Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

Strapped snugly into the seat beside him, wrapped in a blanket, was the Second Stone. He was tempted to unwrap it just a bit, begin looking over its inscriptions; but there would be time enough for that on the second leg of the flight, from France to New York. For now, the thing to do was just leave it alone. It had already been subjected to more handling in the past few hours than in the two hundred years before, and he didn’t want to risk damaging it in some—

The plane lurched unexpectedly.

Sammi and Lucy both looked over at him.

“I’ll go see if everything’s okay,” Gabriel answered. He unbuckled his seat belt, stood, and walked down the aisle to the cockpit door. Gabriel knocked and called, “Charlie? What’s going on?”

There was no answer. Instead, the plane veered violently, knocking Gabriel off his feet and onto the seats next to him. Gabriel looked out the window. The scenery was swinging past the windows—they were changing course.

Gabriel got to his feet and tried the cockpit door. It was locked—which may have been standard operating procedure on commercial flights, but not on the Hunt Foundation’s private jet.

He rapped again. “Charlie! Open the door!”

Nothing.

This isn’t good .

Unlike commercial airplanes, the door to the Challenger’s cockpit wasn’t break-proof, so it wasn’t difficult for Gabriel to raise his foot and kick the door in.

He followed the swinging door into the cockpit, then stopped dead.

Reza Arif stood inside the broken door. He held a Parabellum-Pistole in his right hand. The barrel was pointed at Gabriel’s chest.

“Back up, Gabriel. Hands in the air.”

“Goddamn it,” Gabriel muttered. He looked past Arif and saw that Charlie had a gag tied around his mouth and his hands cinched together with a pair of plastic crowd-restraint cuffs. Somehow he was still flying the plane. “How did you get on board?”

“How did I get on board?” Arif laughed. “Do you forget the connections I have in my country? I may be wanted by the police, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pull strings, especially at an airport owned by my good friends in the Union Corse . Access to a privately owned jet at the airstrip? That’s nothing.” He jerked his head toward Charlie. “Your pilot has been very accommodating. He knows that if he tries anything stupid we will all die. I’ve instructed him to take us where I want to go.”

“Where’s that?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you, Gabriel. You’ll find out when we land. If you’re still alive when we land—it’s up to you.”

“And then?”

“And then we shall see. First of all, I will relieve you of the Second Stone, for the second time. Even though the Alliance isn’t around to take it off my hands anymore, I am sure I can find a buyer willing to pay a handsome price for it. I’ve already had an offer of forty-five million—but I think I can get at least a hundred. Do you think the Hunt Foundation would be interested in making a bid?”

“I think the Hunt Foundation would be interested in seeing you in a jail cell. Or a morgue.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Arif said. “I suggest you take your seat, now, Gabriel. Oh, and please hand me your weapon. You do still carry that revolver, don’t you?”

“Better than that German piece of junk you’re holding.”

“What are you talking about? A Luger in fine shape is one of the most sought-after collectibles in the world. It’s an excellent semiautomatic. Each magazine holds eight rounds, which is two more than your Colt. A thirty-three percent advantage.” He held out his hand. Gabriel reluctantly pulled his Colt out of its holster and handed it to Arif. Arid dropped it into a carry-on bag that sat on the copilot seat. “Thank you. Now back to your seat. And buckle up.”

Gabriel scowled at him, but turned when prodded with Arif’s gun. Arif followed him back.

“My two favorite women,” he said, nodding toward where Sammi and Lucy were sitting. “How nice to see you again.”

“You know that shooting a pistol in here wouldn’t be a very good idea,” Gabriel said. “Which makes your threat a little meaningless.”

“I don’t see you acting like it’s meaningless,” Arif said. “And that’s because you know the nonsense you see in the movies isn’t true—that business about plummeting cabin pressure and people being sucked out through the windows. It’s good for one of your James Bond pictures, but it doesn’t work that way in real life.

“You’re right, of course, that I don’t want to fire the gun in here. But I will if I have to. So please, none of you do anything stupid, all right? This will all be over in a few hours. We’ll land, I’ll take the Stone, and you lot can go off to wherever you like, unmolested.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “You give your word.”

Arif shrugged.

“I know you, Reza. You have no intention of letting us go. The Hunt Foundation’s jet is going to mysteriously disappear, isn’t that right? And its pilot and three passengers along with it.”

Arif waved the Luger. “That’s enough. If you want to live, I suggest you be quiet.”

A new voice spoke then, coming from unseen speakers around the plane’s cabin. Looking over, Gabriel saw Sammi’s finger resting on one of the buttons on her armrest. The one with a picture of a telephone on it.

“Reza,” Michael Hunt said, “if you touch any of them, I will personally see that you pay for it.”

“You?” Arif said, with a laugh. He looked up at the plane’s ceiling, as though that’s where the voice was coming from. “Michael Hunt, with your books and your scrolls and your ancient languages? What will you do, Michael, bore me to death?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Reza,” Michael said. “You’re not the only shady operator I know.”

“ ‘Shady operator.’ You wound me, Michael, you really do. I aspired at least to ‘nefarious.’ ” He swung the gun to point at Sammi. “Enough. Hang up on him.”

Gabriel didn’t need any more opportunity than that. He launched himself out of his seat and jumped at Arif, tackling him from the side. Together they tumbled into the cabin’s aisle, Arif clawing at Gabriel’s face, Gabriel slugging him in the neck with one hand and grabbing hold of Arif’s gun hand with the other.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “Sammi? Lucy? Somebody—”

Arif swung his free hand, connecting painfully with Gabriel’s ear. Gabriel’s grip on the gun loosened and Arif yanked it free. He scooted backward and got an arm around Gabriel’s throat. Gabriel grabbed hold of Arif’s arm, trying to pull it off him, but a moment later felt the barrel of the Luger pressing against his head.

“I said, enough .” Arif was breathing heavily. “You people don’t listen, do you?”

“Will somebody tell me what’s happening?”

“I’ll tell you what’s happening, Michael,” Arif said, and jabbed the gun violently against Gabriel’s skull. “I am pointing a gun at your brother’s head and in a moment I am going to blow his brains out. After which I’ll decide just what to do with your sister. How do you like that?”

“Don’t—”

Lucy unbuckled her seat belt and stood, swaying a bit as she did.

Arif and Gabriel both spoke at the same instant. “Sit down!”

She shook her head.

And from behind her back pulled Charlie’s Browning.

Sammi looked down, surprised to see the gun gone from where she’d stowed it before boarding, in the shoulder bag under her seat.

“Ah,” Arif said, “so the little sister is armed. I wouldn’t trust her to shoot straight, though, not drugged the way she is—would you, Gabriel?”