by Bryan Devore
“Dear God!” Captain Steiner exclaimed. “Now it’s impossible. I can’t take off with those trucks parked in our path.”
Michael looked into the sky and saw a small light approaching the airport four thousand feet above. “There’s a plane up there,” he said.
“Yes,” the pilot confirmed, looking at the blurred light faintly visible through the thinning clouds above. “And they’re landing. No one’s taken off from this airport in over twenty-four hours. That’s someone else up there, coming into Aspen. They’re landing here for sure.”
“If they’re landing here, then the tower will be forced to turn the runway lights back on and move the trucks,” Michael said, a note of hope creeping into his voice.
“Yes, but they’ll only move them for a minute or two, just as the plane is landing. They’ll want to keep the airport as locked down as possible because of you.”
“But we will have a small window, right?”
“A very small window. I’ll have the jet ready. The moment the runway lights come on and the trucks start to move, we could throw the intake jets to full power. There might just be enough time to accelerate onto the runway and take off before the other plane lands. The timing’s critical. If we don’t get off the ground in time, the other plane’ll hit us from behind as it’s coming in.”
“We can’t put the other plane in danger,” Michael said. “Will it work? I need to know if it’ll work.”
“It’ll work,” Captain Steiner said. “From its airspeed, the other plane looks small. If it doesn’t look like we’ll make it, they’ll have maneuverability during their descent. They won’t be in danger. The biggest danger is that we’ll be exposing ourselves if we can’t take off in time.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “We don’t have much time. That plane will be landing in less than five minutes, and the police could be here any second. Get the jet ready. I’ll open the hangar doors and keep an eye on the jeep that’s coming at us. The moment the lights come on, I’ll jump into the jet and let you know that we’re ready to take off.”
As Captain Steiner jogged back toward the jet, Michael crouched just inside the hangar doors, watching the blurry halos of the approaching jeep’s headlights in the falling snow. From his waistband, he pulled the gun he had taken from the police officer yesterday, and held it low to the ground. Arming himself against law enforcement—how had things come to this awful pass? Forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly, he counted the seconds, waiting for Captain Steiner to ready the jet, waiting for the incoming flight to circle to its final descent. The patrol jeep was going to arrive at the hangar before he could escape. He prayed that he would have the strength—and the luck—to do what was necessary to escape.
59
THE YUKON SCREECHED to a stop ten feet from the glass doors to the terminal. Jumping out into the packed snow of the parking lot, Kano ran toward a bewildered-looking security guard, who had run outside to meet the wailing sirens.
“Jason Kano, U.S. Marshal’s Office. What’s the situation?” he asked urgently.
“No sight of your man, sir. We’ve double-checked all surveillance footage running for the past twenty minutes. Nothing!”
“Have all your men reported in? The fugitive has already taken out two officers since all this started.”
“Yes, all my men are accounted for. How are the two officers doing?”
Kano looked away from the guard and waved his men to spread out along the entrances. “Both are fine. Chapman seems to have the ability to subdue armed men without severely injuring them.”
“Except for that rich guy he killed,” the guard added.
Kano shot him an annoyed look. “He’s considered armed and extremely dangerous. I don’t want anyone trying to take him down alone. If someone spots him, they are to report to me immediately. I’m the only one that will coordinate Chapman’s apprehension. Understand?”
Kano followed the security officer into the terminal. An intercom interrupted the chaos with another apology for the continued flight delays, falsely blaming the weather to prevent civilian panic. Inside the small terminal, the people in line sat on the floor, leaning against walls, or used their carry-on luggage as uncomfortable pillows. Babies cried, and the air was stale.
“Lot of people,” Kano said.
“All flights for the past twenty-four hours were canceled due to the blizzard. Most of these passengers have been waiting here since yesterday. They were hoping to get out this evening, but just when the weather was looking better, we got word to lock everything down because of Chapman.”
Kano looked at the weary faces of the trapped travelers. “Have those guys start making as many pizzas as they can,” he said, pointing to the pizza stand in the small food court. “Then start passing out the food to everyone.”
“Who’s gonna pay for that?” the security officer asked.
“Don Seaton harbored a fugitive; that’s what caused this problem. Send him the bill—he can afford it.”
The security officer laughed before giving the order to one of his men.
Kano turned his focus back to finding Chapman. “You’ve passed out his picture to your men?” he asked.
“Yes. You know, if I may say so, I don’t think there’s much chance that he’s even here. All departing flights have been canceled, and no one’s seen him anywhere on the premises. After he had trouble at the outside checkpoint, he probably hightailed it. I mean, why would he even be here? He would have known that the moment the downed officer reported the encounter, we’d react by halting all takeoffs. If he’s as smart as you say, he’d leave the airport and try to find another way out of the area.”
“No,” said Kano. “He knew there was no other way out. The airport was his only chance. There must be a reason he’d still come here.” He looked around the terminal at the weary travelers. His eyes paused on a businessman leaning into the relative privacy of a pay phone to talk on his cell. The man wore a tan overcoat over an expensive suit.
“A lot of millionaires live in Aspen, right?”
“Quite a lot, I’d say.”
“How many own private jets?” Kano asked, turning toward the officer.
“Jesus! You think Chapman has access to a personal jet?”
“Find out if Don Seaton has a plane here!”
The man spoke into his radio, waited a few seconds, and said to Kano, “No. Nothing.”
“You’re telling me that one of the richest men in the United States doesn’t own a jet?” Kano looked down at the tiled floor; then his eyes shot back up at the security officer. “Wait . . . X-Tronic! See if there’s anything listed under X-Tronic.”
The security officer relayed the question into his radio. Listening, he nodded to the marshal. “Yeah. X-Tronic has a jet registered in hangar twenty-six—that would be on the far side, close to the runway.”
“This is U.S. Marshal Kano,” Kano announced into his police radio. “I need two units to meet me outside the terminal. The fugitive is believed to be inside a hangar and trying to use a private jet to escape. Form a perimeter around all hangars and wait for my arrival. Go! Go! Go!”
60
“OKAY!” MICHAEL SHOUTED toward the cockpit as he climbed into the jet. “Okay, Captain! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Captain Steiner looked back at the fuselage from the cockpit. “We’re ready to go! The runway lights just came on and the trucks are starting to move out of our path! We can make it if we hit it right now!”
“The deputy in the jeep started to get out after I opened the hangar door, so I had to fire some shots near his jeep. He won’t come any closer, but you can expect the police to be here in force soon. I’m ready! Let’s get out of here!”
The pilot stood up to close the cockpit door. “Shut the airstair door; then take a seat and buckle up,” he said. “It’s gonna be bumpy, but we’ll make it.” Then he disappeared behind the cockpit door.
Michael turned to the outside door, still open with its
stairs reaching down to the cold concrete of the hangar. He pressed the button and watched the steps slowly rise and fold into the fuselage. He prayed there would be enough time to get the jet off the ground before the incoming plane landed.
Jason Kano raced out a side door of the airport terminal and was met by a squadron of Aspen Volvo patrol jeeps bouncing across the uneven snow. As he burst out into the cold air, the runway lights blazed back on. “What the . . . ! Will someone please tell me why the runway lights are on?” Kano barked into his radio. “I gave specific instructions that all runway lights remain off!”
“Marshal Kano,” a voice broke over the radio. “We have a situation here in the tower. There is an unscheduled incoming flight with government clearance on final approach. They are descending and landing here in Aspen. We have been forced to turn on the runway lights and have removed the trucks blocking the runways to accommodate their landing.”
“No, no, damn it!” Kano shouted into the radio. “We think we know where the fugitive is located on the airport premises. Put those trucks back on the runway. Have the plane circle for twenty minutes before letting it land. We could have Chapman in custody in five minutes! Just have it circle the airport until I give the okay for it to land.”
“That’s a negative, Marshal. The plane has government clearance and is demanding to land immediately. The weather’s getting worse, and this may be their best chance. They’re already in their final descent. They’ll be down in less than two minutes.”
Kano pulled the radio away from his ear and waved the front jeep to a stop. Just as he slid into the passenger seat, the police radio crackled. “This is Deputy Lincoln. I’m on patrol on the south end of the runway and just had a visual on Chapman. He opened the door to a hangar and got inside a jet. It’s starting to taxi out towards the takeoff strip. I repeat, Chapman is on a jet that just left a hangar on the south end of the runway.”
“Lincoln! You’re sure it was Chapman?” Kano asked into the radio.
“Yes, sir! I tried to stop him from getting on the jet, but he fired shots at me.”
“How close is he to taking off?”
“The jet is about to turn onto the main runway!”
“Take us there now!” Kano said to the driver.
The jeep took off toward the runway with three other patrol jeeps in tow. The snow, being blown in hazy circles along the dark ground, blurred the surface as if it were a moving body of water. Kano could see other police units approaching from the side. Then, at the far end of the airport, he saw the jet turning onto the runway for takeoff.
“Hurry!” Kano yelled. “It’s already on the runway . . . He’s about to take off!”
Already the jet had moved onto the runway and was picking up speed, roaring past the green lights outlining the snowy runway. Kano’s jeep, followed by three others, bounced violently across the uneven no-man’s land between the taxiway and the runway. In the sky south of the airport, a low-flying jet descended toward the runway, its growing halos of light gleaming through the blustering snow.
Fishtailing wildly, Kano’s jeep hurtled onto the runway just behind Seaton’s jet, followed by the tight pack of patrol jeeps, but eventually the aircraft picked up speed and pulled away from them. Snow kicked up from the intake jets and was thrown back at the jeeps as the front wheel of the jet lifted off the ground.
“Pull back!” Kano said into the radio once he realized they couldn’t prevent the takeoff. “We can’t stop him! Pull back!” He turned to look at the growing spotlight in the sky behind them. “Stop the pursuit! Pull off the runway immediately! The other jet’s nearly on the ground! It’s coming in! Get off the runway now!”
The jeeps darted off the runway like quail running for cover, just as the incoming jet drifted over the front of the runway and touched down. One of the jeeps had flipped onto its side in the mad dash, but all were clear of the jet’s path. Kano slammed his fist on the dashboard in frustration as the Seaton jet became airborne. The front lights of the jet vanished into the clouds, with only a faint red light blinking incessantly back at them, as if his escaping quarry were laughing at him.
Kano turned to the deputy at the wheel. “Get me back to the terminal. I need to contact the Air Force and have them ground Chapman’s jet.”
“Can you use military resources to help capture a fugitive?”
Kano glared at the security officer. “I don’t have the authorization to use fighter jets to capture a fugitive for murder. But this has escalated.”
“How?”
“Chapman just became a fugitive who has illegally taken off in a private jet and appears to be heading toward Denver. We don’t know what he’s capable of. It’s not unreasonable to be concerned about a possible terrorist intention. That’s within Homeland Security’s warning protocol.”
“You think he’s a terrorist now?”
“I think Chapman has escalated this situation enough to justify taking actions appropriate for the national security protocol. I need to contact the Air Force. I’m not taking any more chances with him. We have to find a way to put that jet on the ground.”
The police vehicles had almost arrived back at the terminal when another deputy’s voice came over the radio. “Marshal Kano, we’ve made contact with the second jet. There is something you should know, sir. There is a man here who wants to speak with you. His name is Troy Glazier, and he appears to be an agent from the U.S Treasury Department. He says he needs to speak with you immediately about Michael Chapman!”
A Treasury agent? Was it possible Chapman had been telling the truth to the officer in Glenwood Springs? Chapman was accused of killing Lucas Seaton, so Kano still had a responsibility to capture him. But at least he could now get some answers about Chapman’s background. As the police vehicle bounced through a snow drift with the airport’s terminal shinning a hundred halos through the fast falling snow, Kano saw a large man in an overcoat at the base of the jet’s airstair waving his arms frantically.
61
“DAMN IT!” JERRY Diamond screamed into the phone. “Those fucking little brats have done it again!”
“Slow down,” John Falcon replied, holding the cell phone close to his ear while closing the door to his home office. “Just relax for a moment. Who’s done what?”
“The twins. They tried to kill Michael Chapman. Haven’t you been watching the news?”
“What are you talking about? The news said they tried to kill him?”
“No,” Diamond replied. “The news is saying Lucas Seaton died skiing in Vail yesterday afternoon. Lance reported to the police that Michael Chapman pushed Lucas over a cliff during an argument. The details are fuzzy, but there’s currently an arrest warrant out for Michael.”
“Michael killed Lucas?” Falcon asked. He was still having trouble sorting out Diamond’s frantic words.
“Hell, nobody knows for sure what happened up there. But you and I both know the kind of history the twins have, so I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume they tried to kill him. I can’t believe they’d try to repeat the same mistake they made with Kurt Matthews.”
Suddenly Falcon felt terribly vulnerable in this conversation. Something didn’t seem right. Diamond was restating, in clear detail, too many things they both knew perfectly well. It was the last comment in particular, making specific reference to Kurt, that triggered the alarm bells. Was Diamond trying to get him to admit something over the open phone? Could Diamond be recording the call?
Falcon wasn’t sure if he was just being overly suspicious or if his instincts were correct, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still hadn’t said anything incriminating. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Kurt died alone in a skiing accident, and I know nothing about the twins’ ‘past,’ as you call it. It’s horrible that Lucas died yesterday, and if Michael had any involvement in it, I hope he’s brought to justice.”
“What?” The word was drawn out, signaling uncertainty, even confusion.
“Jerry,”
Falcon interjected before the man could say another word, “it’s the weekend. Let’s schedule a meeting Monday morning. Let’s discuss any public news related to Michael, the twins, or X-Tronic that we need to consider. There is nothing we can do until we get more information about what happened; then we can determine how this will affect our work.”
“Are you sure that’s how you want to handle this?” Diamond asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, Jerry.” Falcon snapped his cell phone shut and walked to the double doors of his home office. He reached for the handle, then stepped back after seeing that his hand was shaking. He made a fist, pressed it against his lips, and held it there while he took a few slow breaths through his nose. Closing his eyes, he focused on the emergency scenario he had played out in his mind as a precaution during the past few years. Now the time had come, and he knew exactly what he must do.
Opening the door, he left his home office and walked briskly through the opulent home, tucked away in a gated community outside Denver. He entered the main dining room, where his wife, Karen, was coaching their two daughters in the fine points of making tuna casserole. Rounding the counter, he leaned over and whispered something in his wife’s ear. She dropped the measuring cup and looked at him in fear. Leaving the children, she followed him into the next room.
“No,” she said after closing the door behind them. “No, no, no!”
“We don’t have a choice, sweetheart. We have to be prepared.”
“No. I won’t do it. The girls and I are staying right here. You’ll find a way out of it. You always do.”
“It’s not that easy this time. This time it’s not going to go away; it’s only going to escalate. This could be our last chance to get out . . . We don’t have a choice.”
