Both men’s heads had snapped up. Cabe’s gray eyes were full, round, and staring, almost like a deer caught in headlights, whereas Elliot’s blue ones were hard with concern and irritation.
“Max? What the hell’s going on?”
Cabe’s brain was alight, flames roaring through his consciousness and searing the inside of his mind. His stomach weighed about as much as the craft he was riding in and had dropped as far down into his core as it was able to fall. It nestled itself there with the butterflies, which were the size of birds and were flapping and fluttering about madly as if trying to escape. Seconds passed as minutes, each one sluggish and slow in his head as he closed his eyes and tried to tell himself that there was no way in hell this could be happening. Not now. Not to him.
Three seconds later, Max’s voice came crackling over the intercom.
“Mr. Cooper, if you could please relocate yourself to a chair with a seat-belt for the duration of the flight, we’re experiencing some... technical difficulties. Mr. Wright, you might want to come up here to the flight deck. We’re probably going to be looking at forcing an emergency landing.”
Six
Cabe’s blood was about the same consistency and temperature as a Slurpee. An emergency landing. His cheeks were white-hot, stomach wringing itself out of bile and acid, which was now creeping its way up his throat. His teeth and hair were standing on end. His hands were shaking. His vision was little more than a white blur.
“Technical diffi... fucking hell.”
It was Elliot Wright suddenly standing up in close proximity that wrenched Cabe out of his paralysis. The bodyguard instinct was kicking back in. His limbs unfroze, all of them at the same time, and he was on his feet and following his charge through the inky-black cavern of a galley toward the cockpit before he was even aware he was upright.
Elliot was muttering to himself as he shoved open the control room door with a severe lack of his usual grace, filling the cabin behind him with a stream of natural sunlight. He bore down on his pilot and longtime friend, who was still seated at the main throttle with his headset on; the man’s hand was just retracting from pulling out a red handle on the control panel.
“What the hell’s going on?” Elliot repeated, now that he could be heard with more clarity. He was sliding into the first officer’s seat without waiting for an invitation or permission, donning a second pair of headphones.
“Sir! Both of the integrated drive generators have failed, I don’t –”
“Both!?” Elliot was scouring the control panel. “The R.A.T.?”
“Just deployed, sir. We should have auxiliary power –”
With a gentle hum, the muted lights of the instruments panel brightened, and back in the galley, a line of dim emergency lighting traced the length of the craft from cockpit to galley to exit. The sight was enough to make Cabe’s head spin.
“Now?” Elliot finished, tone devoid of humor despite the comedic timing. He hadn’t noticed the way Cabe’s hand had found its way to the back of his seat, gripping it intensely.
“Fuel?”
“One second –” Captain Max Samuels, a nondescript silver fox clad in a traditional captain’s flight uniform likely for professionalism, appeared to be fast-calculating a series of numbers on a small notepad on his lap. “Fuel usage is normal, no leak.”
“The I.D.G.s may have been force-disconnected, Max.”
“What? That – that can’t be possible, I’ve been here the entire –”
“Well, they’ve been disconnected.”
“Sir, there are safety precautions to prevent –”
“I’m aware of the safety precautions, Max,” Elliot snapped, jabbing his finger at a pair of small amber lights Cabe didn’t understand on the main instrument panel, “but I’m looking at some pretty damn compelling evidence that tells me both I.D.G.s are no longer connected!”
“I didn’t touch the damn I.D.G.s!”
“What are I.D.G.s?” Cabe’s voice was smaller than it normally was, but much calmer than he had expected it to sound. Both aviators turned in their seats to look at him, and it was Max who responded while Elliot went for a dial on the panel that Cabe actually recognized. The radio. He also recognized the emergency broadcast channel he tuned it to, trying to block out what his ward was saying and focus on what he was being taught instead.
“This is WrightTech Private Flight One-One-Three –”
“Integrated drive generators, there’s two of them, one for each engine –”
“– we will be making an emergency landing –”
“– which contain a constant speed drive used to regulate the electrical power –”
“– repeat, we will be performing an emergency landing –”
Cabe held up a hand, using the fingers of the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. His entire skull felt like it had just filled up with water. “I – I’m sorry, I can’t... I can’t concentrate while he’s acting like we’re going to crash.”
“We aren’t going to crash – Max, will you shut him up?”
The pilot, visibly distressed but doing a much better job of maintaining his professionalism than Cabe, motioned with his hand for the younger man to lean in closer as he spoke. “The I.D.G.s are what house the generators and speed drives for the two main engines. There’s a chance they’ve both been force-disconnected, here.” One of Max’s fingers hovered over one of the instruments on the panel, though it could’ve been any of them really, because the more Cabe tried to focus on them, the more they all blurred into one massive, confusing, L.E.D. smear.
Breathe, Sparrow... breathe...
“How do you force-disconnect it?”
“It has to be done manually, here, on the flight deck.” Max’s voice had dropped several tones and decibels, but not in a manner that was in any way incriminating, more in a way that was... afraid.
“While you were doing your best to educate him, Max,” Elliot was saying, having gotten off the radio, “we lost two minutes of flight time.”
“Flight time?” Cabe snapped his neck around so Elliot was back in his vision. “How... how long...?”
“About twenty minutes, if we’re lucky,” Elliot replied, in a way that was entirely too fucking casual considering the bombshell he’d just dropped on his new bodyguard. “Then to quote a famous cowboy, we’re basically just falling with style.”
Huddled awkwardly at the back of the small cockpit, Cabe stared out through the glass ahead. Sprawled out majestically before them, snow-capped tips punctured their way through the mist, spearing the clouds from below as they glistened and sparkled in the mid-morning sunlight. His knees weakened and he gripped the back of Max’s chair tighter with both hands.
In less than twenty minutes, they would either be on the ground... or a free-gliding, fifty-five-hundred-pound beer can.
Holy fuck...
“... find a flat enough surface for us to touch down on,” Elliot was barking as Cabe faded in and out of reality, uncharacteristically helpless in the situation he found himself trapped in. Because he was trapped – he was trapped in an aluminum tube thirty-thousand feet above the northern Rockies, watching the pilot pull out an enormous paper map to look for somewhere nearby one could safely land a plane without killing everyone on board.
“Banff Airport is about a hundred miles north of here. It’s only used for emergency and diversionary landings, so considering the circumstances –”
“North? Into the Rockies?”
“It’s the closest airstrip to –”
“You want to fly into the Rockies? Toward the mountains? Doesn’t that go against everything they taught you in flight school about emergency landings!?”
Something in Elliot’s tone decisively told Cabe that he wasn’t to be argued with, but Max seemed to have other ideas. Not entirely a fan of the last thing he ever heard being the sound of the two of them bickering, Cabe instead fought to refocus his energy onto what Max had told him about disconnecting the I.D.G.s.
>
It had to be done from the flight deck. On the instrumental control panel, right there. Right there in front of them...
Which could only mean... shit.
“There’s someone else on the plane.”
Elliot and Max both stopped talking at the exact same moment in order to turn their heads and stare at the blond man standing at the back of the cockpit. “What, Cooper?” Elliot eventually demanded, disgruntled and impatient.
“Max didn’t disconnect the I.D.G.s. So there’s somebody else on the plane with us.”
“Somebody else? You mean like another Anomaly or –”
Ignoring his charge, Cabe was already spinning one-eighty on the spot, his Glock 19 removed from its holster beneath his suit jacket and extended in its comfortable, long-term position in front of him, aimed back into the depths of the dark galley. “Can we get the overhead lights on back there?”
“System load shed. Emergency lighting only, Peaches.”
“All right.” Cabe’s voice was quiet and his mouth was so dry, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was even coherent or comprehensible anymore. “I would very much appreciate it if you gents would land the plane as soon as possible, please and thank you.”
“Take her east, to this flat empty space out here.” Elliot was jabbing his finger into the map still sprawled open across the pilot’s legs. “Nothing but fields and farms and farmers, and maybe a cow or two. Who’s in the mood for Alberta beef? We could probably pick up a couple of steaks after we land...”
Elliot may as well have stopped talking at that moment, because both Max and Cabe were far too preoccupied with the gargantuan task they had each been reluctantly appointed. While the two aviation experts were attempting a forced landing in some snowy Canadian wilderness, Cabe’s mind was rushing through everything he had learned in the past five minutes – as well as every single possibility for what could have caused it. No matter how improbable.
An invisible Anomaly, was his immediate thought as he kept his sidearm trained dead ahead, gritting his teeth and tensing his quads against the unpredictable turbulence. Or one that can move quickly, too fast for us to see. A shape-shifter, someone who can shrink... It’s a targeted hit, which means they’re likely still here, which means they’ll probably bloody attack if sabotaging the plane doesn’t work...
“Throw the emergency brakes into gear as soon as we land her,” Elliot’s sharp tenor cut through his thought process, derailing the train. “HARD. Grind that motherfucker. Seriously, Max, if I look that those brakes when we deplane and there’s anything left of them, I’m going to fine you. Cooper, stop waving that fucking gun around on my flight deck. Now are you gonna sit your ass down, or would you rather alight through the windscreen?”
Cabe was agonizingly unaware of how much time passed between Elliot’s hand yanking him into the cabin’s jump seat by his belt, and the exact instant when the young C.E.O. screamed, “BRACE!” It was a shock, considering it had only felt like minutes; but as he craned his neck around to peer out of the front windscreen, he could see the snowy fields and jagged rocks rushing up at them from below.
It was the first time he had actually faced the front of the craft since discovering the possible intruder on board, and it was mostly to avoid dislocating or fracturing multiple ribs when the Gulfstream made its doubtlessly jarring landing. His gun-hand was wrapped tightly around the butt of the weapon only and hooked beneath his knees, locking them together as his chest came down on top of them, and his free hand clasped itself over the back of his head.
He knew this one. Put your head between your legs, and kiss your arse goodbye.
The first bump knocked his butt from the chair and the wind from his lungs, and then everything was weightless, just for a second. Even as he choked, the belly of the jet came down again, slamming hard into the heavy snow and nearly throwing him forward out of his seat as the belt caught sharply over his hips. Items from all over the cabin that he had presumed were secured flew overhead, clattered against each other, hit the windows and seats and control panels and any part of him that was exposed. He swallowed back a scream, or at least, he hoped he did. All he could hear was the deafening sound of crunching and banging, of beeping and squeaking, and, muddled somewhere amidst it all, the sound of Elliot’s determined voice snarling and barking in a vain attempt to punctuate the explosive din.
And then, just as quickly as it had all begun... it was over.
Everything settled. Motion itself came to a standstill, and for a split second, nothing in the interior of the cabin moved even a fraction of an inch. At least four different alarms that Cabe could differentiate from one another were blaring through the cockpit.
Elliot’s voice was the first he heard over the eerie few seconds of silence while they all made sure they were still alive and in one piece. The young, brash C.E.O. sounded just as arrogant as usual, just as cocky – though there was the tiniest tremble of uncertainty to his words. “I don’t know if you heard any of that bet I wanted to make back there, Max... but I was right, the wings both fell off. You owe me fifty bucks.”
“We need to evacuate.” Max was the one who said it aloud, even though they were all already thinking it and unbuckling their seat belts. Checking the safety was on, Cabe tucked his sidearm into its holster and started panic-gathering everything he had previously noted in the galley that appeared to be safety or survival equipment.
“Cooper.” Elliot was sliding his arms into the thick wool coat he had brought for the icy Montreal winter that was waiting for them in eastern Canada. Behind him, Max wrestled with the door as Elliot slicked his hair back; his hand came away spotted crimson, and he wiped it on the chair beside him in disgust. “Will you calm down? You’re breaking me out in a sweat.”
“That’s not sweat, sir, that’s blood. Here.” Cabe threw a first aid pouch at his charge, not even bothering to see if he caught it. If there really was a hostile Anomaly on the plane looking to target Mr. Wright, combined with the possibility of an explosion or fire, they needed to get out of the wreckage as quickly as possible.
“Cooper, that’s an inflatable raft.”
“It’s supplies!”
“So what, you’re Indiana Jones now?”
“Sir – please evacuate!”
Max’s arms were open to catch the large canvas pouch Cabe threw in his direction, and he slung the strap across both shoulders in order to help Elliot exit the craft. “I know you’ll dock me for saying this, sir, but I really like the new guy,” Cabe heard Max mutter, as the C.E.O. scoffed at his comment and leapt athletically from the plane, landing knee-deep in crisp, white snow.
“I’m fine getting down, thanks,” murmured Cabe as Max handed him what he presumed was one of Elliot’s spare overcoats from the closet, extended an arm to help him too. The pilot nodded and kept his eyes between the cockpit and the tail-end of the galley, watching the bodyguard’s back so that he could pull the coat on and join his client on the ground.
“There’s no smoke or fire,” he called down, “I want to grab the black box, we might need it to find out who did this. Please get Mr. Wright as far away from the crash site as you can.”
“Five hundred feet!” Elliot was yelling back over his shoulder, already starting to trudge upwind through the thick, heavy dunes of snow without waiting for his team. “Minimum clearance. Come on, boys, I know I’m the youngest but –”
It was like moving through molasses. Cold, thick, wet molasses. Cabe’s dress shoes and socks were already soaked through, even before he bolted forward to close the distance between himself and the man he was sworn to protect with his own life, easily keeping up with him. “When we reach safe distance, we need to set up shelter, build a fire, and I need to check your head.”
“Why? Because of that stunt back there? Honestly, Cooper, not everything’s about you, I just happen to know that flying into mountains when you’re experiencing a technical failure is pretty much a death sentence. If anyone needs his head checked, it
’s Max.”
“I meant your injury, sir. You’re bleeding.”
“I know, but I make it look good, don’t I?” Apparently satisfied with his distance from the wrecked fuselage, Elliot stopped and turned in a shallower area of snowfall, looking back at the plane. He shook his head sadly, reaching inside his business coat for his sunglass case.
“Such a shame. That thing has a three-year waiting list, and there’s no way to jump the line. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.” He sighed, his chest huffing out in defeat, and then went searching for his gloves in his pockets. Gloves, that would probably be a good idea, maybe Elliot’s spare coat had a pair...
“You doing okay there, Peaches?”
“I... I will be, I think.” Cabe forced out a shaky half-laugh. “I hope you aren’t judging me from a professional standpoint right now, sir, because I’m not coming off as an overly capable person to have around in emergencies.” His free, red, shivering hand emerged from his left pocket with a pair of leather dress gloves, which the Field Agent immediately began to pull on without permission, swapping his sidearm between his hands as he worked.
“Don’t be a... what is it you people say? Twot?”
“Twat.”
“Don’t be a twat, Cooper. You’re petrified of flying. I’m just happy you’re still upright and functioning.”
“I... thank you, sir?” Cabe had a feeling that was the closest he was going to get to a compliment from this man, so he may as well accept it. He was fairly happy himself, to be honest. Not only had he survived a plane crash, the key component to all of his most horrific and spine-tingling nightmares, but he had actually remained focused enough to keep the client’s safety as his top priority throughout the entire ordeal.
I need to make sure Flint hears about this. There’s definitely a case of beer in it for me.
“Are you wearing my bespoke Valentino?”
Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives Page 11
