She threw the gun to the ground and stood shaking as the last of the ladders was thrown away from the plane and the doors were pulled shut.
65
Down to the Promised Land
Malink joined Tuck on the flight deck and tried to work the flight officer’s harness around his belly as Tuck released the ground brakes and the jet started rolling. The two fighters did another pass overhead, one of the pilots warning Tuck not to attempt to take off.
“You forced me down,” Tuck said into the headset mike. “What more do you guys want?”
He rammed the throttles to maximum. They either had enough runway or they didn’t. What was certain was that he wouldn’t know in time to stop. They were going into the ocean or into the sky and that was that.
The flaps were down for maximum lift, which would use three times as much fuel as a regular takeoff, but that was a problem to deal with once they were in the air. He looked at the ocean ahead, then at the airspeed indicator, then at the ocean ahead—back and forth, waiting, waiting, waiting for the airspeed indicator to reach the point where the plane would lift. He was twenty knots short of takeoff speed when the end of the runway disappeared from view and he started his pull up.
The rear wheels of the great plane grazed the water as it lifted into the air. Tuck heard what he hoped was a cheer coming from the back of the plane, but there was a distinct possibility that he was hearing collective screams of terror. He had just lifted off with three hundred and thirty-two people who had never flown before. Tuck thought of Sepie, who would have started her first plane ride two hours ago.
“Where are we going?” Malink asked.
He was trying to compose himself, but when Tuck looked at him, he saw that the old chief’s eyes were as wide as saucers.
“A place called Costa Rica,” Tuck said. “You ever heard of it?”
Malink shook his head. “Vincent tells you to take us there.”
“No, it was my idea, actually.”
“There is plenty cargo on Costa Rica?”
Couldn’t say, Malink, but the climate is nice and there’s no extradition.”
“That is good?” Malink said, as if he had the slightest idea what extradition was.
Tuck admired the old chief. He was here because his god told him to be here. He had just made a decision that would change the history of an entire population, and he had done it on faith.
Tuck set the autopilot and crawled out of the pilot’s seat. “I’m going back to make sure everyone is strapped in. Don’t touch anything.”
Malink’s eyes went wide again. “Who is flying the plane?”
Tuck winked. “I think you know.” He turned and headed down the steps to check on his passengers.
Pushed to his limit and no little bit frightened, Sebastian Curtis sneaked up on his wife, who was in full tantrum, and injected her in the thigh with a syringe full of Valium. She turned and gave him a good shot to the jaw before she started to calm down. He caught her by the shoulders and backed her into the office chair in front of the computer.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “Nomura is on his way back with the Lear. We’ll be long gone before anyone can get here.”
“How did he do it?” Beth’s voice was weak now, trailing off at the end.
“I don’t know. I’m surprised he’s even alive. We’ll be fine. We have plenty of money. Not as much as we’d hoped, but if we’re careful…”
“He turned them against me,” she said. “My people…” She didn’t finish.
Sebastian stroked her hair. The clinic door opened and Mato came inside carrying his Uzi. “Phone,” he said.
“No,” Sebastian said. “I’ve already called Japan. The Lear is on its way. Now give us some privacy.”
Mato threw the bolt on the Uzi and said something in Japanese. Sebastian didn’t move. Mato dug the barrel of the gun into the doctor’s ribs. “Phone,” he said.
Sebastian picked up the receiver that was connected to the satellite and handed it over.
“Out,” Mato said.
Sebastian helped Beth to her feet. “Come on. We have to do as he says.”
Beth let him lift her to her feet, then she pointed a finger at Mato. “You can kiss your Christmas bonus good-bye, ninja boy. That’s it.”
Sebastian dragged her through the door and helped her across the com-pound to her bungalow. Inside he lay her on the bed. Getting her out of the surgical greens was like trying to undress a rag doll. She babbled inco-herently the whole time, but did not fight him. When he turned to leave the room, two of the guards were standing in the doorway grinning. One of them motioned for him to leave the room. The other stared hungrily at Beth.
“No,” Sebastian said. He stepped into the doorway and pushed aside the barrels of their weapons. They stepped back in unison and raised the Uzis. Sebastian stepped toward them. They took another step back. He was a full foot taller than either of them.
“Get out,” he said and he took another step. They stepped back. “Out. Get out. Or do you want to lose all your fingers?” He’d found the magic words. The people they worked for were notorious for taking the finger joints of those who disobeyed. The guards looked at each other, then backed out the door that led into the compound. One of them hurled a curse in Japanese as he went. Behind them Sebastian saw Mato coming out of the clinic. He marched right for Beth’s bungalow, almost stomping the ground as he walked, his jaw clenched and his weapon held before him. Sebastian closed the door, locked it, and ran to the bedroom.
“Come on, Beth. Get up. We’ve got to get out of here.” She was still conscious, but had no coordination. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, then went out the french doors onto the lanai and down the steps to the beach.
The warm water seemed to revive her somewhat and he managed to get her to kick as together they made the swim around the minefield.
The fighters veered off after an hour and the 747 was picked up by a B-52 that stayed on them until they were in fighter range of the Americas, where they were joined by two F-16s. Out of Panama, Tuck guessed. What exactly did they think they were going to accomplish? A 747 wasn’t the kind of plane you ditch in the jungle and make your escape. In fact, Tuck didn’t think that any plane was that kind of plane. He certainly wasn’t going to ditch in the jungle or in the water for that matter. Despite his misgivings, they were going to make it to Costa Rica with plenty of fuel. They were well below the plane’s passenger capacity and they carried almost no baggage and no commissary supplies. The only worry he had now was what would happen to him when they got on the ground. It was true, Costa Rica had no extradition treaty with the United States, but what he had done was an act of international terrorism. He might have done better to head back to Hawaii and take his chances with the FBI rather than risk rotting away in a Central American jail. Still, something told him that this was where he should be going. He didn’t know why, really, he had picked Costa Rica, any more than he knew why he had stolen a plane and gone back to Alualu in the first place.
As he started his descent for Palmar Airport on the coast, the B-52 veered off to the north and was soon out of sight. Tuck had turned the radio off hours ago, tired of hearing the same threats and commands from the milit-ary pilots. As much as he hated the idea of giving the authorities a warning, however, he turned on the radio to advise the tower at Palmar that he was coming in. A midair collision might be even worse than a Costa Rican jail. Especially with three hundred and thirty-two lives riding his soul to hell.
He called to the tower, then took off the headset and sat back and relaxed, convinced that for once in his life he had done the right thing. Somehow he would see to it that Sepie got half the money from the Swiss bank ac-counts. He envisioned her in a big house with one bedroom and seventy-two bathrooms with a television in every one. She’d be fine.