They were over the highest part of the mountain range now, and silvery blue lakes stood out below amid dense green forests and towering peaks. Most pilots regarded this spectacular terrain as unfriendly, which it probably was to them, but to Garrett it was like a backyard. He felt more at home on foot there than in his hilltop house, and more secure than in any concrete and glass city he could think of. Hed loved the high country since childhood, when, raised in a mountain town, he had first learned wilderness lore from his extended half-Cherokee family.
He felt a subtle change in the feel of the controls, and a movement behind him. Someone had left his seat, shifting weight forward. Annoyed, he started to turn and investigate, but an arm clamped around his head, knocking his flight cap to the floor. Garretts hands flew upward, grabbing frantically, then he gasped in pain as a needle jabbed into the right side of his neck. He tried to twist out of the crushing grip on his head and face, but couldnt get any leverage. A wave of dizziness swept over him, His body went limp and he couldnt lift his chin from his chest. Just before he slipped into oblivion a sense of rage welled up in him--the damned fool who did this was going to get them all killed!
Awareness crept back by degrees. First, the drone of the twin engines, as if a mile away, gradually grew louder until his brain identified it. Good...they hadnt crashed yet. Now, without opening his eyes, and still in a dream-like state, he realized he was slumped in his seat, chin on chest and hands lying limply in his lap. He fought his way back to consciousness but remained motionless as sluggish senses warned of danger around him. He cautiously raised his eyelids ever so slightly. Through a drugged haze he made out the blurred legs and feet of a man in the co-pilots seat; then he drifted back to sleep. When he opened his eyes again, wider this time, he thought, I must be nuts, I dont have a co-pilot this trip. So whos that, flying the airplane? He wanted to shake his head to clear it but didnt dare. Suddenly it all came back to him--the passengers! The figure at the dual controls was the tall young leader of the group who had been sitting there when he was attacked.
His heart-rate quickened and anxiety tightened his throat. How was this possible--a stranger illegally flying the chartered aircraft? Wide awake now, his alarm gave way to amazement as he reached full comprehension. He stifled a groan and swore under his breath. My God! he thought, Ive been hijacked!
Were right on schedule, time-wise. The voice came from just above Garretts head and to his right, meaning the speaker was standing, at least to the extent one could with the cramped headroom, and was probably leaning toward the co-pilot. Garrett slowly raised his head enough to see the altimeter. Still at 12,000 feet. Why the hell so high if they were over the valley? They had either cleared the mountains long ago, or were way off course. He checked the directional gyro. It showed a weird headingalmost due south instead of northwest! Quickly, while the second hijackers attention was still diverted, he lowered his head and closed his eyes.
The guy at the controls replied with confidence and authority. I know. Well be coming up on our target soon. Take your seat and help me watch for landmarks. Ill keep an eye on him. Hes still out.
Garrett stayed quiet, trying to ignore his aches and pains. At least his mind was clear now. Who were these people? The one flying the aircraft wore a three-piece suit and striped necktie, hardly the publics image of a hijacker. He could be a stock broker, a lawyer, or...what the hell! Garretts anger rose...they took over this plane by force. That made them terrorists, regardless of appearances.
His mind returned to the latest development. Headed southeast, they could be anywhere, depending on how long ago they had changed direction. Now a chilling thought struck him. Theyd be landing soon. What would they do with him? He could identify them, even tell where they landed. If they were desperate enough to pull this off, would they hesitate at killing him to aid their escape? He weighed his chances of success if he attacked the pilot. At an even six feet and 190 hed have a size and weight advantage, but the other man was maybe ten years younger than his own 44 years, and though under 175 pounds, he had the wiry look of a guy in good shape.
Okay assuming he could handle that one, what about the other two men and the woman? Were they armed? Probably. Any one of them might shoot him before he could put their leader out of commission. Bare hands were no match for bullets. He couldnt make any move while they were in flight anyway, because someone had to fly the plane. All things considered, his prospects seemed somewhere between poor and downright hopeless.
What was that? Had he heard, or felt, an engine misfire? There it was again! The right engine coughed and sputtered, causing the Cessna to yaw slightly. He opened his eyes and looked to the right. The man called Carl increased throttle, flicked fuel-tank switches and muttered, Damn! What now?
The engine continued to cut in and out, losing power steadily. Garrett quickly scanned the panel in front of him. The directional gyro was turning too fast and the attitude indicator showed they were in a ten-degree bank. He thought, Level the wings, stupid...and feather that engine.
Now the pilot sounded panicky, shouting over his left shoulder, almost in Garretts ear, George, get this guy awake, fast! I cant clear the damned thing.
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