Zero-G (39 page)

He rose again and turned to Gary. His son stood like a statue, but Tuck could tell the boy was terrified. “I can't leave you alone for a minute,” Tuck said with a slight laugh. “I can't even leave the planet without you getting into trouble.”

“I'm starved for attention.” Gary's words were almost too quiet to hear.

“You know the drill, right?”

Gary looked into his dad's eyes, and for a moment, Tuck thought his knees would give way. “Yeah, I know. You take it and I leave.”

“Just make your steps soft and light, like a cat.”

Gary nodded. “Like a ninja.” Tuck knew the boy was doing his best to stay brave.

With the same gentle caution as before, Tucker removed the small bottle from his son's hand, turned, and set it on the floor with the others. By the time he stood from his crouch, Gary was gone and he could see him running toward his mother. Tuck moved to his father.

“I've been praying for you, Son. Praying real hard.”

“It just so happens I've been praying for you too. I take it these things were spaced out along the ceiling.”

Benjamin said they were. “I knew I couldn't catch them all, and when we heard the helicopters and felt the container begin to shake, I knew we were in for real trouble. Having everyone lined up to catch these things was the only thing I could think of.”

“You always could think on your feet. Okay, we're going to do the same thing.”

“No. I think I can set this one down myself. If something goes wrong, then better that it should happen to me than to you. Children need their father.”

Tuck studied his father for a moment then said, “Which is precisely why I'm willing to take that from you. I still need you and don't think about arguing — I brought the Air Force and the Marines with me.”

“Still rebellious at your age.” Benjamin lifted his hands and Tuck took the vial. As before, he set it on the uneven metal floor once his dad was clear. He began a slow egress. The moment his trailing foot passed the threshold, Riggins and a crewman closed the doors and latched them. Tuck took a couple of steps, stopped, bent forward, and placed his hands on his knees. He drew several long breaths.

Riggins barked an order to the nearest Marine. “I want this thing secured, and I want a guard on it until we know what's in there. No one is to approach it. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

Tuck straightened, then jogged to his family, who met him with tears and warm embraces.

The feel of his family in his arms struck a chord deep in Tuck's soul — and from that soul came a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving.

Tuck began to weep.

THIRTY-SIX

E
veryone on the floor. Everyone but you, Tammy. You get in the middle of everyone.” Quain marched around the Ground Control console, the dead man's switch in his right hand and the 9mm pistol in the other. He jerked the pistol from side to side and up and down, pointing at a different head every few seconds. He was becoming more animated and tense.

Verducci helped Pistacchia to the floor, and he could see from the old man's eyes that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Since he first set eyes on Quain, Pistacchia had fixed his gaze like a hawk circling its prey on the ground. Had Pistacchia been younger, stronger, faster, he almost certainly would have charged Quain.

Verducci took his time helping the old man to the floor in hopes that Quain would approach in an effort to intimidate him. Then he would make his move. Quain might be smart, he might be devious, he was certainly insane, but Verducci was certain he was much faster than Quain was.

Quain didn't take the bait. “I can shoot the old man from here, and if that isn't enough motivation I can shoot someone else. Now get on the floor.”

Pistacchia complied, but Verducci was sure he could feel the heat of the old man's anger radiate from his skin. Verducci lay on the floor next to his employer. His head raised slightly, just enough to keep an eye on Quain.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. One quick reminder. This little device that I hold has quite a range. If I see anyone leave this building before that jet is in the air, I'll release the button, and then you can all kiss your lives good-bye.”

Roos spoke up, “How do we know you won't do it anyway?”

Quain smiled. “You don't.” He took one last look around the room, then said, “You, pilot man, let's go.”

Verducci watched the man named Jim Tolson rise to his knees and then to his feet. “I assume you want to use the back door.”

“No, Einstein. We are going to use the one closest to the jet and that's at the front of the building right next to where it's parked. Move out.”

Tammy was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “What about me? Can I take this off? Please, I can't take it anymore.”

“It stays right where it is.”

Jim Tolson and Quain disappeared through the door. The moment the door hit the jamb, Verducci was on his feet. He approached Tammy. “Give me that backpack.”

Gratefully, she let it slip from her shoulders and he took it.

“What are you doing?” someone said. “He might come back.”

“We have to get this thing out of here,” Verducci snapped.

From outside came the sound of jet engines winding to a start. At that moment, the sound of loud beeping cut through the air.

Tammy screamed, and the crowd backed away. Verducci took the bag and ran.
Five seconds. Five seconds.
He seized the first opportunity he saw: a door with the words
Rest Room
on it.

He fell into the room, landed hard, and had just enough time to kick the door closed.

Something erupted in his face.

He rolled his body to back against the door — a human doorstop. He lifted his arms, saw them covered in an oily powder.

He was finding it hard to breathe.

The Cessna Citation rolled along the tarmac, its powerful dual jet engines warming up for flight. Jim sat at the controls and hoped that his plan would work. He had to trust a man he had never met before, and that made him uncomfortable.

“Let's you and me get something straight, partner.” Quain's words dripped with threat. He placed the barrel of the 9mm behind Jim's ear. Jim could smell the acrid odor of spent gunpowder. “You start to play any games with me, and I'll give you a copper-clad memento to remember me by.”

“Oh, I think you're quite memorable enough.”

“Don't use the radio; just take off.”

“You're the boss. I need to move to the end of the runway. This baby needs a little longer runway than most.”

He caught Quain looking at him like a biologist who has found some new form of life. “I would think a modern plane like this would need
less
runway.”

Jim shrugged. “I'll give it a try if you want, but there's a good chance we will run off the pavement and into the sand. That won't be good for anyone.” As he spoke, he turned to face his abductor and noticed that the dead man's switch was no longer in his hand. He said nothing but Quain caught his gaze.

“I let go of that thing the moment you started the engines. You have no reason to be a hero now. That batch was particularly toxic; those who aren't already dead will be in the next few minutes.”

Jim thought of the backpack under the bleachers —the backpack he and Alderman had carefully locked in the empty Lincoln Continental before Jim entered the hangar. “Why should I bother taking off?”

“Because you have no more desire to die than I do.”

Jim caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately turned to look out the windscreen. “I have no desire to let a mass murderer go free either. And let's face it, you're not going to let me live when we get to wherever we're going.”

“You might be right about that, but then again, I have my moments of reason.”

“Had any recently?”

The thud was followed by a sting as Quain's gun hit Jim on the side of the face, opening a gash that released a warm thick fluid. “I find pain a great motivator, don't you?”

“I know I do.” The voice came from behind Quain, who spun toward the unexpected passenger. The blow landed square on Quain's nose. Instinctively, Quain raised a hand to his face, and the next punch landed hard and deep in his stomach.

Moving as fast as his hands would allow, Jim unbuckled his safety harness, pressed on the pedals to bring the business jet to a stop, and switched off the engines. He started to turn when something hot hit him in the right shoulder. He felt the bullet leave his stomach. Instinctively his hands reached for his abdomen and a moment later, he saw them covered in blood.

Jim slipped back into his seat and watched as a bright high desert day narrowed to a tunnel of darkness, then black. . . .

Alderman's hand ached from the first punch. He wasted no time thinking about it, but he knew something was broken. Fire raced from his knuckles up his arm, but that didn't prevent him from throwing a punch to the midsection of the man he had tracked for so long. Quain backstepped into the cockpit and tried to raise the gun. Alderman seized Quain's gun hand and pushed the muzzle of the weapon away.

“My name is Alderman . . . and I have been looking for you — ” He jabbed a knee to Quain's inner thigh and heard him cry in pain, but didn't release the weapon. If Alderman weakened for just a moment, Quain would put a bullet in his head. Alderman pushed Quain back to the cockpit door, hoping Tolson could help.

The gun went off.

Tolson screamed in pain.

“Tolson? Tolson!”

The sudden discharge and the realization the accidental firing had hit Tolson made Alderman pause for a second — a second too long. Quain roared in anger and forced his way forward. First Alderman felt a knee strike him at the belt, then another caught him in the groin. Despite the pain, Alderman tried to yank the gun from Quain's hand. His side flared with pain as his opponent's fist plunged into his side. White sparkles filled his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He tried to straighten but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt a hand on the back of his head, then caught sight of Quain's knee just before it landed hard on his face.

Blood ran from his mouth and nose; his vision flashed with pain. Alderman had to get himself together if he were to survive. He stood motionless for a moment and waited for what he knew Quain would do, what any man with a gun would do. Quain lifted the weapon and pulled the trigger, but Alderman had anticipated the move, and despite the protestations of his body, he turned to the side as he saw the trigger finger tighten. The bullet missed him by less than an inch, but a miss was a miss.

Alderman shot out his right hand and seized the weapon, twisting it up and back. The next second, he brought his left hand to the gun. He lifted until the barrel pointed to the ceiling. It went off, but Alderman refused to surrender his grip.

“I'm going to kill you — ” Quain snarled.

Alderman brought a knee hard to his thigh, then again to the man's knee. The weapon discharged again as Alderman struggled to wrestle it away.

Quain proved stronger than Alderman had imagined. He decided on a dangerous move. Releasing the gun with his right hand, Alderman drove his elbow into Quain's already broken nose. The scream rolled through the cabin, but Quain refused to loosen his grip. Alderman groped Quain's face with his free hand until he found his mark. He pressed his thumb into the man's eye. With a scream of pain, Quain released the weapon and Alderman pulled it away. Quain took a step back to free himself from Alderman's thumb, then swung a right cross that caught him hard on the cheekbone. Alderman's head snapped to the side.

“I don't need a gun to finish you.” Quain took another step forward and landed a punishing body shot. Alderman dropped to a knee and struggled to draw even a short breath.

He felt the next punch, then the next. Alderman lost consciousness a second after his head bounced on the thinly carpeted deck. . . .