Kari reacted with shock, then went to the intercom. “This is Kari Frost. Under no circumstances are you to abort the takeoff. Whatever he does, get this plane into the air. That is an order.” She returned to the window. “What the hell is he doing?”
“Trying to stop you,” said Nina.
Kari set her jaw, her expression turning hard. “He won’t succeed.” She moved to the top of the stairs and shouted down to the guards, “Get your guns and open the hatch! Somebody’s trying to stop us from taking off-”
Nina realized that Kari’s back was to her, and she had only the lightest hold on the handrail.
She didn’t even have time to consider the thought rationally. Instead, she acted on pure instinct, rushing at Kari with both arms held out like battering rams and pushing her down the stairs.
Taken completely by surprise, Kari had no chance to stop herself from falling. She screamed as she tumbled down the metal steps, flailing limbs smashing against the hard edges, then hit the floor with a bang, bleeding and dazed.
Nina stared down at her almost in shock at what she’d done before instinct took over again. Fight or flight…
Flight!
She ran to the door at the back of the cabin, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. Darting through, she found herself inside the upper hold, a vaulted tunnel of bare metal ribs holding a line of cargo containers, rattling against their restraints. Banks of white LEDs mounted along the ceiling provided ghostly illumination.
There was no lock on the door. She hurriedly looked around for some way to secure it.
The nearest container was just a few feet away, held in place by thick straps attached to lugs in the floor. She yanked at what she hoped was the release lever. With a loud clack, the strap came free. She looped it behind a spar in the wall before tying it around the door handle, pulling it tight. It wouldn’t stop the door from being opened, but it would make it much harder for anyone to squeeze through the narrow gap.
She stepped back, looking down the hold.
The virus…
For the virus to be released in flight, whatever container it was in had to be somehow plumbed to the skin of the Airbus. If she could find the container, there might be some way to sabotage it.
Loud footsteps from the cabin: someone racing up the stairs.
Nina ran down the hold.
The A380 was about to complete its turn, and Chase was almost at the end of the runway. He wiped his eyes, trying to get a clear look at the aircraft. Under the fuselage were five undercarriage legs, one at the nose and the other four spreading out the plane’s weight as widely as possible.
When the undercarriage retracted into the plane’s belly, there should be access hatches he could use to enter the fuselage if he got onto one of the landing legs.
Might be access hatches, he reminded himself.
He had to take the chance. It was now or never. The A380’s four gaping engines were spinning up.
The Ferrari’s tires screeched again as he swerved to one side of the runway. Not to get out of the plane’s way, but to make as tight a turn as possible without losing too much speed, preparing to come in under the aircraft.
The cable gun was ready on the passenger seat beside him.
He would literally only get one shot-if he missed, there was a good chance he would die when the Ferrari was caught in the engine backblast. If he survived that, he would be dead soon after, killed either by Frost’s men or by his virus.
Even if he succeeded, he was probably dead anyway. But he had to try.
Heat scoured his face as he passed behind the engines on the left wing. The Ferrari threatened to spin out, and he eased off the accelerator slightly-if he made a mistake now, there would be no chance to catch up.
The hatch at the plane’s nose opened. Someone leaned out, a gun in his hand-one of Frost’s men looking for him.
The overstressed tires strained for grip-
Now directly behind the fuselage, Chase straightened the car, aiming between the two pairs of landing legs in the A380’s belly.
The engine noise rose to a scream, and the plane started to accelerate.
For its colossal size, the Airbus was frighteningly quick off the mark. Burning air blasted Chase like a hurricane as the Ferrari darted under the plane’s tail. The massive fuselage filled his vision, a giant hammer ready to crush him flat at any moment.
He was between the rear undercarriage legs, still outpacing the aircraft-but not for long.
He grabbed the cable gun.
Now he was level with the front landing legs, foot to the floor to keep up with the racing Airbus. A slight turn of the wheel brought him closer to the left leg, the four giant tires a whirling blur.
One shot.
The wheels were less than a foot from the Ferrari’s side.
As the plane pulled away, Chase aimed the cable gun into the undercarriage well.
One chance-
Fire!
The grapnel shot out, the line whipping behind it. It flew into the wheel well and struck the inner wall. If it fell out, it was all over…
It held!
The grapnel had pierced the metal bulkhead.
He only needed it to hold for a few seconds. Hitting the switch to retract the cable, he shoved the gun through the center of the steering wheel, looping the line back around on itself. Then he let go of the wheel, forcing himself upright against the hundred-mile-an-hour slipstream, and held the cable as it snapped taut-
The Ferrari swerved, dragged in behind the undercarriage.
He jumped over the door and pulled himself hand over hand up the line. Dust and grit kicked up by the plane’s wheels spat into his face. He only needed to traverse a few feet, but the line was already straining.
His feet scraped the runway, almost tearing him loose. Blood oozed between his fingers as the cable cut into his flesh.
The landing leg was just a foot away-one more swing of his arm and he would be able to pull himself onto the undercarriage-
The cable lashed. The Ferrari skidded sideways, dragged behind the plane like a toy. Chase felt the steel line jolt. The grapnel was giving way-
He lunged desperately for the landing leg, blood-soaked fingers closing around the metal just as the cable snapped free.
The Ferrari broke away, spinning out of control behind him. The cable shot past, the grapnel a lethal barb flashing past his face. He instinctively looked around to follow it, in time to see the Airbus plow right over the sports car, flattening it instantly. Mangled debris flew in all directions.
The impact shook even the massive aircraft. Chase struggled to keep hold, kicking in a frantic attempt to find a foothold before he suffered the same fate as the F430.
His boot found solid metal. He pulled himself up. If his guess had been wrong, if there wasn’t an access hatch, he would be crushed when the undercarriage retracted into the belly of the plane.
He looked up, seeing nothing but metal walls and skeins of cables and hydraulic lines.
Shit-
As the Airbus left the runway, the shriek of the engines almost deafening, the landing leg began to retract, folding into the confines of the wheel well. Chase twisted desperately as he was pushed towards the ceiling, the metal ribs of the fuselage like blades about to slice him into pieces-
A hatch!
An access panel, barely two feet wide, with a recessed ring-shaped handle at its base. He grabbed the handle.