s down. Look on the face of the instrument panel near your left knee. Do you see the small handle marked FLAPS?”
“Yes.”
“Pull it down to the first notch in the slot.”
She did, and the plane began to slow again. The nose rose slightly.
“How’s the airspeed” Lucas asked again.
“Down to one hundred ten again.”
“Hold it right there. If it tries to go slower, roll the trim forward to make the nose go down. If it tries to go faster, trim up. Remember this,” he added. “It’s important: You are going to control the speed by moving the nose up or down. You’re going to control your altitude with the throttles. Got it?”
Every Secret Thing Page 25