Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge

by Ward, Steve

  “But you set me up. You lured me. Come on, just loosen the rope a little. It hurts!” he cried.

  “Don’t even try to screw with my head. You made your own bed; now you can die in it.”

  He came to the realization she was unbreakable. He flopped around struggling with all his might, but the more he thrashed about, the tighter the rope gripped his neck. “You won’t get away with this!” he choked.

  She unlatched the door and pushed hard without success. She opened the window to relieve the pressure and struggled against the 95 knot airspeed. Pushing with all her might, she was obviously having great difficulty.

  “Now you’ve done it. . .outsmarted yourself,” he screeched. Stupid girl, didn’t know it’s almost impossible to open the door of a Cessna in flight. “Eeeyaaa, you’re dead, you murdering bitch. See you in hell!”

  Somehow she managed to get both feet out on the gear step, then turned back toward him. “Goodbye, Doctor! Have a nice flight.” She pointed at the sky and said, “Jessica. . .for you.”

  She disappeared, and the door slammed shut. The plane wobbled around for a couple of minutes but finally settled down with the autopilot in control. Weston was bound tight, but his knees were somewhat free. With a great deal of effort and pain, he managed to get one knee up on the yoke in front of him. He pushed up and forward putting the plane in a diving left turn. It took all his strength to override the autopilot, but he was determined to turn the plane around and splatter his young adversary.

  On the first turn the parachute was quite visible, and Weston, wrenching in agony, tried his best to fly into it. He was surprised and disappointed when the canopy disappeared beneath his path. The second pass he used both knees to line up directly on Christina’s body. The terror in her eyes gave him great pleasure as he shot just beneath her feet. Goddammit! He knew he was in danger of crashing, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to make damn sure he took her out in the process. Just before he could engineer a fatal collision, his legs cramped, his knees slipped off the yoke, and the autopilot pulled the airplane back into a climbing turn toward the northeast. He tried in vain to lift his knees, but both legs locked in agony.

  * * *

  Eyes fixed on her attacker instead of setting up her landing, Christina slammed hard to the ground, and the parachute dragged her across the field. The Cessna roared overhead and turned back to an easterly climb. Her leg hurt like hell, but the cut didn’t appear to be too deep. Abrasions from her rough landing put red scratches across bare skin. Half naked, she looked around nervously to see if anyone was nearby. After no more than thirty seconds, a Ford Explorer hauled ass across the field, throwing dirt and dust in its wake. The familiar vehicle, which belonged to Lazer, pulled right up next to her.

  “Are you all right?” asked Heather with a look of panic. She hurried out of the driver’s seat to assist. “What happened to your shirt?”

  “Well, I busted my ass pretty hard on the landing. Cut my leg on the door of the airplane, but nothing seems to be broken. Did you see me get hung up? Almost bought the farm.”

  “No, I couldn’t see you at all until the parachute opened.”

  “Have you got a jacket or something?”

  Heather gave her an odd stare and tossed her a sweater. “What?”

  “Ripped off when I hit the ground,” she lied.

  “If you cuffed him, how did he get loose?” Heather asked. “He almost creamed you.”

  “Didn’t get loose,” answered Christina. “Must’ve been using his knees to override the autopilot. I didn’t think of that.”

  “I hope you’re right. God help us, if he’s able to get that plane on the ground.”

  Christina looked up and saw the Cessna climbing toward the northeast. “Don’t worry. Looks like the autopilot won the battle. Come on, let’s go find Lazer.” She pulled Heather’s sweater over her head and threw the wadded up parachute into the back.

  Heather drove as fast as she could to what was left of Plantation Airport. Sitting by the abandoned FBO was a Beach Bonanza twin, engines running at idle. Heather parked the Explorer in an old hanger, shut the door and secured it with a padlock. They ran to the plane and climbed in.

  Lazer gave Christina a quick hug. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “Fine,” she said trying to wipe some of the dirt off her face and blood off her ankle. “Let’s go.”

  He hustled the airplane down a weedy taxiway. By the time the girls had on their seatbelts, he was off the ground, both engines roaring at full power. He climbed to 9,500 feet and cruised at over two-hundred knots. Christina set KBER on the GPS, and Lazer engaged the autopilot.

  About twenty minutes later, well out over the Atlantic Ocean, they started closing on a tiny dot that seemed suspended in the sky. As they neared, the dot grew wings. With the mastery of a highly trained fighter pilot flying in formation, Lazer slowed the Bonanza just above stall speed and tucked in tight under the right wing of Weston’s plane. At first it appeared as though he was out cold, but he finally wrenched their way, recognized his executioners and started struggling once again. He kicked his left knee into the yoke, but Lazer quickly backed away.

  The scene of the doomed aircraft was spooky, and Christina shivered. She could see the wild, bloodshot eyes of a tortured maniac, his body contorted by the bindings. He looked as though he was screaming obscenities, eyes bugging from the pressure on his neck.

  “God, that’s horrible,” Heather moaned. “Let’s get out of here.” She turned away, covering her eyes.

  Apparently Weston wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of continuing the exhibition. He moved down in his seat and hiked both knees up on the yoke forcing it forward. The Cessna nosed into a steep dive, and Lazer followed. A couple of hundred feet above the water, Lazer pulled out in a steep, high-G left turn. The Cessna continued, impacting the ocean at an acute angle and a terminal velocity well over two hundred knots. A huge explosion sent fire and water high in the sky. As they circled the point of impact, the wreckage quickly disappeared into the depths of the Gulf Stream. Only a small amount of floating debris marked the spot.

  “Well, I reckon that takes one pedophile off the streets,” Lazer stated the obvious. “Now, let’s get down to the islands and drink ourselves silly. Oh, by the way, remind me never to piss you off,” he looked at Christina and smiled. He held the Bonanza no more than fifty feet over the water for a long while to make sure they couldn’t be tracked.

  The pent-up emotions of Christina’s tormented life boiled to a tenuous head. The fury that had festered in her heart since the death of her mom, a rage so intensified with Jessica’s needless slaughter, escaped the depths of her soul with Weston’s sinking wreckage. Ghosts flushed out of her essence like shrieking ghouls. She hadn’t cried in over nine years, but tears began to fall. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Tears poured like a river breaking through a collapsing dam. Moaning loudly, she couldn’t seem to stop crying. All the pain that had tortured her unmercifully erupted like a volcano, demons exorcised at last.

  Heather had never seen Christina cry. She reached over the seat to stroke her hair, trying to offer some comfort.

  After a while she finally calmed down, and Lazer offered his hanky. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose with a loud blast and started to hand it back.

  “Gee,” he chuckled, “no thanks, you can keep that one.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she said softly, still whimpering. “Lazer, let’s take a look at Jessica’s island on the way. I want to see if her grave is still there.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

  Christina looked in her purse and got the coordinates she had written down weeks before. She entered them on the GPS and initiated track. With a huge sigh, she reclined in the soft seat and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

  Some two hours later, Lazer said, “Wake up, sweetheart. Hey, sleepy head. There’s your island.”

  She rubbed her eyes and spotted t
he familiar scene. She asked Lazer to circle closer. About a hundred feet over the water she inspected the stretch of white beach on the north end. He made a sharp turn so she could get a good look. There were bits of debris, but the beach had been badly eroded by the storm. He made a couple more passes, but it was clear the shallow graves were gone. The fact that they would never be able to give Jessica a proper burial finally sank in, and once again, Christina started to sob.

  “Holy shiiiyaaat!” Lazer exclaimed. “Cain’t believe you launched a Saratoga off that sand trap.”

  She replied in a sad tone, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After the trauma of the past two months, Christina was anxious to finally make their original destination and fulfill her promise to Jessica. She stared at the GPS moving map, watching it count down the miles. What she looked forward to most was a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep.

  Less than an hour later, the twin Bonanza squeaked down on the runway at George Town, Great Exuma. The eye of hurricane Amy had passed one-hundred miles north of the main island, and the popular resort had only suffered minor damage. Dead tired, they checked into the picturesque Club Peace and Plenty, a typical thirty room Bahamian Inn. After settling in, they met at the pool deck Reef Bar and ordered a pitcher of Mai Thais.

  “Thank God that nightmare’s over,” Christina said to Lazer with a sigh. “I think we should concentrate on some serious bar hopping and treasure hunting. Jessica asked me to look for her treasure, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Lazer agreed trying to lighten the conversation. “Hooty damn right. You gals have fun. I’m gonna work on some serious boner fishin’, I mean bone fishin’. Got me a guide set up over ta Staniel Cay. We’ll fly over thar in the mornin’ an y’all can meet yer salvagers.”

  Heather walked out onto the deck and wiggled her way over to the bar. Her wounds had healed, and she was in top form. She had on a tank top and hot pants. Every bonehead in the joint, including Lazer, followed her every move. It was as if a topless dancer had fallen out of the sky.

  “What are you looking at, dipshit?” Christina slapped him on the arm.

  “Sex on a stick, that’s wut,” Lazer chortled, “sex on a stick. Oh, hiya Heather, where ya been?”

  Although she looked all pleasure, she was all business. “I just called Rich Palmer at Wrecks Unlimited. Said they’ve been paid in full. All loaded and ready to go. They’ll support us with metal detection equipment for five days.”

  “Great,” Christina said. “We can dive during the day and meet Lazer back at the Cay Hotel for some relaxing evenings around the pool.”

  The bartender walked over staring at Heather and said, “Ma’am the gentleman over there by the door would like to buy you a drink. Whataya have?”

  “Tell him thanks just the same, but no. My boyfriend, Killer, is on his way,” she giggled.

  “Nice to have things back to normal,” Christina said. She turned to Lazer and said, “Sex on a stick is right.”

  “What’s the joke?” Heather asked as if she didn’t know.

  “You are,” Christina ribbed. “Couldn’t you find anything sexy to put on?”

  Heather was giddy, she spun around in her barstool and said, “Hey a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  Lazer got back to the business at hand. “Sure you gals’ll be all right out thar with those horny salvage boys, or do ya want me to tag along?” he volunteered.

  “No, these guys are legit,” Heather replied. “Daddy had ‘em checked out.”

  “You go do all the boner fishing you want, cowboy,” Christina gave him a kiss on the cheek. The rum was taking effect, and she was beginning to relax. “Let’s order another pitcher of pain killers and drink dinner. What do you say?”

  “I say here’s mud-in-yer-eye,” he lifted his glass and clinked it against hers.

  The three emptied two more pitchers of rum drinks, and Lazer and Christina stumbled off to bed. Heather said she was going to hang in the bar in search of a real man.

  The next morning Christina got up bright and early and walked out on the beach enjoying the cool sea breeze. She felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She had slept through the night without nightmares, and she was beginning to feel like a new person.

  Later at the airport, Lazer put her in the left seat and let her fly the twin on the short hop to Staniel Cay. A man named Rich Palmer met them as they got off the plane. He was the owner of the salvage operation, and he took them to the hotel to check in. The accommodations were quite picturesque.

  The girls organized their gear and climbed into Palmer’s van for a short trip to the docks. Before noon Christina and Heather were climbing aboard the Spanish Fly, one of the three working boats of Wrecks Unlimited. Their crew consisted of Captain Steve Henderson and two young deckhands. Henderson was an old salt. He wore cut-offs, sandals and a ragged tee-shirt that said,

  Old fishermen never die.

  They just smell that way!

  A floppy hat listed on his head, and the leathery texture of his dark skin attested to years under the ocean sun.

  “Very nice to meet you ladies,” Henderson said as he shook their hands. His big hands were callused, but he offered a tender grip. “These guys’ll take good care of you. Don’t hesitate to tell them what you need. This is Eric, and this here is Eddy.”

  Eric and Eddy were hardly more than teenagers. They wore nothing but swimsuits, and their bare feet flew around the deck with an appearance of familiarity. Both had slim, hard bodies and their skin had been well tanned to a golden brown.

  “It’s very nice to meet you all,” Christina said, pleased with the crew.

  “Hey, I seen you somewhere,” Eddy blurted out. “I know. . . it was on the TV! You’re the girls that was stranded on that island. I seen you on the news.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Christina answered. “We were on our way down here when the pilot of our charter croaked in flight. Our friend was killed on that island. She’s the one who did the research on the Spanish galleon of interest. Before she died, I promised I’d come down and look for it.”

  “So, now, which wreck would that be?” Henderson asked with a raised eyebrow and a tone of serious curiosity. “I’ve never seen anyone so eager to advance $10,000 cash. You must know something.”

  “We’re gonna look for the Santo Domingo or the El Capitan,” Heather said.

  “Ho ho, you gotta be kidding!” Henderson cackled. “Well at least you got a sense of humor. Treasure hunters been combing the Exumas for decades trying to find those two. It’s documented the El Capitan went down off the main island, but nobody found nothin’.”

  “We’re aware of that,” Heather said. “We have reason to believe those ships went down a bit further north than the traditional site.”

  “Very interesting,” Henderson answered with a glint in his eye. “Here, let me see your map.”

  “Easy there fella,” Christina snickered. “First, things first. I want to make sure all the documentation is correct, and contracts are signed.”

  “No problem,” Henderson replied. “Let’s go below.”

  They sat around a large table in the galley and waded through the paperwork. Finally, Heather unfolded the map prepared by Jessica and rolled it out on the table. The area highlighted clearly showed the three islets in an equilateral triangle just on the west side of the lesser Exumas.

  “Here?” Henderson put his finger on the spot. “You gotta be kidding,” he said with a boisterous laugh. “Those little islands are only a fifteen minute boat ride from here. But I don’t see how it could be there, barely twenty feet of water. What makes you think. . .”

  “Something about equilateral triangles and smudged coordinates in the archives,” Christina chuckled. “Listen. The truth is, we don’t have a clue. Jessica was a research fanatic. It was her life dream to come here and look for the mother lode. We’re just doing this to hon
or her memory. We love to dive, but we don’t really expect to find anything.”

  “You shittin’ me? You mean you paid ten grand and that’s all you got?” Henderson looked disappointed. The air had been sucked right out of his balloon.

  “Listen, you’ve been fairly paid, okay?” Heather piped in. “Just take us out there and let us look around. You can sweep the area with your metal detectors, and we should know a lot more after a day or two.”

  “No problem lady, just relax. We got our money, and we’ll take care-a-ya.”

  “Hey, if this place looks hopeless,” Christina added, “maybe you could take us somewhere we might actually find something.”

  “I think we could do that,” Henderson agreed. “Ladies, it won’t take long to get there. Why don’t we just go take a peek?”