Part 46 (2/2)

He would kill them. He would lose himself to avenge Seth and Misty. He would go crazy.

She raced past hangars and private jets along the ap.r.o.n. Obviously, pitifully, there was no security on this side of the airport. She swept by the Chira-Sayf jet. In the distance, across the taxiway, beyond the dark slash of the active runways, were the commercial terminals.

She checked the mirror again. Calder was behind her on the ap.r.o.n and gaining.

Sat.u.r.day they die. But Ian Kanan had lost the ability to know what day it was.

”Misty, he thinks you're dead.”

”Oh, G.o.d,” Misty said. ”We have to do something.”

The airfield was a void between the Tahoe and safety. The runways were more than two miles long. The terminals were almost half a mile away. Attempting to cross to them would knock How nuts? out of the park.

The white landing lights of a descending airliner lit the sky. The jet screamed over the runway threshold and touched down. It roared past at well over a hundred miles per hour, thrust reversers roaring.

Behind her, the headlights of the pickup brightened. She inhaled. Throwing the wheel, she cut across an access ramp and toward the west runway.

The pickup followed.

Jo drove straight across the runway. Her hair was standing on end. She crossed the center line, lit to psychedelic primary colors by a trail of green and red lights. She pinned her gaze on the terminals.

Checking in. No ticket, no identification. I didn't pack my bags myself, I'm carrying a full tank of gasoline, a bunch of bullets, and did not put my hair gel or any other s.h.i.+t in a clear plastic bag. Ready or not, here we crazy-a.s.s come.

She cleared the runway and ran onto the dirt. The wheel juddered in her hands. The pickup followed.

She could think of only one more option. ”He'll stop shooting if he knows you're alive.”

In the mirror Misty's face stretched with tension. ”What's wrong with him?”

”He loves you. He's a warrior.”

Misty shook her head. ”Why did you tell Murdock that after five minutes, Ian's memory would be wiped clean?”

”He has a head injury. His memory is affected.”

Misty said nothing, just absorbed it. ”Seth, stay down.”

She got to her knees, spread her arms wide, and pressed her hands against the back window, right in his sights.

The gla.s.s in the tailgate was salted with bullet holes. Jo had no idea whether Kanan could see, much less identify, his wife through the blistered white mess of the rear window.

Misty pressed her hands to the gla.s.s, cruciform, turned to a silhouette by the white glare of Riva's headlights.

Jesus, what trust. Tears sprang to Jo's eyes. Misty held her position. The pickup kept coming.

”Mom... are you okay?” Seth said.

Ahead, the terminals loomed brighter. Jo bounced across the dirt. The lights of the east runway grew sharper, like an electrified fence.

She looked to the right. And saw a jet accelerating down the runway toward her, halfway through its takeoff roll.

Kanan leaned forward and snugged the stock of the rifle against his shoulder. The pickup bounced over the bare dirt between the runways. Around him he heard the rising whine of turbofan engines.

The pickup's headlights caught the back window of the Tahoe and veered away again.

Somebody was in the back.

”Riva,” he shouted into the wind.

The tailgate window was frosted white with bullet holes, but a woman was kneeling there, both hands pressed to the gla.s.s.

”Shoot her,” Riva yelled.

The noise and wind and mayhem faded away. With a clarity that made the night vanish like smoke, he saw the lifeline of a hand he had held for fifteen years. He saw the eyes he looked into at night before he fell asleep.

He swung the barrel of the rifle aside. ”It's Misty.”

”You're seeing things.”

He blinked the wind from his eyes, looked again at the Tahoe, and knew Riva was right. He couldn't identify Misty's palms or a brief gaze from this far away, under these conditions, even with his brain rewired and hyperperceptive.

But he knew that n.o.body but Misty would step up and put herself in his crosshairs.

”It's her. She's alive. Break off.”

The truck kept barreling onward. What the h.e.l.l was going on?

”Riva?”

He ducked down inside the cab, bringing the rifle with him.

Riva gave him a crazed look.

”Break off,” he said.

White light swarmed over the cab. He turned. Grabbed the seat belt. He watched the jet roll down the runway.

Holy G.o.d, it was a 757.

Jesus, I hate flying. For two years Jo had avoided aircraft at all costs. She had forfeited her frequent-flyer miles. She had thrown out her copy of Catch Me If You Can. And still one of the d.a.m.ned things was headed straight for her. She pushed the pedal to the firewall and blew onto the runway. She heard the jet's turbine engines howling.

She tore across the runway. The white lights of the jet rotated skyward. The nose lifted. Its landing gear hung below the fuselage like talons. She drove onto the dirt and kept going. The jet howled behind her, wheels lifting off the runway.

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