Way to go, hotshot.
A couple of military cops eased into sight in their blue Ford Bronco—too damned far across the shadowy tarmac to be of any help as they drove away.
Tanner kicked aside the chalks and cleared the engine covers. Quinn trailed them inside the plane, up the stairwell, Tanner into the left seat, Kathleen into the copilot's seat.
Quinn chose the instructor's seat behind her. "Make it fast. No more stall tactics."
Tanner snagged the emergency checklist from a hook beside him, a five-step start-up, the fastest way to move the aircraft if an emergency arose. This certainly qualified.
The stars and runway lights illuminated miles of concrete, stretches of empty desert and a dried-up lake bed. He flipped switches before he gripped the throttle, dumping gas into the engines.
How damned ironic. He sat in the aircraft commander's seat, a wide-open runway and endless sky outside his windscreen. Two weeks ago he would have given anything for that crew position, to hold the stick in his hand and fly his plane again.
Now he would sell his soul to be anywhere else.
He increased the throttle until the engines caught. The C-17 roared to life, rolled down the tarmac toward the runway. He wasn't going down without a fight. With a flick of the hand, Tanner turned the wing flaps to signal to the security police the plane was being hijacked, not just stolen.
Then the standoff would begin.
Tanner taxied as slowly as he dared until the SPs screamed across the runway, squealing to a stop and blocking the plane. Not out of the woods yet, but he would find a way to get himself between Kathleen and that gun again when the time came. He eased up on the throttle.
"Go!" Quinn shouted.
"I can't drive over them."
"Don't play dumb with me, Bennett. Take off on the lake bed."
"Can't do it." A weak lie, but he was playing for time. The plane could do that and a lot more. He had before, when taking off on a Sentavo field far rougher than the lake bed beside them.
Apparently Quinn knew, too. "Don't mess with me. Remember that disposable hostage. Now turn!"
Tanner accepted the inevitable for now and guided the plane into a turn. The engines roared, louder, vibrating through the plane. He would get Kathleen out of this, no matter what the cost.
A slight dip of the nose, and they sped off the runway. Tanner winced. Would another bump twitch Quinn's finger on that trigger?
Focus never more important, never tougher to find, Tanner glided through his smoothest takeoff to date. Fear for Kathleen offered a hefty motivator.
Fighters would probably be on their tail soon, but wouldn't shoot down the C-17 as long as he stayed well clear of the no-fly zones around major cities.
Already a new plan began to form in his mind while the plane gained altitude. If only he could get her off the aircraft. Hell, he would settle for tossing her out…
Out of the plane.
His plan solidified as Tanner leveled the cruising plane.
Quinn exhaled a laugh. "See, I told you I could handle the big guy. Now kick back, ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy your nonstop flight to Central America."
If Tanner had his way, and he damned well intended to, Kathleen would be safely on the ground long before they landed.
Chapter 17
An hour later Tanner scanned his control panel, then the inky night sky outside his windscreen. Luminescent green from the instruments lent an eerie glow. Quinn sat in the seat behind Kathleen with the gun trained unwaveringly on her head as they crossed the Mexican border.
The hour of routine had steadied the throbbing in Tanner's temple. He didn't even want to think about the bullet that had glazed him, that could have been embedded in Kathleen's soft body.
She might be subdued now, but Tanner knew that at the first hint of threat to him, she would start yanking that gun toward herself again.
A trembling started low, too much like the one that had gripped him back at the abode mission after the car explosion.