David Golemon - Primeval

Once inside, the old Grumman's engines were goosed and she started to roll. Alice Hamilton, all eighty-seven years young, complete with leather helmet, headset, and flying gloves, threw the two throttles forward and the plywood and aluminum-framed flying boat sped toward the runway as Jack came into the small cockpit and sat next to Alice, and shook his head.

"You didn't think Earhart was the only aviatrix this country turned out, did you?" Alice said when she saw the disbelief on the colonel's face.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Jack yelled over the sound of the screaming props.

"Evidently rescuing you," Alice answered with a smile as she reached down and started pumping the handle that brought the old Grumman's flaps to the down position. When she looked over and saw Collins frowning, she smiled as the huge wheels left the airport runaway.

"Okay, Niles knew you would be caught if you tried to use a Group aircraft, then he knew even if you did, you would have to land at an airfield where any number of federal people would be waiting for you, so, he knew Garrison bought me this little toy back in 1955 for my birthday, thus, here we are — now hang on!"

Jack was thrown back in his seat as the Grumman shot into the sky at an angle Collins never thought a plane that old could achieve.

As he buckled himself in, he heard the shouts and grunts from the passenger area of the seaplane.

"This isn't good!" Ryan screamed as eighty-seven-year-old Alice Hamilton threw the plane into a steep banking maneuver, heading for Los Angeles.

Director Niles Compton of Department 5656—the Event Group — was rarely, if ever, outthought by anyone in the world.

The chartered Boeing 737 was above the state of Colorado heading north. Leased through a third party, the federal authorities had no idea their murderous quarry was heading out of the country.

Sagli leaned forward in his chair and placed his glass of water on the table. Deonovich looked around at the thirty-five men seated around the aircraft.

"I am curious as to why we cannot dispose of our guest — she is too dangerous to keep around," Deonovich asked Sagli, taking a large swallow of water from an iced glass; he then turned and eyed his partner.

"I asked the same question and was told she may be an asset later when we arrive at our destination. She is to be kept healthy at all costs."

"Have you thought that maybe we have placed too much confidence in our new ally?" Deonovich asked, raising the glass vodka and draining it.

Sagli frowned. "That is enough drinking; we have very serious days ahead. I do not need you half comatose."

Deonovich raised his brows and eyed his partner.

"You have not answered my question."

Sagli hated talking about the plan to Deonovich as the large man had a hard time grasping the intricacies of the plan. He could tolerate his small peccadilloes such as his penchant for inflicting pain upon others, but when he tried to question their new partner, it made them both look foolish. After all, the intelligence information this man had delivered to them over the last five years had all been dead-on accurate. The man had proven his reliability and his plan was almost foolproof.

"Look, old friend, when he came to us, I myself was suspicious, but since I have come to know him, I find that his penchant for planning and his eye for detail far exceed the people who trained us in the old days. He is a cold warrior, and we are committed to his plan." He eyed Deonovich closely. "Now, no more drinking."

Lynn Simpson looked up from her seat, handcuffs on her ankles and wrists. The duct tape was itching beyond all belief as she looked up and into the dark eyes of Sagli. She never even flinched when he raised the silenced pistol and pointed it at her right eye. Lynn had figured a long time ago she had been living on borrowed time, so she had mentally prepared herself. She closed her eyes and then said a silent good-bye to her mother and then to Jack.

"I just want to ask you a question," Sagli said as he reached out and gently pulled the duct tape from her mouth. Then, placing the silenced weapon on the seat beside Lynn, he undid her handcuffs.

Lynn opened her eyes at the question and the relief she felt when the cuffs were removed. She glanced at the silenced handgun beside her on the seat, and then she looked from it to Sagli, who was actually smiling, daring her to take it. Instead of taking up the challenge, Lynn rubbed her wrists, taking care not to strike her injured hand.

"The Canadian agent, this Alexander fellow — in your opinion, what are his capabilities?" Sagli asked, finally picking up the handgun and removing temptation from her thoughts.

"Go to hell," Lynn said with a hint of her own smile touching her lips. "You mean what were his capabilities."

"No, I mean, what are his capabilities. It seems our Canadian spy survived the assault. Now what can you tell me?"

Lynn remained silent as the thought of Punchy Alexander flashed through her mind. She could hardly believe he lived after her witnessing him getting executed by Sagli.

"I suggest you look down at your hands, Miss Simpson, count your fingers and then in five minutes I will ask you to do it again. I guarantee you will not come up with the same number as before. The only reason you are alive is for the fact that this Alexander just may get lucky and get a track on us," Sagli bluffed as he just wanted more information on Alexander. "I am skeptical at best, but if he does I believe you may still be a handsome bargaining chip."

Lynn was down to seven fingers and two thumbs. Her older brother would have said she was still way ahead in the game, but she wasn't her brother and she wasn't as brave as Jack.

"If Punchy Alexander is after you, I hope you're going to a very deep hole in the earth and pull the dirt in after you, because he can be relentless — the second most relentless man I have ever known."

Sagli smiled broadly. "As a matter of fact, we are going someplace much better, Miss Simpson, a place where the most recent maps were made over a quarter of a century ago; a forgotten place right in your own backyard." He gave a slight nod of his head. "And yes, we will pull the dirt in after us, and also over you."

The twin-engine Grumman Goose was flying as low as Alice felt comfortable with in the growing darkness. She manipulated the throttles that she could barely reach on the upper console, firewalling the engines to raise the agile seaplane over hills, and then cutting power to slide the aircraft nimbly into a valley. Jack really didn't know how she could see anything.

"Colonel, it's time you went into the cabin with the others. When you get back there, ask Lieutenant Ryan to come up here, please."

Jack was hesitant about unsnapping his seatbelt, but finally managed enough courage when Alice brought the seaplane into level flight.

Nervous eyes watched Jack as he stumbled his way from the cockpit and into the passenger area. Everett was sitting next to Sarah, and Ryan was sitting across from them. Mendenhall was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Will?" Collins asked as he slammed into the seat in front of Ryan.

Jason Ryan pointed to the back of the plane with an outstretched thumb, then he grabbed for the life vest he had found under his seat when Alice sent the Grumman down into a shallow dive.

"He's… he's in that little closet back there. I think it's the head, but I think it's too small to have a toilet," Ryan finally said. "He doesn't feel too good."

"Can't say as I blame him," Jack said as he snapped his seatbelt. "Ryan, report to Alice up front."

The small naval officer looked taken back for the briefest moment.