Paper Wings

by Les Abend

  As he reached for the items in the woman’s hand, Mike developed a sense of clarity. His vision lost its myopic focus; his view broadened beyond the small space he occupied. The sound of each breath and the water lapping against the hull increased in volume. He could smell his own perspiration, the sweet smell of his captor’s perfumed shampoo, and the boat’s saltwater mustiness. His pain disappeared, replaced by the adrenalin beginning to surge through his veins. His body stiffened. If his expression had been submissive moments ago, it was no longer apparent.

  Mike lunged with lightning speed. In the blink of an eye, he grasped Serena’s slender wrist and yanked her toward him. His other hand pried the pen from her fingers. He gripped the pen and jabbed it with vicious force into her abdomen, applying an upward thrust.

  The blonde’s face reflected searing pain. Her eyes widened. With a look of incredulity, she stared down at the hand that was pushing a pen hard into her gut. As Mike followed her gaze, he noted with some irony that the logo of Patriot Airlines was emblazoned on the pen.

  With her lips drawn and her face becoming expressionless, Serena tightened her fingers around the Glock. In a robotic motion, she raised the barrel of the gun and squeezed the trigger.

  A deafening noise filled the small area of the boat’s salon. Time froze. Mike’s mouth opened but he could say nothing. He winced in agony. He lowered his chin and stared at the darkening stain on his chest. His eyes widened and then became unfocused. He collapsed backward onto the V-berth.

  As an expanding pool of red oozed out onto the mattress cover, an almost imperceptible smile reached the corner of Mike’s mouth. Before his thoughts became a jumble of images, Mike realized that his girls now had a chance. His Plan B would protect them. He felt at peace. His job was over. Blackness overcame him.

  Serena stared at the scene, detached from the reality of the situation. Only seconds passed before she understood that her body was going into shock. Instinctively, she pulled at the pen and yanked it away from her midsection. She felt a warm flow over her fingers. In a moment of uncluttered, cognitive thinking, she pressed a hand firmly against the small hole in her stomach.

  Serena’s mind was starting to communicate that her survival was in serious jeopardy.

  Her only hope was an attempt to get Chris’s attention on the Tiara. She turned away from the bloody scene on the V-berth and clambered up the steps and outside into the cockpit of the Sea Ray.

  Her vision narrowing, Serena swiveled her head and scanned the ocean for any sign of the Tiara. She saw nothing. She screamed, “Chris!” But what came out of her mouth was only a harsh whisper. Serena pivoted around and glanced at the throttle quadrant. She staggered toward the helm. Maybe she could start the engines and motor toward the Tiara.

  In an attempt to catch her balance, Serena reached forward to grasp the helm. The chrome wheel rotated away from her grip, the momentum carrying her toward the side rail. With her strength waning and her body responding in slow motion to her brain’s commands, she could do nothing to keep from falling over the side. She struggled, flailing with her arms and legs in an attempt to attach herself to any part of the boat. Her efforts were in vain.

  Serena slipped into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean with a feathery splash. If someone had been in the vicinity, it might have sounded like a fish jumping out of the water, attempting to escape an unseen predator.

  06:30 EDT

  The whole operation was getting messy. Chris hadn’t expected casualties, certainly not with his girls. He had grown fond of Amber. He never considered her his girlfriend exactly, but the occasional romp in the sack was always on her agenda. She loved to screw. And now she was gone. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to give her a burial at sea. Amber’s body would have been a liability, evidence of a crime.

  Hopefully, Serena had extracted the information from that fucking pilot. Chris hated to admit it, but that skinny, dick-sucker had balls. But how did the guy find them in the first place? How did he even know that his daughters were being held on a boat?

  The girls had supposedly taken the cell phones away from the daughters. But something was tracking them. And if something were tracking them it would only be a matter of time before law enforcement could do the same. What type of tracking device and where was it?

  The realization that the entire mission could be in jeopardy hit Chris like a ton of bricks. He had to find the tracking device, destroy it, and then get the hell out of the area. What made the most sense is that one or both of the daughters had it in their possession. But watching them on the video monitors in the salon revealed nothing. Nor did their conversations. They were just scared little kids.

  Shit! Where the hell was Serena? She should have brought that old Sea Ray back and been tied up alongside the Tiara by now. Chris reached for the cell phone in the front pocket of his cargo shorts. He found the speed dial listing for Serena and pressed the Talk button. The display indicated a call was in progress. He immediately got Serena’s sultry voice but it was her voice-mail greeting. He pressed the redial button. Voice mail. He tried again. Still voice mail.

  Crap! Chris’s only hope to contact Serena was via the radio on Channel 16. And who was to say that the pilot had left the radio on in that old tub anyhow. It didn’t matter. The radio was too dangerous. The Coast Guard and the Marine Patrol monitored that frequency, notwithstanding the fact that those transmissions most likely could be recorded.

  Chris glanced at the dark, red smear on the deck where Amber had fallen. He’d have to clean up that mess, too. The whole boat would need a good scrubbing. He puffed out a long breath. But for now, his priority was finding the source of the tracking information. He could start a search for the Sea Ray and Serena later.

  And what was that noise? Was that screaming Chris was hearing from down below? Great. He hadn’t envisioned his job description to include babysitting. Maybe the older one discovered a cracked fingernail. He rolled his eyes. He had never really been comfortable around kids. The Iraq War hadn’t helped. Chris had watched a young girl, clothed in a typical black burka, walk out onto a dusty street, pull out a semiautomatic handgun and start firing randomly at anyone dressed in U.S. soldier camo. Fortunately, the girl had only managed to wound one private first class in the shoulder before she was shot with about twenty-five rounds from an M60. The girl couldn’t have been any older than fifteen.

  The screaming from below continued. Chris turned to face the locked door of the salon. Terrified teenage girls. Just what he needed.

  06:35 EDT

  “Ash, you can’t freak out on me now!” Kim said with a loud whisper.

  “Why do I have to be the one to scream?” Ashley said with wide eyes.

  “Because you’re the best at it.”

  “I’ve heard you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Really, Ash? You’re going to argue with me now about this?” Kim rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got a higher-pitched scream.”

  “I think technically that my scream is more of a shriek.”

  “Ash!!” Kim exclaimed using a restrained volume level. She glared.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m just not sure I can be realistic under the circumstances.”

  “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you imagine that you only got a ‘B’ in calculus?”

  “Funny. Maybe you should imagine that Forever 21 moved out of the mall.”

  Kim grit her teeth, “Ash! You’re killing me!”

  Ashley’s upper lip quivered. She looked at her sister with soulful, brown eyes and said, “I’m scared.”

  “I know. I am too.” Kim walked over to Ashley, brushed her sister’s hair back away from her cheeks, and hugged. The two rocked slowly on their heels in a firm embrace. “We’re going to make it, Ash. I promise.” Kim surprised herself for uttering the statement with such conviction. “We’ve got to take this opportunity now. It’s only the bald guy that we have to deal with. I’m fairly positive that the blonde bitch is with D
ad on the Sea Ray.” Ashley nodded.

  “And remember, Dad taught us those defensive tactics. Anything can be used as a weapon,” Kim added.

  The two separated. Kim moved toward the aft berth, away from the line of sight of the steps. Ashley resumed her position in front of the galley stove. A silver coffee pot resting on a flat top, glass burner coughed out wisps of white steam.

  Kim took a deep breath, looked at her sister, and asked, “Ready?”

  Ashley looked down at the tiled floor for a moment and then at the salon door. She pursed her lips and then opened them wide. The blood-curdling shriek that came out of her mouth startled Kim despite the fact she had been expecting it. When her breath was exhausted, Ashley sucked in a gulp of air and began an encore.

  It wasn’t long before the girls heard the familiar clack of the salon door latch. Within seconds, the thump of footsteps accompanied the swish of the door opening. Moments later, the hulking, bald guy thudded into the salon. His expression was annoyance mixed in with a good dose of anger.

  “What the hell!?” Chris shouted. “Can’t you little, spoiled brats take care of yourselves?”

  With her shrieking task complete, Ashley cried out in mock distress, “I was making tea and burned myself…bad.” Ashley reached for the steaming coffee pot, grabbed the handle, and tossed the contents directly into the bald man’s face. He emitted a dog’s guttural yell while attempting to wipe the scalding water from his face.

  As the man staggered, his eyes crunched closed in agony, Ashley swung back the coffee pot with the strength of a professional batter. Rocketing her arm forward, she struck him across the forehead. Beads of moisture flew like bullets from his reddened skin. Ashley moved away, still wielding the coffee pot as though it were part of her arm.

  With the big man wobbling, Kim jumped in front of him. She held a fire extinguisher up above her chest and aimed the nozzle. She gritted her teeth and squeezed the trigger. A spray of chemical retardant doused Chris, completely enveloping his bald head in gooey, white foam. Clawing at his face, he tried desperately to clear the foam from his mouth and eyes.

  Still holding the red fire extinguisher, Kim jumped up onto the dining table. Towering above the teetering bald man, she swung the canister and thrust it hard against the side of his head. The strike made the squishy sound of a wet tree branch cracking. Droplets of red dots splattered Kim’s face and her T-shirt. The tile floor beaded with red dots.

  For a split second he remained rigid, and then he dropped to his knees like a marionette that had lost its strings. He collapsed face forward onto the floor. He didn’t move. Ashley stared at the grisly sight for a brief moment, and then in a flurry, repeatedly struck the giant in the head with the coffee pot.

  “Ash! Stop! It’s over!”

  Kim jumped off the dining table and began to pull her sister away from the motionless figure on the floor. She pried the coffee pot from Ashley’s frozen grip. Rivulets of water started to flow in torrents down Ashley’s face. She began to sob, her chest heaving in irregular movements.

  Gripping Ashley firmly by the shoulders and staring into her eyes, Kim said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. You did great! You’re the bravest little geek I’ve ever seen. Kim tried to smile through the tears that were forming in her own eyes. “I thought you were going to kill Shrek with just your shriek.” For effect, she emphasized the “sh” in both words. “If fish had earwax, it would all be gone by now after that performance.”

  With her sobbing beginning to subside, Ashley tried to laugh, only managing a quick squeak. Kim grabbed her sister’s wrist and led her away from the carnage on the floor. They climbed up the salon stairs and into the cockpit. They paused for a moment, breathing in the sea air. The rising sun bathed the water with an orange glow.

  If only the circumstances were different, the girls could have appreciated the moment. Memories of such scenes shared with their parents had been etched in their minds. But they were in survival mode. What now?

  Ashley curled up her blouse, dabbed at her eyes with the material, looked at Kim, and asked, “Dad?”

  Kim nodded and began to scan the horizon. Ashley joined in the search. She stepped to a corner of the deck and peered into the distance. Minutes passed.

  Placing her hands on her hips in frustration, Kim said, “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Me either,” Ashley said with a sigh. “We need to call 911.”

  “Good idea. Where’s your phone?”

  Ashley gestured at the open salon door, shook her head, and turned away.

  “You don’t have to go down there, Ash. I will.” Ashley nodded.

  Pivoting on her bare feet, Kim took a few cautious steps toward the salon. She began to climb down, disappearing for less than a minute. She rematerialized back to the cockpit in a flurry. Kim held Ashley’s phone in a hand while she frantically mashed a thumb on the display. Her expression held a look of despair.

  “What’s the matter, Kim?”

  “Your phone…it must have been on the galley counter. It fell on the tile floor. The display is cracked. Water got into it…and foam…and…” Kim shook her head, still staring at the phone. “Shit!”

  “I’m sorry,” Ashley said with a faint whimper.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  A minute passed in silence.

  Ashley glanced at the open salon door and then looked at her sister. She asked, “Can we lock the door, please?”

  Hesitating for a brief moment, Kim opened her mouth to speak. She stared at Ashley, noting the fear still residing in her sister’s eyes. The bald man was dead, but it didn’t matter. Kim nodded, walked over to the door, slid it close with a thwack, and turned the key that was still stuck in the latch.

  “Thanks,” Ashley said with an expression that could barely be interpreted as a smile. She scanned the spacious outside sitting area of the lower salon. “Got any ideas?”

  “Actually, yeah. Just thought of it now.” Kim gestured at the cockpit helm station. “Let’s start this bitch up and go home!”

  “Seriously?”

  Ashley pointed at the VHF radio and asked, “What about Channel 16? We could call the Coast Guard.”

  “And wait for them to come to our rescue? We could be home by then.”

  “Do you think we can drive this thing?”

  “Ash, it’s simpler than the Sea Ray.” Kim pointed at the throttles. “There’s no transmission levers, just forward and back.”

  “We don’t even know where we are.”

  Kim took a step toward Ashley and grabbed her hand, guiding her sister toward the transom. Kim pointed at the faint outline of the shore. She said, “I’m pretty sure that’s Hillsboro Inlet.” A momentary flash appeared. “That’s gotta be the lighthouse.” Kim swept a finger in a slightly different direction. “And the red and green lights are the buoys that mark the entrance.”

  “And what about Dad?”

  Glancing down at the deck with a sigh, Kim said, “If we can’t find him now, it might become a wild goose chase. And it might be dangerous if that blond bitch is with Dad. Let’s hope for the best and give the Coast Guard a call when we get home.”

  “Kim, we were kidnapped. We were witnesses to a murder at our school. The world is looking for us. Cops. FBI. Mom. I don’t think we’re going to have to call anybody.”

  “You’re right, Ash. Then, all the better. When we come sailing into our canal with a fifty-foot Tiara, we’ll be the heroes of the day! Shit, we’ll be the heroes of the month!”

  Ashley shook her head and said, “I don’t feel like a hero right now.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s at least get to the inlet. Then we’ll call the Coast Guard. That won’t be much of delay to start the search for Dad. I don’t want them trying to stop us. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Ashley whispered.

  Kim put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. She squeezed. “I understand how you feel, Ash. We’ll be okay. And Dad will be okay too. He’d want us to be safe.” />
  Something deep in the pit of Kim’s stomach was becoming unsettled. She didn’t want to ponder any further thoughts. She just wanted to get them home. Nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunday

  08:55 EDT

  The doors to the elevator opened with a Starship Enterprise swoosh. Hart stepped out onto the third floor and nodded a greeting to three uniformed pilots dragging their rolling bags behind them. He exhaled a deep breath and glanced down the hall at the glass door that led to Operations and the Miami chief pilot’s office.

  The office was open on a Sunday. Funny stuff. Rod Moretti had instituted a weekend policy in response to complaints that the administrative staff was never around during the odd hours of typical pilot schedules. It was a skeleton staff of employees that volunteered to come in on a weekend and then have the benefit of choosing a day off during the normal work week.

  With the NTSB press conference complete in record time, Hart had been able to catch the first flight back to Miami. He had called the flight office to alert Rod that he would stop by.

  Although his encounter with Rod the other day was cordial, Hart couldn’t shake off his anxiety. Once again, this next exchange would be a professional matter. No reason to expect anything other than a business conversation.

  Hart had promised Rod a briefing on Flight 63. Sammy had condoned the briefing, not only to maintain an open line of communication between the union and management, but for the fact he was aware that Rod and Hart had history.

  Ordinarily, chief pilots were briefed via company sources. Despite Rod’s management status, Hart knew that his old friend was still a pilot’s pilot, and he wanted the story from a perspective he could both relate and trust.