Louisa looked disgusted. “They claim they have no idea. For whatever reason, they’re both afraid.” Louisa pushed her hair off her face and waited, tapping her foot, while the pilot of the Albatross landed and taxied in to the hangar. He came closer and closer, saw them, and saw the airport manager frantically waving him off. He veered away, gunned his engines, and headed back toward the runway.
Adam yelled, “That plane—It’s got the Genesis logo etched on the side—a stylized G! We’ve got to stop him!”
Louisa took off after the
plane in a dead run.
“Boy, can she move,” Adam said.
“I watched her in the New York City Marathon last year,” Mike said. “She came in fifth. And that’s why she carb-loads—fast fuel.”
“What if he runs over her?”
“He won’t,” Nicholas said. “Too dangerous for him. And Louisa’s got a gun.”
They watched the old plane do a full turn to make it back to the runway. Louisa put herself in front of it, right in the line of sight of the pilot. She raised her weapon, pointed it directly at the small windshield, and shouted in Spanish even though she strongly doubted the pilot could hear her over the engines, “Turn off the engine and get out of the plane, now, or I will shoot either you or your plane dead!”
The pilot didn’t stop, so Louisa pulled the trigger. She didn’t shoot the pilot, she nicked a panel right above the pilot’s head to show him she was serious.
The pilot stopped and killed the engine.
They watched him climb out of the Albatross with his hands up. Louisa stood facing him, her gun aimed at his chest. The airport manager and his buddies had stayed inside the hangar.
They all converged on the pilot. Nicholas asked him if he spoke English. The man looked insulted. “Of course. Everyone speaks English here. It’s required, well except for those fools who work here at the airport.”
“Who exactly requires you to speak English?”
“My employers.”
“What is your name?”
“I am Rafael Guzman.”
“Rafael, you will tell me where you flew the Kohaths.”
“I came back from Havana. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nicholas sighed. “Rafael, forgive me, but I don’t have time to engage in a lively discussion with you. Your plane is owned by the Genesis Group, see the G on the side of your plane? And that means you are owned by the Kohaths.
“You will tell me how I can find the Kohaths or I will shoot you in the kneecap and you will never fly again.” Nicholas drew his Glock, aimed it at Guzman’s right knee.
Mike came up to stand beside Nicholas. Aimed her Glock at his left knee. “Now,” she said, “or not only will you never fly again, you will never walk again. You’ve got a nice long life ahead of you. Imagine it in a wheelchair.”
Rafael gulped. “Stop, please don’t shoot. My wife wouldn’t like it, she might kick me out, she—”
“Where are the Kohaths, Rafael?”
“Okay, sure, I fly for the Kohath twins when they visit and make other flights for El Creador for supplies, whatever he wishes. But not this time, this time Old Ramos took them in the Atlantis, it’s a big old yacht. There were four passengers and supplies, and they would not fit on my plane.”
“And where, exactly, do you fly?” Mike asked.
“I always fly to specific coordinates. I call Base One and soon a boat appears. I don’t know any more than that.”
“A boat appears? From where?”
He looked at Mike. “It comes from the—” He swallowed and froze, and both of them saw the fear. Was he more scared of the Kohaths than he was of losing both knees?
Mike said, “Three seconds, and you’re crippled for life, Mr. Guzman.”