FIFTY-FIVE
Grant strained at his handcuffs as he watched the Lodestar reach the end of the runway. The aircraft began its takeoff roll a second before he heard the engines go to full power. After ten minutes of telling their tale to the arresting officers, he and Morgan were not getting a sympathetic ear. The policemen’s major concern was clearing them out of the busy pathway so that the incident wouldn’t disrupt the event.
“You have to listen to us,” Grant said to the officer guiding him to the oversized utility cart. “You have to call the flight director of the Skyward and tell them there is someone here who may have planted a bomb on their plane.”
“Right. And those unconscious guys are Russian spies.” They’d already carted the Russians off in medical units. “Look. We’ve relayed your concerns to the appropriate people. We’ll take you to the security office. If your ‘story’ checks out, then we’ll see if we can find the other Russians.”
Grant and Morgan were shoved into the cart, and they motored away.
As the cart passed the main food court, a shout called out to them. When the cart didn’t slow, the shout became a scream of bloody murder. That finally got the officer to stop.
“What the hell is going on now?” he said.
Fay ran over to them waving her arms, dashing around to the driver.
“I need their help,” she said, breathing hard.
“Do you know these people, ma’am?”
“They’re friends of my granddaughter. What’s going on?”
“We caught them after they beat two men to the point of unconsciousness. We’re taking them to the security office. You can meet us there.”
The officer’s radio squawked. “Moline, where are you?”
“Moline here. We’re at the food court near the Heli Center.”
“We’ve got a major problem with the spaceplane demo. They lost contact with the pilot, and then he just took off.”
Grant felt his stomach sink. Colchev was already on his way up.
“That’s what I’m telling you!” Grant said. “The spaceplane is being hijacked.”
“And for all we know, you’re in on it. Now shut up!”
“Moline,” the voice on the radio said, “get over to the flight ops and see if you can give them a hand.”
“We’ve got suspects in custody.”
“Damn it! All right, bring them back here. I’ll get someone else.”
Moline put the radio away. “Ma’am, we have to go—”
Fay jabbed the muzzle of a Glock pistol against Moline’s rib cage, taking care to keep it out of sight of passing patrons. “No. You let them go. Now.”
Moline snickered at the seventy-five-year-old. “Is this a joke?”
“Do I look like a comedian?” Fay said with a deadly serious stare. Moline’s smirk faltered.
“Fay,” Morgan said, “where did you get that?”
“Tyler gave it to me. You didn’t think I would be the only one to come here unarmed, did you?”
Grant supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d want her own weapon after the way she handled that shotgun in New Zealand.
When Moline hesitated, Fay poked him with the Glock. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
Moline nodded at the other officer, who unlocked Morgan’s cuffs and then Grant’s.
“What do we do with them?” Morgan said, retrieving their weapons and the officers’ guns as well.
Grant looked around and saw a row of Port-a-Potties on the other side of the food court. “Over there.”
As inconspicuously as possible, they put the two officers into the potties and locked the doors with the handcuffs. The men might scream for help, but it would take time for anyone to get them out.
“Good job, Fay,” Grant said.
“I had to do something. Tyler and Jess are on that plane.”
Grant and Morgan looked at each other in confusion, then back at Fay.
“Are you sure?”
Fay nodded. “They were wearing spacesuits, so when I was watching them get out of the shuttle bus, I thought they were the crew. But then I saw the shorter one put up her hands in the ‘V for victory’ sign.”
“I don’t get it.”
Fay’s words came out in a gusher. “In New Zealand if you do the sign palm-out, it means ‘victory’. But if you do the sign palm-in, it means ‘screw you.’ You know, like giving the finger. Well, the shorter one gave the palm-out version to the crowd, but then she definitely gave the palm-in version to the two men on either end. Then when I saw the taller man put his hand on her hip to escort her to the plane, I recognized their walks. It was Tyler and Jess. Now they’re on board the plane with that madman. You have to help them!”
“They must have the Killswitch on board,” Morgan said. “How long until they launch the spaceplane from the carrier?”
Grant had read up on the Skyward on the flight there. “If the pilot climbs hard, they can be in launch position in fifteen minutes.”
He could see Morgan doing mental calculations. She shook her head. “Not enough time. The closest air base is in Madison. Unless they scrambled right now, they won’t be able to get here in time to …” She glanced at Fay. “… to force them down.”
Grant shook his head. “You’re right. Who knows how long it’ll take to convince them that there’s enough of a threat to send up the fighters.”
“What about the fighters here?” Fay said, pointing at the T-38, whose portable start cart was already attached. “They could go up and find the spaceplane.”
“No good,” Morgan said. “The T-38 is a trainer. It’s unarmed. All the planes here are. Besides, without orders from their chain of command, they wouldn’t do it.”
“You could,” Grant said.
“Me?”
“You were a fighter pilot. Can’t you fly that?”
Morgan looked at the T-38 again and then back to Grant. “You’re serious?”
“What other choice to do we have?”
Morgan pursed her lips in thought before she finally nodded. “You’re right. Come on!”
She sprinted toward the T-38, leaving Grant to pull Fay along behind her.
The trainer’s pilots were standing next to the jet talking to a patron. Morgan pushed the man out of the way.
“Captain, I’m a federal agent. I’m commandeering your airplane.”
The baby-faced pilot smiled at her and then started laughing hysterically. He turned to his subordinate, a lieutenant. “Hudson, did you put this pretty lady up to this?”
The puzzled lieutenant joined in the laughter and shrugged.
“I don’t have time for this,” Morgan said, pulling out her pistol.
The pilots got quiet fast.
“I’d listen to her,” Grant said.
“What the hell is this?” the captain said.
“I don’t have time to explain, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Give me your helmet.”
“The hell I will.”
She looked up the stairs leading to the cockpit. “That’s okay. It must be in the cockpit. Is your plane prepped and ready to fly?”
“You’re taking my plane over my dead body.”
Fay pulled her pistol and pointed it at him. “That might happen, son. Because my granddaughter is a hostage on the spaceplane that took off. Now give this woman the keys or whatever she needs, or I’ll shoot you myself.”
“This is truly a matter of national security,” Morgan said. “There is an EMP weapon on board the spaceplane. If it reaches launch altitude, the entire US infrastructure could be destroyed. I’m a former F-16 pilot, and I’m going to bring them back down before that happens. Understand?”
“What’s your call sign?”
Without hesitation, she said, “Buster.”
Despite the situation, Grant couldn’t help a slight smile. He was quite sure that Buster stood for “Ball Buster”.