"You see this?"
The deputy nodded.
"It's an amplifier. It's part of the trigger mechanism. The trigger in my left hand doesn't have a timer. This base unit does. It's like nothing even the FBI has seen because I modified it myself." Ken fiddled with the buttons on the front and set it down on the ground beside him, then began walking slowly toward the deputy.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to play a little game of electronic chicken, Gary..I've set it to go off in less than a minute. Remember, I still have to hold this trigger down in my left hand or the bomb blows immediately, but in less than fifty-five seconds, if I don't get back to this unit and punch in the disarm code, it's all over."
"Look, Captain, I can't give you this gun." It was more of a plea now, Ken noted, and less a battle cry.
"Okay, then I'll take it out of the holster myself," Ken replied, "and if you delay me with a fight, you'll bear the responsibility for blowing up the hostages you'd like to rescue."
Ken continued walking steadily toward Goodwin, whose eyes were getting even wider with indecision.
"Stop right there, Captain? Gary's voice had become slightly shrill, slightly less assured, and Ken understood the tone.
"I'm giving the orders here, Gary, and you're just making it more difficult for me to return to the timer before it goes off."
Eight feet remained between the two men.
"Look, Captain--"
"It's not a wise idea, Gary, to gamble with a dead man who's got nothing left to lose."
Five feet remained.
Kat's voice rang out from the top of the Gulfstream's stairs.
"Ken?"
Ken continued walking slowly toward Goodwin.
"What's it going to be, Gary? We've probably used up twenty seconds, and it'll take me at least five to run back to turn it off."
The deputy glanced nervously at Kat, then back at Ken, licking his lips as he tried to decide what to do.
Ken was three feet away, moving steadily, his eyes locked on the deputy's eyes.
In his peripheral vision he could see Kat descending the Gulfstream's stairs in a hurry.
And suddenly he was standing nose to nose with the startled deputy.
"We've probably got twenty seconds left," Ken said. "Want to continue arguing?"
There was a two-second pause before a single word exploded from the deputy's lips.
"Damn!" Gary spat the word off to one side as he shook his head, then glanced down to his right. "Take it. Take it quick. Just... get back to that radio."
Kat was moving slowly across the tarmac toward them, trying to decide what was happening.
Ken reached over with his right hand and slipped the.44 from the holster, then turned and moved swiftly back across the ramp to scoop up the handheld unit. He jabbed at one of the buttons, then turned back to see Kat stop next to Goodwin.
"Timer disarmed..." Ken announced, holding the base unit aloft, "... with eight seconds left."
"Ken?" Kat Bronsky called out, smoothing her hair back with her right hand as she held her position some thirty feet away "Yes, Kat. Have they found him?"
She shook her head reluctantly as he glanced at his watch, then back at her.
"Sixteen minutes left, Kat."
"Then what, Ken? Suppose it takes us just a bit longer than that?"
He shook his head. "The deadline is non-negotiable."
"You want Bostich, right?"
A sudden gust of wind from behind Kat cascaded her hair around her and she fought for control of it, pushing it off her face as Ken glanced around him, making certain no one was creeping up.
He turned back to her. "You know I want Bostich. I want him to confess so I can get Lumin convicted. You know that already."
"If you'll give me some time, I can crack Bostich. I agree he's probably lying."
Ken checked over his shoulder again. The fuel truck was nowhere to be seen, and the fifteen thousand pounds of fuel they'd already loaded wouldn't get him more than two and a half hours of flight time.
He looked down at the large handgun he'd taken from the deputy, who'd dropped his hands to his hips and was standing slightly behind the FBI agent.
"I'm not kidding, Ken," Kat said. "I know about the hearing, and I know about the detective, and I believe Bostich is lying. But if I can't talk to him eye to eye, I don't have a prayer of proving it."
She started moving toward him with the same slow, steady speed he'd used to approach the deputy.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
"Cut me some slack, Ken. Give me some time to come aboard and question Bostich. He doesn't like me, I don't like him, and let's just see where it leads, okay? If it doesn't work, I'll leave. You can kick me out of the airplane at any time and I'll return to the Gulfstream and talk to you on the radio, okay?"
As she came closer, he could see the wind whipping her blouse against her body, revealing her feminine contours, and confirming the fact that she wasn't wearing a shoulder holster.
"The deadline still holds, Kat."
She nodded. "Okay, but then what? Are you going to blow everyone up while there's still a chance of success? That's pretty lame." "I've got a better plan," he said, the words causing a flicker of uncertainty to cross her face. "You wondering why I haven't stopped you from walking over here, Kat?"
"No," she said. There were ten feet separating them.
"Have you thought of your own safety? I'm armed with a bomb and a gun, I'm desperate and dangerous as hell. Why get too close to me?
Are you that brave?"
She let out a short laugh and looked off to the side in reaction before meeting his eyes again.
"Brave? Brave? Are you kidding, Ken? My knees... are literally shaking here! You're scaring me to death, but I can't talk to you very well over the radio, and I can't question Bostich that way either, and despite what you think I'm trying to do, I want to help you get to the bottom of your daughter's murder as well as end this... this... hijacking thing."
He smiled for the first time as she came up to him and stopped, her arms folded in front of her.
"I guess," Kat began, "I've always had this blind trust thing about airline captains, y'know? Call me crazy, but it's this nutty idea I get when I buckle up in a commercial airliner that my captain probably isn't going to kidnap me today."
"This is bizarre? Ken said, looking off to the left at the sky and shaking his head. "Really bizarre."
"Hey, fella, you're calling the tune," she said. "I'm just trying to keep dancing."
He looked her in the eye, the smile gone. "Kat, don't think for a moment I don't know what you're up to."
"What am I up to, Ken?"
"You're an FBI agent, for chrissakes, despite the soft, feminine package. Don't you think I know you're trained to kill people caught doing what I'm doing?"
She laughed suddenly, a short chuckle, somewhat forced but incongruous enough to throw him off guard even more.
"What am I going to kill you with, Ken, my bare hands? I probably couldn't even reach around your neck."
"Nevertheless, keep those arms folded."
"Okay, okay. You're right. They could be lethal weapons."
He smiled again, in spite of himself.
"You're trying to con me, young lady."
"No I'm not, Ken!"
"You want me to believe you're suspicious of Bostich, but you don't believe he lied any more than I believe he's telling the truth."
She shook her head, her face serious. "Not true. There's something in that man's voice that's beyond a reaction to fear."
"Yeah, he's a pompous ass to begin with."
"Let me try, Ken. Please! I'll leave anytime you decide it's not working."
He looked at her once more, studying her eyes, wondering if there was a way to let her try, but still keep control. Maybe there was a way to let her probe Bostich while avoiding the web of endless delays she'd been taught to weave.
Ken took a step ba
ck and pointed the.44 into the air just over Kat's head, startling her as he nodded toward the airplane.
"Okay, Kat, you can join the group."
She cocked her head to one side as she tried to interpret his words.
"You mean, it's okay to come aboard?"
Ken shook his head. "No, Agent Bronsky. I mean you've just become a hostage."
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90, Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:30 P..M.
''For several minutes after the captain left the cockpit, Rudy Bostich sat perfectly still, holding the shoulder straps tight and trying to interpret the sounds filtering through the closed cockpit door. After the opening of the forward entry door and hearing muffled voices outside, he finally concluded Wolfe had left the airplane.
The problem of the electronic trigger seemed simple enough. Provided he could maintain perfect tension on the shoulder harnesses at all times, it didn't matter where his body might be; the button would remain pressed.
Slowly, carefully, he held the harnesses in the middle of their length with his left hand while threading the ends around a handle just below the copilot's window with his right. When he was sure he had the tension right on the makeshift pulley, Rudy unfastened his seatbelt and ducked his head under the straps to get them over his right shoulder, then carefully lifted himself out of the seat and over the center console until he was standing behind the seat.
Satisfied the straps were still being held tightly enough to keep the trigger depressed, Rudy ran his right hand down the back seat to the inertial reel at the base, gently probing for the trigger device.
He ran his fingers underneath the unit and around, and leaned over even farther, wholly unprepared to lose his balance.
Suddenly his feet slipped on the metal floor and in an instant he was falling, his left hand grasping for a better hold on the shoulder straps that were holding the bomb at bay. Gravity was yanking them away, pulling them at last from his fingers.
Rudy could hear the straps retracting automatically as his mind waited for the impact of the explosion.
Nothing.
He had landed on his side. He lay there for a few seconds, afraid to move, probing finally at the back of the seat with his left hand before grasping the top of the copilot's seat with it and pulling himself up.
He looked for the small electronic trigger, around the seat, behind the seat, under the seat, and everywhere else he could think of.
The conclusion was startling, but inescapable.
The bastard! It's not here. It probably never was here.
Rudy finally pulled himself to his feet and stood, shaken, behind the center console.
There was a small peephole in the cockpit door and Rudy pressed his eye to it. He could see the daylight streaming into the front entry area from the open door, and he could see the heads of some of the passengers in the distance, but there was no sign of Ken Wolfe or any of the flight attendants inside.
He leaned forward cautiously over the pilot's seat to look out the side window to the left. Wolfe was there, standing twenty feet from the door with his back to the airplane, talking to a young woman who was walking toward him. Wolfe's attention was thoroughly diverted.
Maybe, Rudy thought, he could slip out, get to the back doors of the Boeing, and open one of the exits.
A small, distant twinge of conscience rippled through his mind, a recognition that he'd be leaving a plane full of hostages behind, but he pushed it out of his mind. He refused to believe Wolfe's words--that blowing up everyone would eventually accomplish his purpose.
That was just posturing. The challenge of explaining the abandonment of people who were being held hostage primarily because of him crossed his mind, but he dismissed that as well.
But, if there were no Rudy Bostich to batter at, there'd be no reason to continue the hijacking, so why would Wolfe hurt anyone?
That's a defensible explanation, he concluded. If something happens after I get out of this aircraft, that's what I'll tell them.
Rudy opened the cockpit door and peered around the corner of the forward lavatory to the open entry way. He could see Wolfe outside, his back to the plane.
Rudy crept past the door in a crouch until he reached the forward portion of first class, then stood and moved to the rear galley as fast as he could walk, ignoring the sea of questioning eyes that followed him down the aisle.
He reached the rear galley and barged inside, startled at Bev's instant response.
"Sir! Why are you out of your--?"
Annette silenced Bev with a look as she stood. "Rudy, what are you doing back here?"
He gave her a wild-eyed look as he moved to the right rear door and put his hands on the door-opening lever.
"What in heaven's name do you think I'm doing?" He shot back. "I'm going to get the hell out of here and remove his reason for hijacking this airplane."
Annette crossed the galley and stood facing him, her right hand on the same handle as his.
"Didn't you hear his warnings?"
Rudy Bostich snorted. "He's full of warnings, but I've been sitting up there watching the criminal bastard for the last hour, and I can tell you he's not after anyone but me."
"He says he has a bomb in the forward compartment."
Rudy saw an iron-willed look in her eyes as he remembered the small block of plastic explosive Wolfe had shown him earlier. He licked his lips nervously before replying, his eyes looking away from hers. "I'm sure the bomb is real, but I'm also sure he wouldn't actually use it."
"Did he tell you that? Did he give you some reason to believe he wouldn't use it?"
Rudy scowled. "Look, dammit, I'm a good judge of people, and I'm telling you he won't use it. Trust me."
"Why?" Annette asked, searching his face. "Why should I trust you?
Why should we trust you? I don't know who's right or wrong about what Ken said on the PA. regarding you and that warrant and everything, but I can't trust your opinion because it comes from a panicked man who's trying to save himself."
He sneered at her and shook his head. "Yeah, right. Spare me your amateur psychology and move away from this door, unless you want to be an accessory to kidnapping and air piracy."
Annette's grip tightened on the handle as Kevin stood and approached from the side.
"You're not going anywhere until it's safe to do so," Annette told Bostich. You want to call that being an accessory, go right ahead. I call what you're doing being a coward."
"She's right," Kevin added. "Stand away from that door. You're imperiling all of us."
Rudy Bostich snapped his head to the right and snarled at Kevin.
"Stay out of this, sonny!"
Kevin reached out quickly and grabbed the handle--his hand next to Annette's--as he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Sonny?" he repeated in a mocking tone.
Rudy's eyes shot back and forth between the two of them for a few seconds before he relaxed his grip and let his arm drop. "Okay, look.
He's outside. What he's doing I don't know, but this is the ideal time to -"
"To what?" Annette asked in amazement. "Just deploy an emergency exit slide and run, with him able to see you? Leaving all of us in here?"
Rudy shook his head. "I was going to wait until he came back aboard and found me gone." He explained the ruse with the trigger and the copilot's seat. "He'll be frantic to find me, and while he's racing down the aisle, I can get out."
"And go for help, right?"
He started to nod before realizing Annette meant it derisively.
"No, not go for help, just remove the reason for the hijacking."
Annette stared at him for several very long moments, until Rudy looked away.
"Let me ask you a question, Rudy," she said quietly.
"I've had enough questions--" Rudy began, leaning against the side of the galley, his eyes on the floor.
"Nevertheless, answer one more."
He looked up. "What?" "I heard what the captain said on
the PA. about that warrant. Did you call that detective, and for some reason not want to admit it?"
Instantly his expression became a sneer. "You gotta be kidding me!" he said as sarcastically as possible. "You, too?"
"Did you?" she repeated evenly.
He stood away from the galley wall.
"Why should I answer such a stupid question? I'm a federal prosecutor, for God's sake."
John J Nance - The Last Hostage Page 25
