Dark Hunter (11 page)

With no way to see out, no instruments, and absolutely zero real flying experience sitting behind a jumbo jet, Jake knew he had no choice but to make an emergency landing—otherwise everybody on board would be killed.

Including him.

The F-22 Raptors orbited Air Force One. The entire front was aflame, and the fire threatened to reach the massive wings where the fuel was stored. Then the Boeing began to nose-dive toward the sparkling ocean below. The pilots' repeated attempts to radio the plane met with static. A U.S. naval vessel, the USS
Kitty Hawk
, had already sent rescue helicopters, but they wouldn't arrive for another hour. The situation was hopeless.

Inside, Jake wrestled with the controls. Although he couldn't see outside and none of the instruments were working, including the gyroscopic artificial horizon, his stomach was telling him they were descending quickly. The pounding against the cockpit door had stopped; no doubt the Secret Service had been thrown around the aircraft during its midair collision. Then Jake heard the distinctive sound of gunshots slamming into the door. Someone had managed to brace themselves long enough to try to shoot his way in, a futile gesture, since the door was reinforced against exactly that kind of situation.

Jake couldn't think of a single superpower to help him out of his predicament. He attempted to gather his jumbled thoughts. He could try to teleport the entire crew out en masse, but that would require everybody touching—and he doubted they would give him the chance to explain a plan where they all had to hold hands. He needed to try to stop the flames before they damaged the aircraft any further.

The Raptor pilots thought they were hallucinating when they saw the figure of a young boy
fly through
the burning cockpit and hover alongside Air Force One. Then their secret security briefing came back to mind. He was obviously a
Super
—and because he had come out of Air Force One, they had to assume he was not a hero but a hostile. Then again, he was too small a target to shoot at—if they did attack they risked striking Air Force One.

Jake took stock of the situation. Although it was freezing outside, the thin oxygen was feeding the flames. He needed to smother them with something. He was only half aware that one of the Raptor fighter planes was matching the speed of Air Force One, and flying a few yards above it.

Jake ignored it. He pointed at the burning nose and shot out what he hoped was the right power.

The Raptor pilot was surprised to see a thick layer of ice stream from the boy's hands and cling to the
Boeing's fuselage like snow. The villain zoomed around the nose-diving aircraft and covered the entire front of it with thick ice that killed the flames. Seconds later the ice broke away in large fragments, revealing the black, damaged metal beneath.

It all happened as the pilot was lining up a delicate shot with his M-61 Vulcan Gatling gun. Just a few inches out and he risked blowing a hole in the president's plane. His finger pulled the trigger—just as the shards of jagged ice broke away from Air Force One. Several smashed into his craft at high speed, breaking a hole in the canopy and forcing him to yank back the joystick.

Jake looked up to see tracer fire from the Raptor's Gatling gun arc away from him. The fighter flipped aside, completely out of control. The pilot ejected with a bang that Jake could hear over the rushing wind, and the F-22 Raptor plummeted like a stone. Jake had no wish to tackle the remaining Raptor, so he phased back inside the cockpit.

Jake tried to ignore the ax blade sticking through the door. He had to hand it to the Secret Service, they were persistent. Jake pulled back on the controls and swung the aircraft into a climb before swerving to one side and resuming the descent. He heard thuds and muffled swearing as the Secret Service guys were thrown around.

There was no way Jake could safely land the Boeing on a runway, which was just as well, since he had no idea where the nearest strip of land was. Would ditching it in the ocean be easy? He vaguely remembered that planes were designed to float. He just hoped he wasn't making up
that
particular fact.

Now the horizon appeared level through the side windows, and consumed the front windshield. The white dots that had been scattered icebergs now loomed as big as mountains. Jake judged that it was time to lift the nose and push the throttle forward to lose speed.

The looming icebergs rushed past, so close that the wing tips scraped chunks of ice. The water below was littered with fist-sized ice debris, but Jake had no time to worry about that. He managed to lift the nose with seconds to spare. As the nose rose, the tail struck the ocean. Jake had thought it would be like diving into a swimming pool.

He was completely wrong.

At these speeds hitting the water was like landing on grass. The tail section cracked and the stabilizing fins sheared away as ice smashed into them. But somehow the tail remained attached. The impact forced the front of the Boeing down against the water. …

Jake was hurled forward into the control panel. Air Force One belly flopped into the water, but was
traveling so fast that it lifted out again and skimmed the ocean like a stone—just clearing a small ice floe before splashing down again.

Jake felt each crunching jar and with it the tortured whine of the engines.

Air Force One skipped for the seventh time before making full contact with the ocean and driving forward like a speedboat, cutting a massive V-shaped wake. The port wing dipped, both engines suddenly cutting into the water with a shrill gurgling scream. The submerged engines acted as a pivot and pulled the aircraft around in an arc.

There was no chance of the stress breaking the wings off. What most people don't realize is that the wings support the
entire
weight of an aircraft during flight. They are the toughest part of any plane.

But when the twin portside engines decided to explode, the resulting conflagration shattered the wing in two and sent an orange mushroom cloud rocketing skyward. Luckily the ocean waves prevented the fires from damaging the body of the aircraft.

The plane skidded sideways in the water for hundreds of yards before smashing to a halt lengthways against an iceberg. Windows shattered, and chunks of ice rained down on the fuselage. The raised starboard wing smashed against the water like a giant flipper and killed the remaining engines.

For a moment there was silence.

Jake opened his eyes, amazed to discover he was alive and elated that he had managed to land, although he had no idea of the extent of the damage. Dull thuds echoed through the plane as emergency exit doors were blown open.

Jake climbed to his feet. Then he took a deep breath and dropped, phasing through the floor.

He appeared in the empty Presidential Suite and ran through the open door. He knew the crew would be abandoning ship. He hurried down a narrow corridor and stopped at the first exit he came to, which happened to be the main entrance. The airstair, a door with built-in steps, had been lowered and already the ocean waves were rolling in. Two bright yellow life rafts bobbed on the frigid waters, crammed with crew. The nearest contained black-suited Secret Service personnel, who seemed to be waiting for Jake. As soon as he poked his head outside, automatic gunfire peppered the fuselage and the wall behind him.

Jake dived across the gap, his shield catching bullets. One eager bodyguard leaped from the raft onto the airstair. Jake saw him scrambling aboard and launched a fireball at him. The flames hit the wall just above the bodyguard's head. The man slipped back down the stairwell and into the ocean. Jake considered sinking the life raft, but that would no doubt condemn the
bodyguards to death. And since they weren't Supers, he didn't want to do that.

Jake ran past the galley and through a plush meeting room. He shoved through a partitioned door and into the tail section, where journalists usually traveled. The rear external door was open and a knot of Secret Service personnel were gathered around the president and the secretary of defense.

Jake opened his mouth to speak—and a hail of gunfire slammed into his head. Even though his shield was working, the accumulated bullets still felt like a fist slamming into his nose. He fell onto his back, and was surprised to find he didn't
stop
sliding.

Jake looked around in panic—the aircraft was slowly seesawing as it flooded. The tail rose at an angle, scraping across the iceberg with a sound like fingernails across a chalkboard. Water flooded through the front door, and a mini-wave rolled toward him.

The president and his staff floundered as the Boeing shuddered. They were thrown
away
from the emergency exit as the angle of the floor increased.

Air Force One was sinking.

Freezing water splashed over Jake's head, instantly spurring him on. He jumped to his feet, his boots slipping on the soggy carpet.

“Aw, no!” he cried. Things were getting rapidly out of hand.

He jumped straight up, passing through the ceiling and out over the aircraft. The bird's-eye view allowed him quickly to assess the situation. The front of the aircraft was just under the surface, issuing streams of bubbles. The tail was already twenty feet out of the water, still rubbing against the iceberg. As he watched, it cracked away, falling into the water with a mighty splash.

Three full, yellow, hexagonal lifeboats bobbed away from the wreckage; the bodyguards frantically rowed to a fourth empty boat that was supposed to contain the president.

Jake hovered above, and luckily nobody was paying him any attention. He couldn't deal with an onslaught of bullets. He had to try something, something impossible.

He closed his eyes and felt the superpowers charge through his system. Basilisk, Chameleon, and Mr. Grimm had all told him how special he was—and now was the time to prove it.

Jake couldn't explain how he knew which power to call up, but nevertheless he could feel his fingers pulse. The last time he had used telekinesis had been to push aside the security cameras at Diablo Island. Now he was attempting to lift more than three hundred tons of aircraft.

Inside, the president and his staff had been thrown against a partition wall as water pooled around their feet. Behind them they could see only open sky where
the tail used to be. The president was being manhandled toward the exit and was preparing to jump out when the aircraft rocked again, throwing everyone back to the floor. One unlucky bodyguard slipped from the gap in the tail and fell into the icy sea.

Survivors in each raft watched in amazement as the blackened nose of Air Force One suddenly rose from the ocean and the plane leveled out, pulling away from the iceberg.

Then they watched with open mouths as it gradually lifted into the sky, water pouring from every doorway. It rose thirty feet before they became aware of Jake hovering over it, both hands extended and intense concentration etched on his face. One bodyguard took aim with his gun, but his colleague pushed it aside, warning him that shooting the Super would probably cause the aircraft to belly flop back into the ocean.

Jake felt charged with power, stronger than he had ever felt before.

He looked down on the battered aircraft and hoped he could pull off his plan. He'd been told it was impossible—but he was willing to push himself to the limit.

The crew in the lifeboats blinked—and Air Force One vanished in a massive boom. They blinked against the clear sky as the last drops of water fell from nothingness.

The president and his secretary of defense had disappeared.

* * *

Mr. Grimm's footsteps clicked on the polished black marble floor. He walked steadily along a corridor that led from one of the outlying islands to the central land mass. Windows in the arched walls offered views over the island network that would have been spectacular had the island not been smothered in thick mist.

A heavily ornate door stood at the end of the corridor. There were eight such doors circling the chamber, each branded to suit the individual Council members from whose island they led. The door in front of Grimm was etched with curling snakes and spiders. It opened vertically with a whisper. Beyond, the Council chamber was bathed in red light. Despite himself, Grimm hesitated before entering.

The Council of Evil's meeting chamber was a vast dome-shaped room built in the
caldera
, or crater of an extinct volcano. It took a few seconds for Grimm's eyes to adjust to the low light levels. Eight alcoves, bathed in shadows, sat on the perimeter of the chamber. They held thronelike seats for each of the Council members. One alcove was raised above the others, signifying the seat of the Council leader whose decision was, supposedly, final. Then again the position was supposed to be temporary. Henchmen, lackeys, and general administration servants took up the space between the recessed thrones; they formed the functional backbone of the
Council of Evil. Mr. Grimm caught the eye of Ambassador Grutt, head of the Council's uncivil service. The ambassador nodded slightly; he was one of the few people on the islands that Mr. Grimm respected.

The center of the room was taken up by a huge opaque holographic image of the world slowly spinning on its axis. Various splashes of red indicated where villains were gaining territories as governments succumbed to their demands, and in some rare cases, fell completely. Yellow border lines were evenly spaced, marking the individual territories run by each of the Council members. It was in these territories that they would lobby and allow permits that enabled the villains to conduct whatever dastardly scheme they had cooked up. The permit system ensured that no single villain would be in competition with another. Of course, there were always those who did not play by the rules, such as Basilisk, and either the Council would deal with them, or the Hero Foundation would be anonymously tipped off to stop them.

The chamber was overly warm, and Mr. Grimm had to brush away a single drop of sweat that had formed on his pale brow. The atmosphere in the room was oppressive. Malice charged the chamber and it gave Grimm the distinct impression that he had just walked into the hive of some diabolical insect.