The jetliner began to shudder, the control column vibrating in his hands. McGarvey knew enough to understand that the wings were on the very verge of stalling.
“Four hundred feet,” Kinstry said. “Three hundred feet, your glide path is perfect.”
The end of the runway was less than one hundred yards out.
“Two hundred feet… one hundred feet… You’re over the end of the runway, chop power now!”
McGarvey hauled back on the throttles, cutting all power to the engines, but instead of dropping out of the sky like a stone, the ground effect between the wings and the runway took effect and the 747 seemed to float for a second, or longer, then it touched down with a terrible crash. The big airliner bounced once, hit on its belly again, and then the controls were yanked out of McGarvey’s hands, everything outside his windows turning opaque white as the plane plowed through the fire retardant foam.
He could do nothing but brace himself against the inevitable crash, and he finally let himself succumb to his wounds, his loss of blood, and lack of rest over the past weeks.
Slowly the big jetliner began to decelerate, turning almost gently to the right.
And finally something crashed against the portside wing, the plane slewed sharply left, and came to a complete halt.
For a long time McGarvey allowed himself the luxury of breathing, and of not having to think or concentrate for his own life, and his world collapsed around him into an indistinct but pleasant grayness.
Chapter 80
Very early on the morning of the seventh day of McGarvey’s hospitalization at San Francisco’s General, Kelley Fuller, wearing a pretty knit dress and sandals, showed up. She was still deeply frightened, and when she touched his lips with her fingertips she was shaking.
“Phil said he pulled you out of there just in time,” McGarvey said. Most of the past week had gone by in a blur for him. Until today the doctors had kept him sedated most of the time to hold him down.
“I was going crazy,” she said. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. I thought maybe you had drowned.”
“I found the bomb.”
“I know, and Fukai is dead. All the papers are saying he died of a heart attack when his plane crashed- landed on that island. They’re calling him a national hero in Japan.”
“It doesn’t matter,” McGarvey said. “He’s dead and it’s over.”
She was staring at him, an odd expression in her eyes. “You’re really an extraordinary man,” she said softly. She went to the door and closed it, then propped a chair under the knob so that no one could come in. “I came to see how you were, and to thank you for saving my life,” she said, coming back to the bed. She stepped out of her sandals, and then pulled the dress off over her head. She wore nothing beneath it.
“If you pull my stitches my doctors will have your hide,” McGarvey said, throwing back the covers.
“So let them sue me,” she said, gently slipping into bed with him, and easing her body on top of his. Her skin was like silk against his, and the nipples of her breasts were hard, her breath warm and fragrant.
He let his hands run down her back, along her hips and the mound of her buttocks, feeling himself responding almost immediately.
The bedside telephone rang, and he reached over and picked it up. “Later,” he said, “One hour.” He broke the connection, but left the phone off the hook.
“I don’t know if that will be long enough,” Kelley said, kissing his forehead.
“Let’s try,” McGarvey said. “We can at least do that.”
“Who was that on the telephone?” Kelley asked when they were finished. She’d gotten out of bed, used the bathroom and then put on her dress and stepped into her sandals.
All through their lovemaking she had asked him questions about what he had seen and done while in the Fukai compound. Each answer had seemed to spur her on, almost as if she were playing some sort of sexual game with him.
“It was Phil Carrara,” McGarvey said tiredly. Because of his wounds he had no energy, no stamina. He felt very weak.
Kelley’s breath caught in her throat, but McGarvey didn’t see it. “Get some sleep before you call him,” she said. “You need it.”
“Are you going to stay?”
“I have to go. But I’ll come again tomorrow.”
McGarvey was beginning to drift again. He watched as Kelley pulled the chair away from the door. She blew him a kiss and then was gone.
For a long time he let his mind drift, his eyes half closed. Odd, he thought, that she had left so suddenly. Odd that she hadn’t even kissed him goodbye.
He turned that over in his head, worrying it like a dog might worry a bone. Something wasn’t adding up, but it was hard to make his brain work.
A nurse bustled into the room, a stern look in her eyes. “Are you awake?” she demanded.
McGarvey opened his eyes. “Just barely,” he answered, smiling, but something was bothering him. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Well, your telephone is off the hook, and somebody from Washington wants to talk to you,” she said. She replaced the phone on its cradle, and almost immediately it rang. She answered it. “Yes, he’s awake.” She handed the phone to McGarvey. “As soon as you’re done, I want you to get some rest.” She breezed out of the room, shaking her head.
“Kirk, is that you?” Phil Carrara asked.
“Sorry I hung up on you before, but something came up,” McGarvey said, his attempt at humor as weak as he felt.
“They said Kelley Fuller was out there to see you. Is she there now?”
“Just left.”
“I wanted to tell her that her friend Lana Toy is all right.”
“She’s not dead?”
“No. We have her in protective custody.”
“But you told Kelley…? McGarvey let it trail off.
“We needed her help, Kirk. In the meantime how are you feeling?”
“I’ll live,” McGarvey said, understanding now what was wrong with Kelley. It was the business. There was no honor to it.
“The general is grateful, I mean that sincerely. And the President will be calling you in a couple of days to thank you.”
“What about Kathleen and Liz? Are they all right, Phil?”
“They’re back in Washington. Your daughter insisted on coming out to be with you, but we convinced her to stay here for the moment. Just in case.”
McGarvey’s heart was jolted. “Just in case what, Phil?”
“We finally came up with some answers in Switzerland. Two sets of triggers were taken from ModTec, not one. Which means it’s very possible there’s a second bomb floating around out there somewhere.”
McGarvey closed his eyes, and tried to make his muddled brain work. Something just outside his reach was nagging at him. Something Nakamura had said to him aboard the airplane. He tried to bring it back.
Carrara was saying something about tracking down the British-made initiators, but McGarvey was back on the 747.
“your government would not dare interfere with me,” the Japanese billionaire had said.
“Even if they were suspicious, they would wait until we landed to ask my permission to search the aircraft.”
McGarvey remembered having thought that the man was probably correct, but then Nakamura had said something else. Something odd.
