Nelson DeMille - Mayday

Johnson knew the layout of the lounge, and with only one detour to get around a body, he came to the cockpit door, which he discovered was open.

Johnson shouldered the steel-cut ax and made his way in a crouch through the opening and into the cockpit.

He stopped, kneeling on one knee, and looked around. The windshields were covered with foam, but light came through the small emergency door. The smoke here was very light, and what little remained was being suctioned out the open escape hatch. Johnson rose up a bit and peered out the door, spotting the sloping yellow chute. He turned back to the cockpit, but his eyes took a minute to readjust to the darkness. When they did, he spotted a man lying on the floor at the base of the copilot’s seat. The man was dead or unconscious. Johnson glanced all around the cockpit, but there was no one else there, dead or alive.

Still in a slight crouch to stay beneath the curls of smoke on the ceiling, he made his way toward the observer’s station, then snapped on the flashlight and scanned the beam until he saw what he was looking for-the data-link printer. The beam rested on the tray and illuminated a page of white paper. Thank God.

Johnson stood, pulled off his gloves and his oxygen mask, and went to the printer, where he retrieved six sheets of paper from the collecting tray. Mission accomplished. He scanned the papers with his flashlight, then turned them over. “What the hell?”

A voice from behind him answered, “Blank printer paper from the machine.”

Johnson swung around and pointed his flashlight toward the voice. The dead man was sitting up now, his back to the copilot’s seat. Johnson’s heart literally skipped a beat, then he got himself under control.

Neither man spoke for a few seconds, then Johnson said, “Berry?”

“That’s right. And who are you?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“I’d like to know the name of the man who tried to kill me.”

Johnson held the ax out in front of the flashlight so Berry could see it. Johnson said, “And may still kill you.”

Berry’s eyes focused on the big ax. He hadn’t considered facing a weapon.

Johnson said, “You’re a brave man, Mr. Berry.”

“You’re a heartless son-of-a-bitch.”

“Not really. You of all people understand why I had to do what I did. And after what I saw down there, I wouldn’t change a thing I did.”

Berry said, “You shouldn’t try to play God.”

“Why not? Someone has to do it.”

“Who are you?”

“It really is best if you don’t know.”

“If you intend to kill me with that ax, what difference does it make if I know who you are?”

Johnson said, “The reason you’re still alive and may stay alive is that you don’t know who I am.”

“The only reason you’re still alive is that ax.”

Johnson ignored him and said, “If you can produce those data-link printouts, we can make a deal for your life.”

Berry stood, and Johnson yelled, “Don’t move!”

Berry stared at the man in the dim light for a few seconds, then said, “The printouts were hidden on the person of the girl who survived.”

“Where is she?”

“I put her and your flight attendant Sharon Crandall down that chute into the arms of medics. They were both breathing but unconscious. If either of them dies, I’ll see that you’re executed or I’ll kill you myself.”

Johnson stood motionless for a second, then said, “Brave talk for a weaponless man facing an ax.”

“Look, pal, I don’t know who you are, but the game is up. Drop the ax.”

“I’m not so sure the game is up. I have the option of bashing in your skull-it’ll look like contact trauma-then I’ll slide down that chute and go to Hangar 14, where the survivors are, and find Linda Farley and Sharon Crandall.”

Berry tensed, and his eyes darted toward the emergency opening.

Johnson moved a few feet and blocked Berry’s path. Johnson said, “If you have those data-link sheets with you, I give you my word I won’t harm you. Or them.”

“Of course you will.”

“I don’t want to kill you. I’d rather we just called one another liars during an investigation. Even if I wind up in court, I’d trust a California jury to find me not guilty. Hell, they find everyone not guilty. Then I’ll write a book and make a lot of money. I’ll even make you a hero in my book.” Johnson laughed and continued, “Come on, Berry. Give me the sheets. Save your life. You’ve come too far to die now.”

Berry took a deep breath and replied, “I told you, the evidence is gone. Down the chute with the girl.” He shrugged. “You’re finished.”

“No. You’re finished.” Johnson hesitated, then raised the ax.

From the lounge came the opening notes of “Jingle Bells” on the piano. A few seconds later, a voice called out, “I never got much beyond this. In fact, it’s the only piano piece I know.”

Johnson swung around and peered into the dark lounge. “Oh… my God…”

The piano music stopped and a man approached through the murkiness. The man’s big form filled the cockpit door. Kevin Fitzgerald said, “Hello, Ed.”

Ed Johnson stood frozen.

Fitzgerald said, “Can you massacre both of us with that ax? I doubt it. I doubt you even want to. So drop it.”

“You… what?” He looked over his shoulder at Berry, then back at Fitzgerald. Suddenly he realized he’d put his foot in a trap and his neck in a noose.

Fitzgerald addressed John Berry and said, “Thank you, Mr. Berry, for agreeing to act as bait.”

Johnson’s eyes widened, and he said, “You mean… you’ve met…?”

“Just before you arrived,” Fitzgerald replied. Fitzgerald said to Berry, “The gentleman with the ax is Mr. Edward Johnson, senior vice president of Trans-United Airlines. A good company man who has the best interests of the airline at heart. Not to mention the best interests of Ed Johnson.” Fitzgerald said to Johnson, “I sort of figured it was you.”

Johnson snarled, “Bullshit!”

“No, really, Ed. You have the right combination of balls, brains, selfishness, and total lack of conscience.”

“Oh, fuck you, Kevin. I don’t need a fucking lecture from you. I tried to save this airline. You and your fucking pampered pilots wouldn’t do that.”

Fitzgerald lost his patience and snapped, “My pilots save this airline every damn day they’re up there, you desk-bound son-of-a-”

“Enough!” yelled Berry. He had a feeling this was an old argument. “Enough.” He said to Johnson, “Drop the damned ax, or so help me God, I’m coming right at you, and I’m going for your eyes. Drop it!”

Johnson stood motionless for a second, then swung the ax in a wide arc and with incredible strength sent it sailing into the front windshield, which shattered in a thousand pieces. He said to Fitzgerald, “Fuck you. Try to prove it.” Johnson strode over to the emergency door and stood crouched at the yellow chute for a moment, then looked back over his shoulder and said to Berry, “If you had any real balls and any conscience whatsoever, you would have put this fucking planeload of living dead into the water instead of trying to save your own ass. You can both go to hell.” And with that, he propelled himself, legs first, down the long yellow chute.

Fitzgerald said to Berry, “Don’t pay any attention to him.”

Berry didn’t reply.

Fitzgerald continued, “As I said to you before, and I’ll say again, you did the right thing, and you did it well. Regardless of Mr. Johnson’s opinion, Trans-United is grateful.”

“Good. Do you think I’m too old to get a job flying commercial airliners?”

Fitzgerald smiled and replied, “You’re obviously capable.”