“So these men are after you?” she said.
He turned to her. “You didn’t think they were after you, did you?”
She seemed offended. “They could have been. I’m a very important member of the Russian scientific establishment. I’m quite certain they’d get more ransom money for kidnapping me than they would for you.”
Kurt smiled and fought back a laugh. She was probably right about that. “Didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.
She seemed to accept that, and Kurt turned back toward the thugs at the cliff’s edge. They were perfectly backlit in the smoke. If he’d had a rifle, he could have taken them all right now, knocking them down one after the other like ducks in an arcade. But all he had was the metal pipe and the knife that the thug now hunting them had left behind on the
Kurt watched as the man stepped to the edge with a scope in his hand. He stared through it for a long moment and then changed angles a bit. Kurt guessed he was now looking at the second car.
“They’re dead,” one of the other thugs said. “All of them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” the lead man said.
“That’s a long way down,” the thug replied. “No one’s going to survive that.”
The lead man turned and pushed his subordinate back against the car in a menacing fashion. A pretty ballsy move, considering he was the only one without a weapon. Obviously these men did not question him.
“You’re right,” the leader said. “No one could have survived such a fall. Unless they didn’t take it.”
He slapped the night vision scope in the man’s hand. “There are no bodies in or around that car,” he said.
“Damn,” Kurt whispered. Where their biggest problem had seemed like a long walk back to civilization, they now had a much more pressing issue: these thugs would not leave the plateau until they’d found him and Katarina or until police units came — perhaps half an hour away or more.
He doubted they could hide that long.
As the lead thug turned and began spraying his light across the grassy field, Kurt ducked back down behind the fuel tank. When the beam of light pointed off in another direction, Kurt grabbed Katarina’s hand again. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
They scrambled across the open space and made it to the dark hangar. After quietly forcing the lock with the pipe, they slipped inside.
“What are we going to do?” Katarina asked.
“You got fifty dollars?” he said, sneaking over to one of the ultralights and unscrewing the gas cap.
“Not on me,” she said. “Why?”
“We’ll have to leave an IOU,” he said, grabbing a helmet and handing it to her.
“We’re going to fly out of here?” she guessed.
He nodded.
She smiled so broadly, he swore it lit up the room. “I always wanted to try one of these things,” she said.
He checked the tank to make sure it held some fuel. Seeing it was half full, he screwed the cap back on, moved to the hangar door, and began pushing it open slowly.
OUTSIDE NEAR THE CLIFF, Andras and his men were fanning out. Andras had grabbed a Glock 9mm that he now held in his left hand, and the flashlight was in his right. One of his men was making his way along the edge of the cliff, another going in the opposite direction.
Andras guessed his quarry had moved inland. It opened up the terrain and would force him and his men to consider many more hiding places. It would be the better tactic, he thought. And having encountered this man from NUMA once, Andras knew that, if anything, he was very smart.
It would make it all the sweeter when he killed him.
His light played across the ground. Had Andras feared they were armed, he would have been walking in the dark using the night vision scope. But his targets had shown no weaponry during the chase except for a lead pipe and their own wits, so he knew he could safely proceed.
He was rewarded when something caught the light: a woman’s shoe, dusty in places, but the red patent leather was unmistakable. Ten feet away, he saw another one. He whistled to his men, and as they gathered he shone the light around, spotting the cyclone fence and the building beyond.
“Surround the building,” he said. “They’re inside.”
His men dashed to the fence and began to climb. As they did, a sound like a lawn mower starting spilt the quiet of the night.
Andras hopped the fence and shone his flashlight toward the building just in time to see one of the ultralights come rumbling out and begin accelerating across the grass.
“Shoot them,” he ordered.
Two of his men dropped down and opened fire as the buzzing ultralight sped away. In a moment, it exploded, and flames engulfed the nylon wing.
AS THE FIRST ULTRALIGHT began to zoom across the grass, Kurt and Katarina climbed into a second one and started it up. Kurt hoped the noise and movement of the first one would mask their departure in the other direction.
He sent the decoy to the right and seconds later turned his own craft to the left. Even as he pushed the throttle he heard the gunfire. A moment later he saw a flash cross the grassy plain that served as the ultralight’s runway. Just enough light to see by.
He gunned the throttle, realizing the time for stealth had ended. The little fifty-horsepower engine buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, and the small wooden prop spun up to full rpms in a second.
The gangly craft sped forward, accelerating down the grass strip and lifting off in a hundred feet or so. Kurt turned out toward the cliff, trying to put the hangar between him and the men with the guns. He heard a few sporadic shots and then nothing. By then he and Katarina were gone, out over the cliff, accelerating into the darkness and heading for the lights of Vila do Porto.
ON THE GRASSY RUNWAY, Andras realized his mistake. They’d been had by a stroke of misdirection. He turned just in time to see the other ultralight take off. He fired at it and then ran to the hangar with his men.
Inside was a whole fleet of the flying contraptions. Four of them looked to be in working condition.
“Get in,” he shouted to his men. “We’ll shoot them down from the air.”
As his other men climbed into a second aircraft, Andras went to hop into the front seat of the lead craft and stopped. A familiar object stood vertically on its point, stabbed straight down into the ultralight’s padded seat.
Andras recognized the matte-black finish, the folding titanium blade, and the holes in the handle. It was the knife he’d plunged into the crane operator’s seat on the
So the man from NUMA had taken it and kept it. And now he’d returned it. There had to be a reason. Clearly, he was showing Andras that he knew who was after him, but Andras suspected something more.
He stepped out of the ultralight, looking for danger.
“Don’t start them,” he ordered as one of his men reached for a key.
Andras moved to the engine of the machine he’d been about to pilot. He checked the hydraulic lines and the fuel lines, thinking those would be poetic targets for his adversary to strike — and probably deadly, had he or his men started the aircraft in the confines of the barnlike hangar. He found nothing wrong with the exposed sections of the tubing and saw no liquids dripping onto the floor below.
