Chapter 6 - The Pilot With Blood on His HandsThe hijackers finally realized they had not trapped a gangster on a passenger plane. They had trapped a combat pilot in his natural habitat.
The captain raised the weapon.
I didn't move.
“You think you're dangerous,” he said.
“No.”
I looked at his hands.
“I know you're scared.”
That made him angry.
He fired.
The shot struck the overhead panel.
Sparks exploded.
Passengers screamed.
Douglas ducked.
I moved.
Years of instinct took over.
I grabbed the captain's wrist, twisted, drove my shoulder into his chest and sent him into the side console.
The gun dropped.
He went for it.
I kicked it away.
The aircraft rolled.
An alarm blared.
I returned to the controls.
“Seat belts!”
Douglas grabbed the radio.
“Everyone remain seated!”
The captain staggered up.
“You have no idea what you've started.”
I looked at him.
“Who sent you?”
He smiled.
“Someone you've been feeding money to for years.”
My jaw tightened.
“Name.”
“Your accountant.”
I went still.
“My accountant?”
He nodded.
“Your entire organization has been infiltrated.”
The plane jolted.
A warning flashed.
Fuel imbalance.
I immediately corrected it.
Douglas stared.
“Can you land us?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
I looked at the storm ahead.
“Whether they keep trying to kill us.”
A voice crackled over the radio.
Adrian Vane.
Finally.
“Hello, Warren.”
I recognized the calm.
The patience.
The hatred underneath it.
“Adrian.”
“You remember my father.”
“I remember killing him.”
“You think that was justice.”
“It was.”
“You took everything from me.”
“No.”
I glanced through the cockpit door.
At the rows of passengers.
At Norah.
“You did that yourself.”
Adrian laughed.
“You haven't changed.”
“Neither have you.”
“I disagree.”
The radio hissed.
“I grew up.”
“You became a coward.”
The transmission paused.
Then Adrian said:
“Look beneath your seat.”
Douglas stared at me.
I looked down.
A small red light was blinking beneath the jump seat.
Bomb.
I recognized the design.
Old military hardware.
Portable.
Compact.
Extremely dangerous.
My stomach tightened.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“How much?”
“You have forty minutes.”
The line went dead.
I checked the timer.
Thirty-eight minutes.
Then I noticed something else.
The device wasn't connected to the aircraft.
It was connected to…
Me.
Specifically, a biometric sensor.
I understood.
“It will trigger if I'm removed from the cockpit.”
Douglas stared.
“So they need you here.”
I nodded.
“They also need me alive.”
He looked confused.
“Why?”
I pointed toward the navigation controls.
“Because I'm the only one who can fly this aircraft without the autopilot.”
Douglas slowly understood.
“This whole thing…”
“Was built around me.”
A voice came over the cabin speakers.
“Mr. Hayes, you have thirty-seven minutes.”
I picked up the radio.
“Adrian.”
Silence.
“I have your device.”
“You don't.”
“I do.”
“You're bluffing.”
I smiled.
“Then you have a problem.”
I reached for the bomb carefully.
The device beeped.
A new countdown appeared.
Thirty-six minutes.
“Warren,” Douglas whispered.
I ignored him.
I studied the casing.
Then I saw a symbol.
A tiny black raven.
I knew that symbol.
My past.
My unit.
My commanding officer had used it as a private mark.
A man named General Nathaniel Crowe.
I had believed he died years ago.
I suddenly remembered his voice.
His final order.
His final mission.
The mission that had sent me into a war zone.
The mission where I had been told Elias Vane was the enemy.
I looked at the timer.
Then whispered:
“Crowe is alive.”
Douglas stared.
“Who?”
May you like
I looked toward the storm.
“The man who taught me how to fly.”
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