“You don’t understand the power of chaos. I’ve seen it myself when the Soviet Union fell. All it takes is a push to unbalance the situation. And thanks to your own military-industrial complex, we have the weapon to give that push. I’ll never tire of the irony.”
“If your men were captured, the police will know you’re here,” Jess said. “They’ll stop us before we even get to the spaceplane.”
“Then why did I get a call from the flight director a few minutes ago saying that they’re ready?”
“Maybe it’s a trick to lure you out.”
Colchev knew she was right, but he had no choice now but to march on assuming victory. “For the sake of everyone here, I hope you’re wrong.”
A knock on the door, followed by a shout. “Your bus is here!”
Colchev put on his helmet and told Tyler and Jess to do the same. Zotkin hefted the bag containing the Icarus parachute system and his own normal parachute as well as several bungee cords. Colchev took the handcart, the Killswitch now in a black padded duffel. His hand was inside the zippered opening, his finger near the arming button.
“They’ll notice you’re carrying that,” Tyler said.
“Oh, you mean Walden and Arshan’s film equipment?” He gestured at a pile of cameras and lenses heaped on the floor.
That shut them up. They couldn’t see it underneath his helmet, but Colchev was grinning.
Zotkin opened the door and ushered Tyler and Jess outside. Colchev followed with the handcart. When they all got on the bus, he made sure to keep the Killswitch between him and Tyler.
The driver eyed the luggage but said nothing. He closed the door and drove off.
As they approached the Skyward, Colchev spotted the massive crowd that had gathered to watch the crew board the ship. They would have plenty to tell their grandchildren someday, provided they weren’t in an airplane or a car when the Killswitch went off.
Colchev leaned over to Tyler and Jess. “Remember: wave, but no other gestures. And say nothing to the ground crew. I will be listening.”
When they got out of the bus, the crowd cheered. Colchev gave them the thumbs up, and the mob went wild. They had no idea that he was sending them an insult. As opposed to signifying that everything was great, in Russia the
Tyler waved, and Jess put up both her hands in the V sign to the crowd’s delight.
After a few more waves, the ground crew escorted them to the open hatch of the Skyward. With Zotkin making sure that Tyler stayed too far away to attempt anything, Colchev went first and brought the Killswitch up with the ground crew’s help. Then Tyler and Jess climbed aboard. Zotkin was last and pulled the hatch closed behind him. The Lodestar’s four engines were already spooled up and humming.
The interior of the Skyward was flooded with light from the myriad triangular windows covering the fuselage, so they were still in full view of the spectators. Three rows of seats, one on each side, straddled the center aisle. The pilot’s chair sat in the front center of the ship. With weight at a premium and flights costing more than $200,000 per person, there was no room for a co-pilot.
“Rear seats,” Colchev said.
While Tyler and Jess were standing at the rear of the spaceplane, Zotkin ordered them to turn their backs to the windows. Pretending he was adjusting their suits, he wrapped bungee cords around their wrists and guided them into seats across the aisle from each other. Zotkin belted them in with the four-point safety harnesses so that their arms were under the nylon straps. Once they were secure, Colchev and Zotkin lashed the Killswitch and Icarus between the seats.
Zotkin climbed into the carrier jet, and Colchev closed the hatch behind him before taking his seat in the pilot’s chair. He plugged his helmet into the onboard communications system. By switching the unit between channels, he could either talk to the flight control or to Zotkin on the Lodestar.
“All right, Skyward,” the flight director said, “now that you’re on board, let’s begin the checklist.”
“Roger, control,” Colchev said. Before the director could get any further, Colchev switched to Zotkin’s channel. “Are you ready?”
“The flight controls are exactly what I anticipated. I’m ready to taxi.”
“Then do it while they still think you’re the real pilot.”
Colchev switched back to the flight director’s channel just in time to hear, “—Skyward, do you read me?”
“I read you loud and clear, control.”
“Why aren’t you following the established takeoff procedure? What’s the problem?”
“No problem here. Skyward signing off.”
He should have closed the channel, but he rather enjoyed listening to the flight director’s confused shouts as the engines powered up and the spaceplane rolled across the tarmac to the runway.
FIFTY-FIVE
Grant strained at his handcuffs as he watched the Lodestar reach the end of the runway. The aircraft began its takeoff roll a second before he heard the engines go to full power. After ten minutes of telling their tale to the arresting officers, he and Morgan were not getting a sympathetic ear. The policemen’s major concern was clearing them out of the busy pathway so that the incident wouldn’t disrupt the event.
“You have to listen to us,” Grant said to the officer guiding him to the oversized utility cart. “You have to call the flight director of the Skyward and tell them there is someone here who may have planted a bomb on their plane.”
“Right. And those unconscious guys are Russian spies.” They’d already carted the Russians off in medical units. “Look. We’ve relayed your concerns to the appropriate people. We’ll take you to the security office. If your ‘story’ checks out, then we’ll see if we can find the other Russians.”
Grant and Morgan were shoved into the cart, and they motored away.
As the cart passed the main food court, a shout called out to them. When the cart didn’t slow, the shout became a scream of bloody murder. That finally got the officer to stop.
“What the hell is going on now?” he said.
Fay ran over to them waving her arms, dashing around to the driver.
“I need their help,” she said, breathing hard.
“Do you know these people, ma’am?”
“They’re friends of my granddaughter. What’s going on?”
“We caught them after they beat two men to the point of unconsciousness. We’re taking them to the security office. You can meet us there.”
The officer’s radio squawked. “Moline, where are you?”
“Moline here. We’re at the food court near the Heli Center.”
“We’ve got a major problem with the spaceplane demo. They lost contact with the pilot, and then he just took off.”
Grant felt his stomach sink. Colchev was already on his way up.
“That’s what I’m telling you!” Grant said. “The spaceplane is being hijacked.”
“And for all we know, you’re in on it. Now shut up!”
“Moline,” the voice on the radio said, “get over to the flight ops and see if you can give them a hand.”
“We’ve got suspects in custody.”
“Damn it! All right, bring them back here. I’ll get someone else.”
Moline put the radio away. “Ma’am, we have to go—”
Fay jabbed the muzzle of a Glock pistol against Moline’s rib cage, taking care to keep it out of sight of passing patrons. “No. You let them go. Now.”
Moline snickered at the seventy-five-year-old. “Is this a joke?”
“Do I look like a comedian?” Fay said with a deadly serious stare. Moline’s smirk faltered.
