by Diane Capri
The aircraft pulled away, seemingly unaffected by the SUV ramming its left wing.
The jet engines blew a storm of stones and dust into the Navigator’s windshield, blocking her vision, as Kim braked harder.
The big, heavy Lincoln slowed.
The distance between the Navigator and the Gulfstream widened.
Burke opened the passenger door and jumped out before the SUV stopped.
The Gulfstream was moving fast. Shooting its tires would not stop the jet now.
“What the hell are you doing? Reacher’s in there. Our orders are to find him, not kill him,” Kim yelled a second reminder into the jet engines’ roar.
Burke rested on one knee, leveling the rifle at the aircraft just as the Gulfstream’s nose gear lifted off the runway.
She realized he wasn’t aiming at the tires.
He squeezed off six shots.
All six hit the aircraft but didn’t slow it down.
The Gulfstream completed its takeoff, pulled up the undercarriage, and arced into the sky.
Kim stepped out of the Navigator and joined Burke, still kneeling on the runway. The wind and the jet’s stench and roaring engines continued to fill the air for several seconds as they watched the Gulfstream become smaller in the distance.
“So close.” Kim thumped the Lincoln’s big door with the flat of her hand in frustration. Her palm had touched something wet on the SUV’s paint. She rubbed her fingers together.
“Sticky,” she said, her eyes following a line of drips up the SUV’s door to the roof.
Burke stood up. “Fuel?”
“Smells like oil. Pink oil.” She shook her head and looked into the sky, watching until the plane was out of sight. “Looks like one of us hit a vulnerable spot. He’s leaking hydraulic fluid.”
Burke nodded as if he’d known all along.
“Come on. That jet’s in trouble. It might land somewhere soon.” Kim jerked her thumb toward the driver’s seat. She hurried to the passenger side of the Navigator. “We need to find a cell signal. I’ll call Smithers and let him know the Gulfstream is in the air, probably flying on one engine now. He might still have a way to grab Keegan and Reacher before the jet crosses the border.”
“We haven’t had cell service for at least an hour. Where are we going to find it now? Rapid City?” Burke said, stashing the rifle in the backseat and himself behind the steering wheel.
“Head toward the monument. It’s closer. Uncle Sam watches the place like a hawk. Tourists use their devices there every day. We’ll find something we can use,” Kim said, fastening her seatbelt as Burke punched the accelerator and headed toward the main road.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Sunday, May 15
South Dakota
8:35 a.m.
A few minutes before takeoff, Keegan jogged up the jet stairs and entered the Gulfstream’s interior, which was a luxurious sea of leather and giant armchairs. He plopped down into one of the seats by the wing. He reclined the chair, lifted the footrest, and closed his eyes.
He had barely slept last night. He’d found a tree to climb into and huddled among the branches for warmth, cursing Olson regularly. If not for her, he’d have had a warm and comfortable sedan to sleep in.
At first light, he’d waded through the waist-deep stream of icy snowmelt and then jogged along the rest of the trail to the hangar, fighting downed branches and ruts and holes all the way.
Keegan wasn’t in the best physical condition of his life, and he hadn’t jogged in years. It was slow going. By the time he’d made it to the runway, he was cold, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and euphoric.
He’d made it to his destination a few minutes before the Gulfstream landed. Right on time. The pilot, Finn, was as reliable as ever, which was all Keegan cared about.
He’d had no time to talk to his new employee, but they’d have time for that later. They exchanged silent nods, and Garber used the flares to lead the jet onto the runway. Keegan watched him approvingly. Garber would be effective muscle, judging by the size of him. With luck, he’d also have half a brain.
The Gulfstream landed, the pilot opened the door and lowered the jet stairs. He waved them toward the plane.
Keegan entered first. Finn gave him a thumbs-up from the pilot seat.
“Just the two of you?” Finn asked.
Keegan nodded. “Yeah. Walsh and Denny didn’t make it.”
Finn shrugged. He’d worked in Keegan’s organization for a long time. Finn knew the score. People got terminated. Death was a recognized hazard of the job.
Garber pounded up the jet stairs, ducked inside, snugged the door shut, and moved to the rear of the aircraft. Keegan glanced back to see him click his seatbelt.
The engines throbbed. A momentary vibration ran through the cabin, but the engine noise remained a distant rumble.
The aircraft accelerated at Finn’s command. The wheels thumped over the rough runway. Canada was an hour away. Very soon, Keegan would be a free man once again.
His pulse quickened at the mere proximity to his final destination. He’d planned this for months. Thought about nothing else, night and day.
Hard to imagine he was only an hour away from the rest of his life. But his pounding heart and short, excited breaths assured him he was almost there.
Finn had never let him down before, and they’d done night runs under much worse flight conditions than this. Keegan could almost taste the poutine and lager waiting for him at the end of the line.
The jet was still gaining speed on the runway, nearing takeoff. Keegan rolled his head to the left and glanced out of the Gulfstream’s giant oval window. Something big and navy blue caught his eye.
He frowned. What was that?
A Lincoln Navigator came into full view, accelerating past the tails and straight up to the wing. A tiny Asian looking woman squinted toward the plane, lips pursed, frowning, hands gripping the steering wheel as if to hold herself up high enough to see.
She floored it. The Navigator was coming straight at them. Fast.
Keegan sat bolt upright.
He gripped the armrests. He couldn’t believe it. What was that crazy bitch doing?
A moment later, the big SUV rammed the left wing.
The plane bounced and knocked Keegan sideways in the chair.
Finn shouted something Keegan couldn’t quite hear, interspersed with a stream of incoherent cursing.
The jet kept rolling toward takeoff, picking up speed.
The Lincoln’s roof rack meshed with the plane’s wing and somehow got hooked on.
The SUV stayed connected for what seemed like ten minutes, although Keegan knew only a few brief moments had passed.
Surely Finn must have felt the weight pulling the wing down, even if he couldn’t see the Navigator from the pilot’s seat.
Keegan heard the Gulfstream’s engines spooling down. Finn attempting to dislodge the Navigator, probably.
Somehow, the Navigator separated from the wing and decelerated, disappearing from Keegan’s view.
Which was okay.
But the aircraft continued to decelerate, too.
Which wasn’t okay. Not even remotely.
What the hell was Finn doing?
They couldn’t stop now.
Keegan unlatched his seatbelt, drew his gun, and threw himself into the cockpit, ramming the muzzle into Finn’s neck.
He shouted, “I don’t care what’s going on out there. We’re leaving. Now. Got it?”
The pilot nodded and pushed the twin throttle levers forward.
The engines roared, louder this time. Keegan held the gun against Finn’s neck. He’d already made up his mind.
He’d shoot Finn and take his chances if he had to. He had a plan B, like always.
Garber’s résumé claimed he could pilot the plane. Which was one of the reasons Keegan had hired him. Redundancies had saved his life more than once.
A few moments later, Finn pulled back on the yoke, and they wer
e airborne.
“We hit something,” Finn said. “But there wasn’t anything on the runway.”
“Just fly this thing. We’ve got to get to Canada.” Keegan gave him another jab with the pistol for emphasis.
Finn studied the numerous dials and lights arrayed in front of him and overhead. “Hydraulic pressure is low.”
“We’re flying. It doesn’t matter,” Keegan said. No need to get Garber up here just yet. Finn had come to his senses.
The pilot said nothing.
Keegan pulled down a jump seat. Unlike the comfortable armchairs in the passenger cabin, this seat was hard and flat. But keeping Finn suitably motivated was more important than comfort for the next hour or so.
Freedom was so close. All he had to do was press on. Finn was a solid pilot. Military training. He’d flown damaged aircraft before. They’d make it. They had to. He’d come too far to turn back now.
The altimeter showed they were climbing, but another dial showed what was obvious even to Keegan’s eyes.
They were leaning to the left where the Navigator had hooked onto the wing.
Finn adjusted the controls. Keegan poked him with the gun.
“Trimming,” Finn said. “We’re losing lift on the left.”
“We were hit on the left.”
“By what?”
Before Keegan could reply a roar swept through the cabin followed by a heavy vibration.
The pilot’s hands flew over the controls, flipping switches and pulling levers, nodding toward the controls. Much more calmly than the situation warranted, Finn said, “Fire.”
“Fire?” Keegan said, alarmed. Fire on a plane was never a good thing. “Where?”
Finn nodded toward an outline drawing of the aircraft on the dashboard. A big red light glowed on the left engine.
Keegan leapt from the cockpit and returned to his seat, shoving his face against the big window.
He saw no flames, but black smoke trailed from the left engine.
Keegan returned to the jump seat. The vibration had stopped and the red light had turned orange.
“Fire’s out,” Finn said, too calmly by a factor of ten, at least. Pilots, like doctors and cops, were trained to be calm during emergencies.
“We can fly on one engine, right?” Keegan shook the gun for emphasis. “That’s why the plane has two, isn’t it?”
Finn gave a slow nod. “We…can.”
“Then we will.”
They flew in silence for a minute. They were no longer gaining altitude.
“What hit us?” Finn asked.
“An SUV. Rammed into the left wing.”
Finn looked back, eyebrows raised and his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “The wing?”
“It’s still in one piece. Keep flying.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Sunday, May 15
South Dakota
8:45 a.m.
Keegan looked back into the cabin. Garber looked a little green around the gills and was still strapped into his seat. Great. An actual emergency, and the guy was completely useless.
A shrill buzzer sounded and several red lights illuminated in the cockpit.
“More fire,” Finn said, urgently this time, flipping switches.
A small door to the luggage hold at the rear of the aircraft burst open with a whump. Keegan twisted around just as flames poured out into the cabin.
Keegan could no longer see or hear Garber sitting in the back. Was he belted into his seat, coughing in the cloud of flames and black smoke that quickly filled the rear of the aircraft?
Keegan’s stomach lurched. He realized the Gulfstream was descending. He whipped his head around to the cockpit again.
Garber was on his own.
“We have to land,” Finn said.
Keegan shoved his gun into the pilot’s neck. “Not back to where we came from.”
Finn shook his head. “Fat chance. Couldn’t go back there if we tried. We’re not going to make it more than a few miles.”
The smoke curled into the cockpit, hovering along the ceiling, swirling around the air vents. It stung Keegan’s throat and eyes.
He grabbed a small fire extinguisher.
Finn shook his head. “Waste of time. Won’t help.”
Keegan hurled the bottle into the flames in the cabin, which had engulfed the rear seats. Garber had disappeared in the smoke. Good riddance.
The pilot pulled down an oxygen mask. Keegan grabbed the copilot’s mask as it hung from the ceiling. As he inhaled, the oxygen flowed with a plastic tang, but it relieved his throat. And he was still alive.
The horizon showed they were rolling left. Keegan pointed.
Finn nodded. “We’ve lost all lift on the left. And we’ve lost the hydraulics.”
“Meaning?”
“We’re going to crash,” Finn paused. “At best.”
“Parachute?”
Finn shook his head. “Get real.”
Keegan watched the altimeter needle as it spun past four thousand feet.
The pilot wrestled with the yoke, pulling back, the muscles on his arms bulging.
Outside, a carpet of green trees stretched ahead crossed by the occasional road. None looked to be on their flight path. Was that a good thing? Or not?
Keegan shoved his gun in his belt, reached over, and pulled back on the copilot’s yoke. The aircraft’s nose inched up, climbing out of the dive with agonizing slowness.
“We’re going to pull out,” the pilot said. “Once we’re level, we’ll have to take our chances in the trees. If we’re lucky, we can crash and survive.”
Keegan kept pulling back on the yoke. Engines and air roared as aerodynamics fought weight.
He glanced left. His heart missed a beat.
A massive rocky outcrop towered above the sea of green. Roads and a cluster of buildings surrounded one side.
The rocks were rough, jagged, and directly in their slowly curving flight path. He turned the yoke right.
The controls responded, pushing the pilot’s controls right as well.
Finn shook his head. More alarms were sounding. “We’ve lost roll control.”
Keegan had no idea what that meant, but he pointed to the looming rocks ahead. The four famous faces carved there seemed to stare him down, like four disapproving fathers.
Finn nodded. “Mount Rushmore. God willing, we might clear it.”
The Gulfstream’s nose climbed above the horizon, but the altimeter still ticked downward. Like driving a car out of a skid, changing the jet’s direction took longer. It seemed to hang too low for too long.
In a rush, the trees outside changed from a wide swath of evergreen to individual trunks. Keegan could see distinct branches, limbs. He saw them swaying in the wind.
They slapped against the belly of the aircraft, sending shock waves through the cabin.
Alarms continued to sound, more and louder, into a single cacophony of ear-splitting noise.
Treetops whipped by the windows in the cockpit.
From the corner of his eye, Keegan saw Garber’s hulking form emerge from the black smoke and fire in the cabin.
“Garber!” Keegan shouted as he dropped the oxygen and moved to let Garber take the copilot’s seat.
Garber stood aside to allow Keegan into the cabin.
The fire and smoke overwhelmed him. He coughed and scrunched his eyes shut against the stinging smoke.
The belly of the plane bounced along the treetops, making him queasy.
Before he had a chance to retch, out of nowhere, Garber’s big fist landed a solid blow to Keegan’s solar plexus.
Keegan yelled and stumbled backward toward the smoke, bent double with the pain.
Keeping his head down and his eyes screwed shut while tears ran down his face.
Over the unrelenting noise, he felt the passenger door open.
A rush of wind entered the cabin, clearing smoke but feeding the fire.
The plane bounced upward, like a great
weight of ballast had been thrown overboard.
Had Garber bailed out?
Jumped out of a speeding jet?
Was he too stupid to live or what?
Half a moment later, Finn rammed the working right engine to full thrust.
Somewhere in the fire and smoke and the rush of cold air through the open maw feeding the flames, the plane responded, howling like a banshee.
For a moment Keegan opened his eyes. He saw through the doorway that they had been headed straight down, farther into the trees.
And then they weren’t.
Miraculously, the nose picked up, emerging from the vegetation.
The jet was gaining altitude.
Pulling out toward the sky again.
Keegan released the painful breath he’d been holding in his screaming belly.
They’d lifted from the bottom of the dive.
Garber was nowhere to be seen. Whether he’d jumped or fallen out or whatever, Keegan no longer cared.
Finn had pulled it off. They didn’t crash. They were airborne once more.
Keegan fist-punched the air. “Yes!”
Through his stinging eyes the parking lot flashed by the cockpit’s windshield. Visitors. Rubberneckers.
And then he saw nothing but the monument.
Presidential faces. Regal. Blank stone stares.
Keegan still had his hand in the air, declaring victory over the forces of gravity, when the plane hit the mountain, head on.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Sunday, May 15
South Dakota
8:45 a.m.
“I’ve got binoculars in the side pocket of my backpack,” Burke had said, as he drove the Navigator as fast as he dared over the abandoned dirt road, heading back the way they’d come. He gestured toward the bag in the wheel well.
Kim had unzipped the small pocket, found the binoculars, and aimed her gaze to the sky. She watched the path of the jet as it traveled north and slightly west of the runway. The sun glinted off the Gulfstream’s sleek body, twinkling in the early morning light.
“Looks like Keegan wants one last flyover of the monument before he leaves the country,” Kim said, noting the jet’s trajectory.
