“A controlled outward explosion,” Kurt said. “Basically, a giant sucking sound that ends with us flying out through the shattered window and free-falling toward the ocean for approximately ten minutes. Which will seem rather pleasant when compared to the sudden stop at the bottom.”
“Don’t want to do that,” she said.
“Neither do I,” he replied. “If we’re going to take over the plane without a struggle, we need to upgrade our weapon status.”
With Leilani trailing him, he walked toward the cargo pallets, hoping to find something more lethal.
As he dug into the first pallet, the high-pitched whine of the engines slowed and dropped an octave or two. The odd, slightly weightless feeling of an aircraft nosing over from cruise to descent came next. It was far more pronounced than on your average airliner.
“We’re descending,” Leilani said.
“Must be getting close,” Kurt said. “We’d better hurry.”
CHAPTER 34
THE FLOATING ISLAND OF AQUA-TERRA WAS UNDER NEW management. As Zarrina gave orders on the bridge, even Otero and Matson were feeling the heat.
Many decks below, Paul Trout walked the confines of Marchetti’s five-star brig, taking inventory of the surroundings. It came with floor-to-ceiling windows, soft recessed lighting and comfortable pillow-top mattresses. It even had a massage chair and a juice dispenser.
“A juice dispenser,” Paul said incredulously.
“Good idea,” Marchetti said, calling to him from the massage chair. “I’ll take a guava-pineapple while you’re up.”
Paul looked over at their host. He was arching his back like a cat rubbing on the furniture as the chair’s shiatsu tumblers moved up and down his spine.
“Oh, that feels good,” he mumbled. “Yeah, right there.”
On the one hand, it struck Paul as the height of absurdity; on the other hand, he couldn’t wait for Marchetti to get done so he could have a turn. Fighting the fire had knotted up his back something fierce.
He poured three cups of the guava-pineapple mixture and brought them back to the other side of the room. He placed them down between Marchetti, who was still making strange sounds of pleasure, and Gamay, who was scowling like an assistant principal ready to put everyone in detention.
Paul offered her one of the cups. She shook her head in disgust.
“When you two are done enjoying your spa day, maybe we could try and figure out a way to escape?”
“I tried the windows,” Paul said.
“Oh, you’ll never get through those,” Marchetti promised. “They’re designed to withstand a Force 10 gale.”
“What about doors?”
“Key-coded from the outside,” he said, shifting his position in the chair. “No way to access the control box from in here. If you notice, we don’t even have a handle.”
“I noticed,” Gamay said.
Marchetti pushed back into the seat a little farther, and the tumblers began to vibrate, shaking him and giving his voice a strange staccato sound like someone pounding on his own chest as he spoke. “I … think … we … should … just … sit … tight …” he said. “Conserve … our … energy …”
Paul saw the fires of fury rise up in Gamay’s eyes. He got out of the way quickly as she lunged toward Marchetti and his chair. She grabbed the plug and yanked it out of the wall. The massage ended abruptly.
Marchetti looked stunned. Paul guessed his own session was now on permanent hold.
“You’d better get serious,” she growled. “These people aren’t playing a game. That wench Zarrina killed one of your crewmen, and who knows how many others in her time. And if we don’t get ourselves out of here, they’re going to kill us before this is over.”
Marchetti looked to Paul for help, got none and turned back to Gamay.
“Sorry,” he said finally. “Denial is my favorite coping mechanism. When you have a billion dollars, problems have a way of disappearing if you ignore them long enough.”