Angel Killer (35 page)

I
FEEL LIKE I’M
flying again. This time the sensation is milder. I realize I’m being carried. My head is filled with champagne bubbles. Damian’s pills are fighting the drug. I’m not sure who is winning. I can’t sense much other than a shoulder in the pit of my stomach and the up-and-down motion of walking.

He sets me on the gravel and steps over me. I can barely move, so I keep still. I don’t want him knowing that I’m conscious. I can see the car a hundred yards away. It looks like we’re at the end of a long road. Part of me thinks only a minute or so has passed since he sprayed me. I can’t imagine him carrying me up the side of the mountain.

A pneumatic hinge makes a gasping sound. The man picks me up again, slides me into a seat and fastens a seat belt around me. It takes him a moment to position me since my arms are still bound behind me. I lie slack and maintain the deception. Fighting him is impossible and pointless.

He shuts the door. I can see trees through the window. It feels like we’re in a small car. One of those European ones you see winding through back alleys in Italy. I don’t understand why he changed cars or put me in the front seat.

I hear him climb in the other side and shut his door. His fingers place something on the dashboard and strap it in place. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the video camera’s red light.

Recording what?

He flips several switches and the dashboard begins to glow. I hear the sound of an engine starting up and feel the front of the car shake a little. Only it’s not a car.

We’re in an airplane.

He revs the engine and we lurch forward. Trees move past the window as we turn toward the start of the runway. I tilt my body to the side and bring myself slightly forward, still pretending to be unconscious.

The Warlock’s helper addresses the video camera. “I wish you were here right now. It doesn’t feel right. But I know that I can’t understand all the parts of your mystery. I’m just thankful you’ve given me this honor.”

The plane starts to taxi down the runway.

He’s going to take me into the air.

He’s going to fly me over the volcano.

He’s going to push me out in some sick ritual.

I still can’t move enough to do anything. I try to push my hands under my body as the airplane bounces down the runway. The seat belt keeps me pinned.

The tip of the plane lifts off and we’re airborne. He turns the stick to the right and we do a wide arc to avoid the treetops at the edge of the runway. We go in a circle and I’m able to look at the narrow strip of concrete below us.

It’s an old forestry runway. The trees have grown to the edges. Probably long abandoned, the only access is from the air and an abandoned logging road. It’s the kind of place you’d only know about if you flew over it. The strip looks so small. I can only imagine a seasoned pilot being able to pull off a landing there.

The plane climbs higher. He points the nose toward the volcano. I look out at the wing and realize we don’t have any running lights on.

He speaks to the camera. “I remember the first time I took you flying. I never met anyone who learned as fast as you. I should have known. I realize now that you were just testing me.”

It sounds like a love letter. I want to challenge him with this, but I don’t want to give up my advantage. If you can call it that. I can still barely move my fingers. I try to do some of my stationary yoga flexes to get the blood flowing through my muscles. If I can get my hands around my body fast enough, I might be able to get his gun and make him bring us back down to the landing strip.

I have to wait for the right moment. I need him to think he’s safe. That’ll be when he undoes my seat belt. He’ll have to do that if he wants to push me out. Only this time it won’t be onto an old runway to break bones like the Warlock probably did to Claire. He wants me thrown into the caldera of the volcano.

I doubt there’s a lake filled with lava inside there. Probably just a bunch of steaming vents and ash cones. The effect will be the same. The impact will trigger some seismological gadget and somebody will be sent out to inspect the disturbance.

Either way, they’ll find my smoldering corpse in the middle of a fiery volcano. Retribution. It’ll show the reach of his power. With no witnesses and him locked away in jail, it’ll be another mystery to build on his legend. How did the Witch end up in the volcano?

It won’t be a big illusion like the other three, but will prove to the world that even behind bars he can make strange and horrible things happen.

I wonder how many other people there are like the man who has captured me. It’s a scary thought.

“We’re almost there. I’d like to climb and cut the power and glide, really soar on the wind, but I think I’ll have to save that for later. Or at least until I lighten the load.”

The volcano looms. We’re on a path to go over the collapsed edge. I hear his fingers flip a few switches and then the sound of his seat belt unbuckling. He leans over to my seat. I can feel his breath on my neck. His hand slips across my waist and touches the seat belt. It pauses for a moment. A finger caresses my abdomen. He lets go of the seat belt and grabs the door handle instead.

I’ve only got seconds. I watch his wrist turn the handle. He pushes it open and the air rushes into the cockpit. One hand grabs my bound hands while the other unfastens my seat belt. He has me tightly. I can’t slide my hands free. I can’t get loose. I’m being lifted off the seat.

I can see the caldera below the wing.

Wind rushes past my hair.

The plane is tilting me out of my seat.

I feel my balance slipping.

M
Y FINGERS TOUCH
his waist. He’s trying to shove me out of the plane. I grab the leather of his belt and hold on. He pushes me forward and feels me clinging to him.

“You bitch!”

He lets go of my hands and punches me in the back of the head. I see stars. My fingertips touch metal. Instinct takes over. I grab his gun behind my back, slip off the safety and squeeze the trigger, hoping to hit flesh. I keep firing it until all the rounds have been spent.

The turbulent air rushing through the open door is punctured by the loud explosions.

He lets out a groan. Blood trickles over my fingers. He slackens his grip on me and falls back into his seat. He pulls the gun from my fingers, shoves it to my head and pulls the trigger. It’s empty.

I twist my body away from the open door and use my hands to grab the seat belt. He’s staring down at his leg. The bullets have gone through his side and part of his thigh. There’s a lot of blood, but I don’t think I hit an artery.

I speak in a calm voice. “Land this plane now and you’ll live.”

He’s still looking at his body in a state of shock, trying to assess what to do. The plane is spiraling downward. I must have hit the control panel too. The lights are flickering. His pilot instincts take over and he puts his hands on the stick and fights to bring the plane back under control.

The interior light strobes on and off, then goes dark. The engine dies. The only illumination comes from the red light of the camera and the sun rising over the horizon. For a fleeting moment, I think I see something glowing in the caldera.

The pilot turns the stick to the left and tries to bring us into a shallow descent.

His face is twisted with rage. “You bitch! You bitch! You’ve gotten us killed! Now is not my time! He said now is not my time!”

He tries to shove me out the open door again with his right hand, but he’s too weak and he knows he has to bring us in for a landing. As soon as he puts both hands on the control I slide my hands around to the front of my body. I’m vulnerable for just a moment, but I don’t want to give him another chance to push me out.

The plane passes between two tall trees. He tries to keep the nose up, but we’re still falling. I slip my seat belt back around me.

He speaks through gritted teeth as he concentrates on bringing us down. “You’re still going to die.”

“Not if you bleed to death first.”

“Goddamn you! There’s no place to land!”

He tilts the plane to the side and banks us between another cluster of trees. Ahead of us is a tiny road that only goes a few hundred feet before twisting behind a ridge. He shoves the stick forward and brings us onto the narrow ribbon. The plane shudders horrendously. I’m thrown against the restraints. If I hadn’t put them on, I’d have been tossed out the window.

The plane skids down the road and twists to the side. We spin around and slide off the edge and fall backward down the other side of the ridge the road is on. A tree trunk clips the wing outside my door and rips it free. The plane keeps skidding and pinwheels again.

The left wing hits a tree and is broken off. The wing flips over the top of the plane. The tail section hits a log and crumples as we come to a jarring stop. My back feels like I just fell off a building and my head is rattled.

The pilot looks like he passed out. Damian’s drugs and my adrenaline have kicked in. I unbuckle my belt and leap out the open door and start running up the side of the ridge. It’s a hard climb up the dirt and gravel. I keep falling and have to use my bound hands to stop myself from slamming my head into rocks.

The plane has made a deep furrow in the dirt. I try to climb it and reach the road. I steal a glance back and see the man stumbling from the airplane. He’s got one hand over his side and another on this gun. He staggers and aims it toward me.

The gun clicks on an empty chamber. I turn away and keep climbing. Behind me I hear the sound of metal on metal. I ignore it until I realize it was the sound of an empty magazine being tossed at the plane. I hear the clicking of another one being slammed into place.

I see the edge of the road above me. I take two more strides and pull myself up to the asphalt and roll over. On flat ground, I hope I can outrun him in his injured condition. If I’m lucky he’ll bleed out.

I sprint down the road and away from the mountain. I hope to find help, but I know a road like this can seesaw back and forth for forty miles down the side of the mountain before reaching a town.

There’s a gunshot behind me.

I run.

I
MAKE IT ANOTHER
hundred yards before my legs feel like they’re melting through the road. All the drugs in my body and my exhaustion are starting to take their toll. I try to keep jogging. It’s hard with my hands still bound. The corners of my vision fade while my body resists the urge to black out.

I hear another gunshot and something whizzes past my ear. The sound echoes through the ravine we’re in. I look back. He’s only a hundred feet behind me. He has the gun pointed straight at me. He’s still holding his wound, but it doesn’t seem to have slowed him down.

He shouts to me, “You’re not going to make it!”

“I already did! You failed him! You failed him big! And now you’re going to bleed to death out here,” I shout.

He falls to his knees and keeps the gun aimed at me. “At least I can take you out first.”

The gun is pointed at my chest. His hand wavers slightly, but he uses his other to steady his grip. He’s got a clean shot.

There’s a loud crack that echoes through the trees. His shoulder jerks back. Blood sprays from his arm and the gun drops to the ground. He falls on his face and screams.

I run over to the gun and pick it up with my bound hands before he can get back up. I point it at his head. He rolls over and looks at me. There’s a bullet hole in his shoulder.

“Goddamn bitch!” He tries to move but he can’t get to his knees.

I look around the trees to see where the bullet came from. There’s no one around. It sounded like a rifle shot.

In the distance I hear rotors. A moment later a spotlight pokes over the trees in front of me and a helicopter flies over the side of the mountain as dawn begins to break in the distance. The chopper hovers overhead sending a wash of air around us. Dust and dirt are kicked into a cloud. I keep the gun trained on the pilot.

My body wants to collapse, but I remain rock steady. I don’t even know if I have the energy to pull the trigger. I just stand there and keep it pointed on his head.

He writhes on the ground and tries to shield his eyes from the spotlight with his good hand. Under his breath he mutters curses. Some of them sound like they’re in another language.

The helicopter banks to the side and I see an FBI agent in tactical assault gear leaning out the side with an assault rifle. He leaps off and lands in the grass. He’s followed by another agent. They run over to me, keeping their guns trained on the pilot.

One of them shouts to me over the sound of the helicopter engine. “Agent Blackwood, is there anybody else in the area?”

I look at the pilot’s shoulder wound and back at the forest. “Nobody hostile.”

“Are you okay? Do you need medical help?”

I don’t know. I’m more worried about losing our one witness. “I’m not urgent. This man may be bleeding out. We need him alive.”

The helicopter lands on the road and two more in tactical gear climb out. They zip cuff the man on the ground and apply first aid to his wound. They tell me a medical chopper is ten minutes away.

I’m about to fall down, but I insist they take the pilot first. He might be our only connection to the Warlock.

The chopper takes him, and I fly to the hospital in a second helicopter. The last thing I remember before passing out is sitting between two other FBI agents as the helicopter climbs into the sky.

I catch a glimpse of the caldera. Someone gently takes the gun from my hand and places a blanket over my shoulders, then holds on to me as we fly.

I dream of nothing.

I
WAKE UP IN
a hospital bed in Portland, Oregon. Ailes is sitting in a chair reading a book. When my eyes open he gives me a smile.

“There you are, Blackwood,” he says. “Feeling a little more coherent?”

“I hope so. How long have I been here?”

There’s a row of empty paper coffee cups on the sill behind him. “Two days. They had to clean all that stuff out of your system,” he replies. “Your family is here.”