Freefall (40 page)

Denny’s call came as they were en route to Princeville. “I’m cleared for takeoff.”

For the thousandth time Cameron wondered if this could possibly be right. “I’ll see you shortly.” He hung up and called Gentry’s number.

Malakua said, “You got da plane?”

“It’s on its way.”

“No cop.”

“No cops.”

Malakua ended the call. Cameron pocketed the phone. He could feel the suck of the water rushing into the wave. A moment too early; a moment too late and they’d suffer the full and deadly force.

Though the Princeville heliport mostly serviced helicopter tours, it had a single runway surrounded by cane fields and pastures. He hoped it was in decent condition; it was all he and Denny would have to work with. Cameron turned off the highway into the minimal lot and saw TJ’s truck.

He screeched to a stop and accosted him. “What are you doing here? He said no cops.”

TJ climbed out. Dressed in T-shirt, shorts, and slippers, he looked innocuous, but Malakua knew him. “I’m here for Nica, brah. When you go.”

Cameron eased up. TJ was right. If he got on the plane with Gentry, Nica would need someone. “Yeah, okay.” He looked into the building. “What did you tell them?”

“Someone threaten Gentry Fox. We going get her out.”

Close enough. “Any sign of Malakua?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” He led Gentry into the terminal where the tour director met them with a stern mien.

“I’ve alerted the pilot that’s out and delayed the next tour, but that’s all the space I can make.” He looked at Gentry. “Very sorry for all this, Ms. Fox.”

Gentry nodded. “Thank you for helping.”

“Could you sign this for my daughter?” He held out an index card.

“Why don’t you give me her name and address, and I’ll send her a signed picture.”

“Great.” He wrote the info on the card and handed it over. “Things haven’t gone too smoothly for you here, but I hope you’ll come back to Kauai. Take a tour.” He smiled.

She returned it grimly, sliding the card into her pocket. Her tension seemed appropriate to being threatened off the island. Not far from the truth, except they were taking the threat aboard.

Cameron said, “There’s a big guy coming with a young woman. Let them through, all right?”

The man nodded, and Cameron led Gentry out to the windy tarmac. Her hair flew around her face as he searched the sky for Denny’s Cessna Citation X. No sight or sound of it yet, but it wouldn’t be long. From Lihue he would circle out to make a new approach into Princeville.

TJ sweated. He had one focus in this, to hold Nica after the storm. Cameron turned that thought over. It was about time someone realized how special she was. Or maybe she’d waited for TJ all along.

At the first sound of the jet, he threaded Gentry’s fingers into his. Why did it feel like betrayal to let her do this? She leaned in, curling her other hand around his arm, but he couldn’t tell whether she was needing or providing comfort. Still no sign of Malakua and Monica.

But as the jet touched down, braked hard, and screamed to a stop at the far end of the runway, the tour director came outside, pale faced. Malakua walked behind him with a seven-inch blade at Nica’s ribs. Her fear washed over him like a toxic flood.

Malakua glared at TJ. “I wen say no cop.”

Cameron spread his hands. “He’s here for Nica. Unarmed.” He prayed.

“Take off da shirt.”

TJ stripped his T-shirt, showing only skin and muscle and cold fury.

“On da ground.” At TJ’s resistance, Malakua put a choke hold on Nica and raised the knife.

“Get down,” Cameron hissed through gritted teeth. If TJ charged, she’d be cut. The waves churned in the back of his mind.

TJ lowered himself to the pavement as the jet turned, the whistle of its engines becoming a whine against the buffeting of the wind.

Malakua barked in Nica’s ear. “Trow him da rope.” He seemed to weave on his feet. Was he jacked on something?

She pulled a thin cord from the tote on her shoulder. Cameron caught it. Nylon clothesline from her carport.

“Tie him up.” Malakua sounded thick-tongued.

Not waiting to be told twice, Cameron tied TJ’s hands behind his back.

“Now him.” Malakua jutted his heavy jaw at the pale tour director.

Nica tossed him another rope. Cameron tied the hands of the man whose daughter would get Gentry’s autograph. The jet taxied to the near end of the runway and stopped. Without knowing how soon he’d take off again, Denny brought it down to the compressors.

“Now you tie him,” Malakua hollered at Gentry as he gestured at Cameron.

“I can’t.” She raised her chin, pure Rachel Bach standing against the union workers who wanted to crush her. “He’s piloting the jet.”

Malakua shook his head. “No way, buggah.”

Denny opened the door and lowered the stairs. When he started to descend, Malakua shouted, “Stop.” Denny froze on the third stair and spread his hands.

Cameron hollered over the jet’s idle, “I’m flying you out. That’s the condition. Danny’s had too many hours in the air. They won’t clear him for takeoff.”

Malakua faltered. His best chance of leaving the island lay before him, and he knew it. But his mind seemed stalled. He shook himself and said, “Take off da shirt.”

Cameron looked down. His T-shirt was tight enough to reveal a holster bulge if there’d been one, but he pulled it off and hung it over his shoulder.

“Pockets.”

He took out his truck keys and dropped them on the tarmac. Denny would need them. He palmed his wallet and pulled the pockets inside out. “I’m clean.” Not for the first time he wished he wasn’t. Maybe he should have had the police there in the cane. If not for that crazy vision, he would have covered every angle. But that didn’t matter now.

Malakua shook himself. “Den tie her.” He jutted his chin at Gentry.

Cameron balked. “She’s here voluntarily.”

“Tie her, or I cut.”

Nica gasped in the grip that tightened on her neck. Red waves rushed behind his eyes. Rage shook his hands when Gentry held hers out, a seemingly submissive move that allowed for hands in front. He tied before Malakua could suggest otherwise, but apologized with his eyes. A dip of her lashes absolved him.

“You! Down here.” Weaving again, Malakua motioned Denny forward.

Denny joined them, went through the shirts-off, empty-pockets drill to prove himself unarmed, and came to a rest on the pavement next to TJ. Malakua didn’t order Denny tied, either because of his angelic looks, a lapse in focus, or no more rope in Nica’s tote. Malakua yanked the bag off and shouldered it himself.

“Over here,” he barked at Gentry.

Cameron tensed. A flicker of fear crossed her face, but she played the scene. When she got close, Malakua pushed Nica aside. In that second, Cameron almost leaped. But Malakua got his arm around Gentry’s neck, the knife aimed at her ribs.

Cameron’s temples throbbed with tight restraint as he caught his sister and searched her soul. “Did he touch you?” In a more violating way than a knife at her throat.

She shook her head, but there was a blankness to her expression he didn’t like.

“On da plane.” Malakua jerked his head.

With a final glance at TJ and Denny, Cameron boarded the Cessna and stood at the open cockpit. Malakua followed Gentry up the stairs, knife positioned to do deadly damage, though killing her no longer seemed his priority. As Gentry said, he worked by stealth for others. Those others seemed to have deserted him, and what mattered now was saving his neck.

He pushed Gentry into the recliner just behind the small galley counter and plopped into the other. Hands tied, Gentry managed her seat belt and sat erect. Knife in hand, Malakua stayed free to lunge if either of them tried something. Cameron wished Denny could have stowed a gun somehow, but with Malakua’s clear line of sight to the pilot’s seat, this would have to simply play out. Cameron drew up the stairs and shut the jet door, sealing them in. They’d fly in executive comfort and style—if he could get them off the ground. He ran a peremptory flight check and started the engines. The lights flickered and air-conditioning paused. He checked the hydraulic pumps for the brakes in case he had to abort takeoff, adjusted flaps for lift at a lower speed. No more excuses.

“Go,” Malakua ordered. “Get dis buggah in da air.”

“I have to notify Lihue we’re taking off. Colliding with an airliner won’t work for anyone.”

Malakua grunted. Cameron kept it short and sweet. Getting the go-ahead, he pressed back in his seat, wondering where he’d left his mind. Like Luke Skywalker, he closed his eyes and pushed the doubts away. But the force that impressed on him was one he’d openly questioned.

Okay, Lord. If you’re in this, make it happen
.

He revved the engines and started the plane moving. Near one end of the single strip of pavement they reached V—1. No error lights. The noise and thrust increased. V—2 by mid-runway. More thrust and the exhilarating and terrifying physics of flight. No stopping now. The nose came up. V-R. On wings of angels they found open sky. He breathed, but this was only the start.

Cameron glanced in the mirror that showed him the richly appointed cabin and the passengers seated there. Island turbulence bobbled Malakua in his seat, but he seemed unperturbed. With the knife still clenched in one hand, he grabbed a muffin out of the tote and stuffed it into his mouth. Gentry sat stoically, believing.

Cameron returned his focus to the controls and the vista. Still climbing, he brought up the landing gear and managed a bumpy patch of air. The shoreline passed beneath, and they were over the water. In thirty minutes the Citation could climb forty-three thousand feet to transatlantic-crossing altitude. He could take her up to fiftyone and soar above other air traffic as soon as—

They hit a wicked pocket of turbulence. The air chopped; the plane bucked. In this kind of wind, piloting the midsized Cessna was like taming a mustang. He forgot the two behind him, forgot everything but what he’d learned too long ago. He imagined Denny in his place and subconsciously adjusted as he’d seen him do. Still climbing, the bucking increased.

“Kai?” Gentry sounded strained.

“Just some rough air. Stay buckled.” He fought another buffeting. Sweat slicked his palms. His jaw ached from clenching. Once he got over the prevailing winds … Even as he thought it, the air calmed, and his grip on the yoke softened.

Sweat beaded his temples as he reminded himself that passenger jets were stable. Denny’s Citation X was powered by two Rolls-Royce turbofan engines. Its highly swept, one-piece supercritical wing reduced drag for efficient transonic flight. This baby wanted to soar.

Easing forward with the yoke, he leveled out slightly, but a roar behind sent his heart to his throat. Malakua reared up. Gentry had gotten her hands free, and Malakua didn’t like it. The brute lunged. With hardly time to think, Cameron raised the aileron on the right wing, lowering its counterpart on the left. They banked sharply.

Malakua flew into the galley counter and landed hard on the floor. The knife skittered into the cockpit, but Cameron was fighting the adverse yaw of his extreme tilt with the opposite aileron and a little rudder, doing all he could to prevent a roll.

Gentry unbuckled and lunged for the knife.

“Don’t!” Cameron hollered. “We’re too rough.” He fought to get it back on the level in the buffeting winds. The jet canted and dipped. She fell against the copilot’s seat and hung on. Malakua rolled unconscious into the galley cabinet, spit and soggy crumbs sticking to his gelatinous neck. If he hadn’t been bleary already, that manuever might not have been enough.

As the plane to settled, he said, “Okay, tie him.”

Gentry crouched. She pulled one massive arm back, then the other, and used the rope with which she’d been loosely tied. Her knots were merciless.

“Buckle in.”

She groped until she found her phone in Malakua’s pocket, then dropped into the co-pilot’s seat.

He turned. “You okay?”

She looked a little green. “What wrong with Malakua?”

“I’m guessing the muffins.”

“The muffins?”

“Smell it? Kava kava. Causes a nice euphoric high that turns into a powerful soporific. Okelani’s an herbalist. What do you bet she provided his snack?”

Kava kava, momentum, and just maybe prayer had done the trick. The air smoothed as they reached cruising altitude, soaring over the blue expanse of ocean. He suddenly felt as though he could fly forever. But it was time to return Denny’s toy.

THIRTY-TWO

Bumping and weaving in the copilot’s
seat, Gentry watched the white-ruffled golden shore give way to the fringe of green that became trees. Cameron had radioed their request for landing, and she checked her seat belt as the island came into focus beneath them.
He took it up
—her hands tightened on the armrests—
he can take it down
.

The Hanalei Valley spread like a jeweled plain in hues of emerald. Before it lay the one narrow runway surrounded by cane fields. Flimsy clouds whipped across the windows. The jet jumped. Her hands clenched.

The noise rose as the engines resisted the speed of their descent. Flaps on the wings came up. They dropped and rocked. She glanced back as Malakua rolled side to side on the floor, unaware of his changed circumstances. They dipped again, tore through some ragged wisps of cloud, and lined up with the runway.

She gasped. “Kai.”

“I see it.”

Directly ahead stretched a rainbow from the ground to the sky like a ribbon poured from the clouds. The stripes of light bridging heaven and earth caused a pang in her chest so sharp it hurt. The ground rose up, the single runway connecting them to the rainbow, fading but still visible.

Her hands softened on the armrests. The wheels touched down, rose up, and settled. Pressure pushed her into the seat as the brakes, flaps, and God’s will brought them to a stop. The jet released a long sigh. Euphoric without one bit of kava kava, she snapped off her belt as Cameron left his seat, and they embraced so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to.