“We’re okay,” Linc said, helping Tiny up. “Accessing cockpit now.”
He pulled the detonation cord on the thermite.
Sparks flew as molten metal cut through the locked bolts. When it was over, the door sprang loose.
Linc yanked it open and charged into the cockpit.
Both pilots were slumped over their control sticks, starbursts of scarlet blood on their backs.
Some of the displays and controls were destroyed by the roun
ds as well, but none of them had penetrated the windscreen. The blue sea of the Mediterranean was visible below.
They pulled the dead pilot from his seat, and Tiny climbed in.
“Is it still flyable?” Linc said.
Tiny shook his head. “Not sure. At least for now the autopilot is still engaged. Ask me again in a minute.”
* * *
—
Juan was perched on top of the elevator roof while Eddie waited above him in the galley. There wasn’t room for both of them to stand there and still open the hatch.
Juan pulled the hatch up and ducked down with his pistol. The guard was waiting outside for the elevator to be called, so Juan fired through the window, hitting the man twice in the chest.
He lowered himself into the cab and pushed the door aside, waving for Eddie to come down.
Juan exited and saw Taylor at the aft end of the cargo bay. She turned to see Juan and fired in his direction. He dove behind the Cadillac for cover, but he could still see her through the windshield.
Her arm was wrapped in the end of a yellow strap holding down the rear tire of the Bugatti. She had jury-rigged another strap that lashed the oxygen tank to her midsection. The mask was firmly fixed over her face.
She fired two shots in his direction, then holstered the pistol and slammed her hand against a large button on the bulkhead. A red light above her head flashed. She pressed it a second time. Then a third.
Only at the last second did Juan realize what she was doing. He dropped his gun so he could grab onto a tie-down holding one of the Caddy’s front tires in place.
Eddie was just dropping into the elevator cab. Juan yelled, “Hold on to something!”
Then while they were still flying at thirty-five thousand feet, the cargo bay door began to open.
FIFTY-TWO
The moment that the rear cargo door opened, a hurricane blast ripped at Juan. As he struggled to keep his grip on the Caddy’s tie-down strap, he caught a glimpse of Taylor being sucked toward the growing chasm of the open door by the sudden decompression. Only the strap wrapped around her wrist kept her from being flung into the freezing slipstream and plummeting to the sea below.
After a few moments, the air pressure in the cargo bay equalized with the outside atmosphere. Juan dropped to the floor. Taylor was on her hands and knees as she was buffeted by the wind curling in through the open cargo door. The body of the dead guard was swept across the floor and out into the gaping abyss.
Juan looked back and saw Eddie was still in the elevator cab, wedged against the lip of the door. Air roared through from the main cabin above, then died down quickly.
Juan knew Taylor’s intention. The decompression. The portable oxygen tank. At this altitude without emergency oxygen masks, he and Eddie had about sixty seconds before they passed out from the thin air. Then, Taylor could take her time killing them.
She was shielded behind the Bugatti and biding her time until they were unconscious. There was only one way out of this.
“Tiny!” Juan shouted into his mic over the roar of the open door. “Tell me you have control of the plane!”
“We’re in the cockpit,” Tiny said. “The pilots are dead. Linc and I have masks on, but emergency oxygen in the rest of the plane is out of commission. Descending now. It’ll take three minutes to get down to a breathable altitude.”
That was too long. “Keep going. But when I tell you, pull up sharply.”