Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (13 page)

Did
I
lose
her
?

Louder and clearer than before, the eerie calm of the lunatic’s voice returned, “Captain Mitchell, you heard your wife.”

He
transferred
the
cell
to
speaker
.

“If you do exactly as I instruct, your family will remain safe. Otherwise, they will all die, starting with your youngest child. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know who you are, but if you lay one hand on my family—”

“CAPTAIN MITCHELL! LISTEN TO ME! This is not a negotiation! I don’t have time for your games! You either do as I say, or your family dies. It’s that simple. This is the last time I’m going to ask you. Do you understand?”

“YES! YES! I understand. What do you want?”

Silence.

Ambushed by the deepest darkness known to man, the very essence of Evil incarnate, Ryan fought to hold tight to the only thing on Earth that mattered: his family. Trapped in a vacuum of denial, everything real vaporized. His eyes locked on the beams of light carving a path through the black of night while images and circumstances surrounding Keri, Martha, and David flooded into his mind.

How
did
the
lunatic
enter
the
house
?
Is
he
alone
?
Where
in
the
house
is
he
holding
them
?
The
children
must
be
horrified
.
Why
is
he
doing
this
?

“Good,” Samael said in a calm voice. “Mitchell, don’t test me again.”

Ryan hammered the accelerator to the floorboard. He’d passed PACIFIC PARK exit a few miles back. EL TORO exit was next. Only minutes away. He would exit there, reverse course, and be at the house in less than twenty minutes. He would call 911 once he hung up with the lunatic. SWAT (Special Weapons And Tactics) would surround the house. They were trained. They knew what to do. If he beat them to the house, he had his gun.

Anxiously waiting for the exit, Ryan said, “What do you want me to do?”

CHAPTER 16

8:10 p.m.

Usman scurried like a weasel from outside to inside, busily converting the Mitchell house into a mini command post. A folding table was erected in the den on which he positioned two laptop computers. With a 20-foot Ethernet cable and a Y-connector, he married the computers to the existing high speed Internet service.

“Captain Mitchell,” Samael said, speaking into the cell, “I want you to do exactly what I tell you.” He looked down at Keri, then over at the children, pausing briefly. “If I haven’t already told you, you have a beautiful family, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“Who are you?” Ryan’s strong voice forced Samael to move the cell away from his ear. “If you touch my family, I swear I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands!”

Keri whimpered at the sound of Ryan’s voice.

In the background, the computers beeped as their screens filled with color. Usman moved between the two keyboards, clicking furiously at the keys, connecting them each to specific sites.

“Captain Mitchell,” Samael calmly said, “I don’t think you understand. It’s not about who lives or dies—you kill me; I kill you; I kill your family; whatever…it’s about you doing
exactly
as I tell you. We’re all going to die, sooner or later. The only choice you must make is who dies now, and who dies later, or if we all die together. Are we on the same page?”

“Why are you doing this? Is it money?”

“We mustn’t digress. We’re on a schedule, something I’m sure you’re very familiar with. You have a flight to catch. Remember?”

“What do you want?”

“For now, you just drive. Don’t even think about turning around and trying to be a hero, because if you feel brave and choose to deviate, it will cost you one of your family members, starting with the youngest and working up. One life for one mistake. I think that’s fair, don’t you, Captain Mitchell? So, I guess you could say you have three chances to get it right.”

Keri pulled the children close, attempting to shield Martha’s ears from the vicious threats.

“How do you know I’m not heading back home right now? Have you thought about that?”

“Captain Mitchell, don’t be foolish. Think of me as God. I know everything.” Samael glanced over at Usman. The little man nodded. One computer screen displayed a map of the west coast of California from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The other monitor displayed a map of the California freeway system from San Diego to Los Angeles.

Samael walked over to the computers. His poor vision required him to lean in close to examine the screen. A small, blinking, red light moved slowly along a blue line representing Highway 73. “A very sophisticated satellite, tracking device is bolted to your car. Being a military man, you will appreciate the fact that this device was originally designed for military use and is capable of following you around the globe. In ten seconds you will be passing the EL TORO exit on State Road 73.”

* * *

The EL TORO exit was next after PACIFIC PARK, which Ryan remembered passing only moments after receiving the call…and there it was: EL TORO. He checked the time. Exactly ten seconds from the mark.

The man’s voice returned. “Not only am I watching your progress on the freeway, but I know the exact speed of your car and the average speed and congestion on the freeway. I can tell you your ETA (estimated time of arrival) at the employee parking lot with an accuracy of plus or minus ten seconds. Your speed was 76 miles per hour until you pushed it up to 91 a few minutes ago.”

Ryan looked down. The digital readout glowed 91.

“I think you should slow down. I would hate for you to be pulled over. We don’t have time for any unnecessary delays caused by your stupidity. Just so you understand, here are the rules—if you exit the freeway, stop, or attempt to be a hero, one member of your family will die. Understood?”

“Yes.” Ryan quickly removed pressure from the accelerator. The digits started to fall: 90…85…78…74…70.

“Good. It’s all about trust, Captain Mitchell. We need to trust each other. The next thing you need to know is that if anyone shows up at your house, I will start killing your family in the order I previously described.”

“How can I control that? What if a neighbor or friend comes by?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Captain Mitchell. The house is dark and I would expect any visitor to leave after no one comes to the door. My concern is that you might attempt to get word to someone to send help to your house. Although we are monitoring your cell phone, I don’t want you to think that you can pass a note or ask someone to place a call for you. If you do, someone will die. Am I clear?”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good. Remember, it’s all about trust. In order to trust each other, we must first believe in each other. Captain Mitchell, do you believe I will do what I am telling you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. When you arrive at the airport, I want you to conduct business as normal. Park your car. Ride the first available employee bus to the terminal. Go to flight operations. When you check your mailbox, you will find an envelope. That envelope will contain the specific instructions of what I want you to do. Don’t waste your time trying to understand why you are being asked to accomplish this task, just do it. Remember, your lack of cooperation will result in the death of your family. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand. I have a question.”

“Captain Mitchell, that’s all the time I have for questions. Remember what I’ve told you. Complete your part and your family lives. Fail…and they will die. I will contact you once more before you board the plane. Remember, it’s all about trust. Don’t let me down, Captain Mitchell. I trust you.”

A buzz replaced the lunatic’s voice. Ryan slapped the cell closed and dropped it in the passenger’s seat. He pounded the steering wheel with both palms. “WHY, LORD, WHY! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”

Calm
down
.
Don’t
panic
.
Think
,
Ryan
,
think
.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. Every minute took him one mile further from his family. Each mile sliced away another layer of hope that he would ever see them again. “Think, Ryan! There’s got to be a way.”

Winding through the San Joaquin Hills, the five-lane toll road ran parallel to the Pacific Coast Highway to the west, and the San Diego Freeway to the east.

Like an animal clawing under Ryan’s skin to escape, the urge to exit the freeway, turn around, and race back to his family was unbearable. Smacked by the first link in the chain of grief—shock and denial—he grasped for denial.

With each mile, the gravity of his situation weighed heavier on his mind and emotions. His every move being watched like some lab rat working its way through a vast labyrinth with but one true exit, and many wrong turns; a maze of deception, bewilderment, confusion, choice, and uncertainty.

Paralyzed in the grip of the lunatic’s do-or-die demands, Ryan held the lives of his family in balance. Regardless of what the freak had said: “Your family is safe as long as you do exactly as I say.” He feared for their lives.

Crazed
maniacs
never
leave
survivors
and
often
find
martyrdom
an
added
act
of
heroism
.

The sudden, unexpected remembrance of his friend, Rex Dean, ambushed his thoughts. Cold chills ratcheted up his spine. Could this be a replay of the night Rex died? Could this be the same lunatic that was responsible for Rex’s death and the murder of Emily?

If so, Rex would’ve gotten a similar call on the way to the airport while Emily was used as bait to force him to do something with the airplane. But what?

The reporter on TV the morning of the crash had said the plane had been shot down because officials suspected it was headed toward a target in San Francisco. The lunatic must’ve known the jet went down and subsequently murdered Emily. Rex did not murder Emily. It had to be the same lunatic! The same maniac that murdered Emily was in his house. It was too weird to be a coincidence.

It didn’t take a genius to surmise that the plan had included the use of the jet that Rex was scheduled to fly to New York. Filled with 60,000 pounds of fuel—enough to fly from LAX to JFK—made the jet a flying bomb capable of massive devastation.

Unless he could find a way to foil the plan of the crazed killer, his family would be murdered. However, if he complied with the lunatic’s demands, he and hundreds of passengers, along with possibly thousands of innocent bystanders, would die.

This couldn’t be happening. Anger filled his emotions. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “No!”

There
has
to
be
a
way
.

“Think!”

But with every attempt to think of variables, options, strategies, and solutions, thoughts of Keri, David, and little Martha took priority, pushing back possible solutions to the crisis. Tears spilled from his eyes as he imagined his family in the same room with a deranged lunatic who had nothing on his mind but death.

If he made an attempt to save his family and
not
do as the killer demanded, thousands of people would be saved, but how could he stop the killer from doing as he said he would. He quickly rationalized that if he broke the lunatic’s rules, his family would be killed. The morbid thought levitated in his mind as he continued searching for every possible variable that might spoil the killer’s plan.

He checked the tripometer. Twenty-eight miles separated him from his family. Within two miles, the toll road would merge with the 405, leaving 38 miles until he would arrive at the employee parking lot.

Thirty
-
eight
miles
…
approximately
42
minutes
,
plus
or
minus
…
depending
on
the
traffic
lights
on
the
airport
perimeter
road
.

Since the call from the lunatic, his emotions had been pulled and jerked in a torturous roller coaster ride filled with gut-wrenching falls and unexpected hairpin turns: fear, anger, hate, and compassion. As the paralytic fear subsided, his watery eyes burned. His chest tightened. He was resolved to find a way out of the maze.

Keri
,
I
will
NOT
let
anything
happen
to
you
!

The rules given to him by the lunatic were: do not exit, stop, or attempt to be a hero. He had been warned about being stopped for speeding, but said nothing about the speed he must drive. Based on the obvious sophistication of the lunatic’s tracking system, any decrease in speed based on traffic should be acceptable, but otherwise, it might cause alarm. If he sped up, he would have more time to digest the contents of the instructions and formulate a plan after arriving at the airport.

Red taillights in the distance indicated a flat stretch of road ahead and few places for speed traps. He pressed down on the accelerator…75…80…85. Getting pulled over by the CHP would be the perfect opportunity to alert someone of his situation; someone with a radio that the lunatic probably wasn’t monitoring. A simple radio call from the patrolman would dispatch an army of help to his family’s aid.

But what if he was wrong? What if the maniac did as he said he would do and started the killing, his daughter first? The thought of it shot ice through his veins. It was too great of a risk. Driving with the traffic flow would keep from drawing any attention.

But no sooner than he relaxed the pressure of his right foot did the rapid and distinct chirp of his dash-mounted radar detector start to sing out. He’d been nabbed by a steady stream of invisible electrons being fired from a patrolman’s radar. Though the digital speedometer was falling through 80, it was too late. Ryan’s heart pounded in his chest.