Constance knew that Trinity had traveled to the Pacific Northwest. She did not know what, exactly, Trinity was investigating but admitted she had made inquiries about Kane’s business dealings on Trinity’s behalf. The news was unsurprising to Stone, but still unwelcome. Kane was a dangerous man, but Trinity had a fearlessness that bordered on recklessness. Stone had long ago given up on trying to rein her in.
“You’re sure this thing will get us there?” he said to Alex.
“We’ve made it to Montana and haven’t had a problem yet,” Alex said. He sat in the copilot’s seat while Moses piloted the plane. “And if our new project works out as well as this one, Moses and I are going to be famous.”
“When are the two of you going to stop keeping this big secret?” Stone asked. “After all, it’s my money you’re spending.”
“Believe me, when this thing is ready, it’s going to make us all rich.”
“Stone’s already rich,” Moses said, his eyes locked on the sky in front of them.
“Really? Trinity didn’t tell me that.” Constance smiled at Stone. Stone had not wanted her to come along, but she had insisted that if they did not include her in the search for Trinity, she’d conduct her own search. Given the potential dangers involved in any investigation that touched on John Kane, Stone had felt it would be wrong to let her make a go of it alone. At least this way he could keep an eye on her.
“Speaking of Trinity, do we have any idea yet where to even look for her? Aside from somewhere in or around Seattle?” Alex asked.
Before Constance could reply, Moses spoke up. “There’s a plane coming right at us.”
Stone leaned forward and peered through the cockpit. Moses was right. A biplane was making a beeline for them. Stone recognized it right away. It was an Albatross D.V., the World War I era German fighter plane that preceded the better known and much more reliable Fokker D.VIII.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Alex said. “The odds of encountering another plane out here must be microscopic.”
“Try changing course and see if it follows us,” Stone suggested. He had a bad feeling about this newcomer.
Alex adjusted their course several degrees west-northwest. Moments later, the Albatross too changed its direction. Soon it was gaining ground on the Flying Wing.
“They’s definitely after us,” Moses said. If he was frightened, he didn’t let it show. “Now I’m wishing we had added weapons to this bird.”
“We designed her for long-distance travel,” Alex said. “A weapons system would add unnecessary weight.”
“It feels pretty necessary right now, don’t it?” Moses said.
“Maybe they don’t mean us any harm,” Constance said. “Just another pilot out enjoying the day?”
The Albatross answered her question by opening fire. Bullets zipped past the nose of the Flying Wing. Alex let out a yelp and opened up the throttle.
“Can we outrun them?” Moses asked.
“Not likely,” Stone said. “The Albatross was a lousy plane, but she’s lighter, faster, and more maneuverable than we are.”
“What do we do, then?” Alex asked, his face ashen and his voice tight.
“Head for that cloud bank up ahead. And don’t fly in a straight line. A moving target is harder to hit.”
“Roger that.” Alex banked the plane toward starboard. Another rattle of gunfire and another hail of bullets missed them badly.
“And don’t fall into a pattern with your movements,” Stone warned. “Mix it up. Keep him guessing.”
“How about you make me a list?” Alex snapped as he once again banked the plane to starboard, then back to port. “Sorry. This is my first dogfight.”
“Don’t mention it. But speaking of dogfights, I want to see if maybe we can turn this into a real battle. Can you lower the hatch?”
“Sure, but make sure you affix the safety line to your belt. I don’t want you getting sucked out of the plane.”
Stone did as instructed. Moments later a rumbling sound filled his ears and the deck trembled as a hatch opened beneath them. Wind ripped through the cabin like a tornado. Constance let out a shout of protest and covered her head. Stone grabbed hold of a metal rung at the edge of the hatch, drew his Webley Top-Break revolver. The standard-issue sidearm for the British army, it fired .455 slugs and delivered a punch. Stone worked his head and shoulders down through the opening.
The wind tore at him and he held on for dear life. Hanging upside down, he took a few seconds to reorient himself before taking aim at the Albatross as it closed in. The pilot fired off another burst, but at this range and with his poor accuracy, he was wasting ammunition. An amateur.
Stone took aim with his Webley, and focused. He squeezed off a single shot aimed at the cockpit. It missed, making a ragged tear in the upper wing. Stone fired again and this time the slug pinged off the fuselage just inches from the cockpit.
The pilot took evasive action, sending the fighter into a barrel roll, then taking it into a dive, before coming up and firing again. Stone adjusted his angle and squeezed the trigger. This time his shot struck the landing gear.
“I can’t get a decent shot,” he complained, though no one could hear him. As the battle went on, the Albatross drew ever closer. Stone managed to score a few hits, one to the cockpit’s windscreen, which slowed the pursuit a little, but nothing that made the Albatross back off. Finally, when he had emptied the cylinder, he climbed back into the cabin.
“No joy,” he said. “I hit them a few times but it’s like poking an elephant with a sharp stick.”
“We’re almost into the cloud bank,” Alex said. “But what do we do after that?”
“We got parachutes,” Moses offered.
Constance blanched. “I don’t know how to use one of those things.”
“Forget it,” Stone said. “We’d be sitting ducks. The pilot would gun us all down before we hit the ground.” He looked around. “Are you sure there aren’t any weapons on board?”
Moses looked at Alex. “I suppose we could show him the new invention.”
Alex shook his head. “It’s not a weapon. Besides, he hasn’t even had a chance to test it out yet.”
“But if he…”
“There’s no time to argue,” Stone said. “Tell me about this new toy of yours.”
Interlude 2
Stone grabbed hold of the rope and tested its strength before grabbing on with both hands. It supported his weight. He looked up, trying to catch sight of his rescuer. A small, wiry man with skin like tanned hide, peered over the ledge.
“I will not pull you up,” the man said simply.
“Fair enough.” With the rope to hold on to, Stone had no problem finishing the climb. When he reached the top, he found himself on a narrow path that wound its way along the mountainside.
The man who had come to his aid neither spoke to him nor met his eye. Stone was six feet three inches tall. This fellow barely came up to his shoulder. He was dressed in layers of worn clothing and wore a knife with a bone hilt in a leather sheath at his hip. Silently, the man knelt and gathered his rope.