Some murmured words from up front, and the EMT said, ‘No fucking around! Stop the goddamn bus!’
The ‘goddamn bus’ slowed down and halted. Brian sat up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back, keeping his stare fixed on the cop, who had murderous hate in his eyes — and who could blame him? The EMT — showing some initiative — scrambled to the rear of the ambulance and opened the rear door. Brian tugged at his right arm, pulling the IV free. Blood spurted down his arm. He kept on moving, the cop moving with him. It was awkward, it was tough, but soon he was out on the pavement. The cop was standing there too and Brian nudged him and said, ‘Back in the bus, pal. You get back in the bus and close the door and drive away.’
The cop stood still.
Brian said, ‘Move away, or I start shooting civilians. Move away, and I run like hell, and nobody gets hurt.’
The cop said, ‘You’re a stupid fuck.’
‘Probably. Move.’
The cop took a step back and Brian stepped away, still wincing from the pain. The cop went back into the ambulance, and Brian slammed the door shut and slapped his hand twice against it. The ambulance, lights still flashing, moved out.
Brian took in his surroundings. Apartment buildings, office buildings, small stores — he could waste precious seconds looking for a phone and the police would come down like a hammer on this area once the cop in the ambulance got on the horn. He put the cop’s pistol in his coat pocket, and walked quickly down one block, then another, not running — running men always attract attention — and by God, luck must have been with him, for he caught a taxi and in a matter of moments was heading to the Memphis International Airport.
It was 1:51 a.m.
Carrie Floyd felt the subtle vibration of the MD-11 engines in the control yoke as they waited for takeoff at the end of the runway. Sean was there, just waiting, and she decided that she would tease him, all the way northeast, once they took off.
He was patient. And would have to be, to put up with her and her daughter.
Sean made a point of clearing his throat.
Carrie kept on ignoring him, though it was hard to do with a smile on her face.
In the rear of the taxi, Brian Doyle tried to work through the pain in his back, the pain in his chest, keeping his gaze straight on what was ahead of him, and what was ahead of him wasn’t good. For some reason the traffic was backing up to the airport exits. He leaned forward and said to the cabbie, ‘Why is it taking so goddamn long? What’s the holdup?’
‘Man, who the fuck knows?’ the cabbie said, the lilt in his Jamaican voice pronounced. ‘Maybe an accident. Maybe a drill. I dunno.’
Brian waited, hands folded, staring ahead, looking at the line of red taillights stretching in front of them. He said, ‘You own a cellphone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I use it? It’s an emergency.’
‘No, man, I’m ‘fraid you can’t use it.’
‘Why?’
‘Cuz I don’t have it here. It’s back at my place.’
Brian said, ‘I thought you said you had a cellphone.’
The cabbie said, ‘You didn’t ask me if I had one, you just asked me if I owned one. Right?’
They still weren’t moving. Screw this.
Brian opened the cab door, stepped out, and started running towards the fences on the other side of the highway. If the cabbie was screaming at him, Brian didn’t hear it over the noise of the jets.
AirBox 107 sat at the end of the runway, its engines idling, the white lights of the runway stretching out ahead. Carrie kept switching her gaze from the displays to the runway. Sean waited next to her, then said, ‘Something’s up.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve never waited this long before, that’s why.’
Carrie said, ‘Be patient, will you?’
Sean said, ‘Some would say I’ve been too patient already.’ She thought of what to say, when the tower controller’s voice came over their headsets.
‘AirBox one-oh-seven, tower.’
‘One-oh-seven, go ahead,’ Sean replied.
‘Stand by.’
‘One-oh-seven.’
Carrie looked at Sean and he said, ‘Look over there. By the freight hangars. Lots of lights.’
She did just that. He was right. A number of red and blue flashing lights.
‘You’re right,’ she said.
‘You should learn to listen to me more often.’
Carrie waited and said, ‘Some people would say I already listen too much.’
‘Which people?’
Carrie said nothing, waited.
Then the tower came back on.
‘Airbox one-oh-seven.’
Adrianna Scott had scouted out this place months ago, and now she waited with anticipation, a pair of 7X50 binoculars in her hands. She was in a small park on a hillside, about a mile away from the airport. Among the picnic tables and swing sets, all empty, she waited. She looked around her, saw how empty the place was, and felt a wonderful sense of satisfaction. This place would never be used again by the people of this country and soon grass and saplings and trees would once more cover this cleared area.
She lifted up the binoculars, focused them on the runway. She could make out long lines of yellow and black AirBox jets, heading out for departure.
‘Soon, papa, soon, mama,’ she whispered.
Brian bent over, vomited, and then stood up, wiping spit from his chin. Before him was an access road, bordered by a chain-link fence that butted up against the runway. What the hell to do now? There was nothing before him except the fence. No phones, no guard shacks, nothing.
Damn!
He looked up and down the length of the fence. Noted the lampposts. Noted the power lines. And the cameras, of course, the—
Security cameras.
Only chance. The only real chance.
Brian took out the pistol he had lifted from the Memphis cop, started running the length of the fence, shooting the pistol into the air, raising as much hell as he could. If the airport security team was on the job, if these cameras were manned, they would see a crazy man with a gun at the end of this runway, apparently shooting at the soon-to-depart aircraft.
It was the only thing he could do.
Sean said, AirBox one-oh-seven, go ahead.’
‘Tower, AirBox one-oh-seven, cleared for takeoff, runway three six center’
‘AirBox one-oh-seven, cleared for takeoff runway three six center, we thank you.’
Carrie held onto the throttles tight, started pushing them forward. She felt the engine thrust push her back into the seat as the runway lights started accelerating past them. Sean started calling out the speed and then V-1, the speed at which take off was imminent: ‘Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Vee-one, rotate.’
Carrie pulled the control yoke back. ‘Vee-two,’ Sean said as she felt the jet break free from the ground, Sean now indicating that they were at their climbing speed in case they lost an engine. They were airborne.
She said quickly, ‘Positive rate, gear up,’ and Sean moved a wheel-shaped lever with his left hand. There was a clunking sensation as the nose wheel came home.
‘Gear up,’ Sean said.
As the speed increased, Carrie called out, ‘Flaps five.’
The flaps moved to their position, and then she said, ‘Flaps up.’
‘Flaps up,’ Sean said. ‘We’ve got a clean aircraft.’
The tower controller’s voice came over the radio. ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, change to departure.’