Page 67 of Air Force One (Miranda Chase #16)

They were up at their planned altitude by the time Holly came up to the cockpit.

Mike had chased the sunset aloft. Exactly as planned, the sky was still golden, but the direct sunlight had fallen below the horizon, the worst possible time for seeing if anyone was watching the icy mountain peaks and the plane climbing into them.

Holly tapped his ear to remind him to put in the encrypted radio earbuds. He slid them in and she pulled a fleece headband down over them, then a thick woolen hat. Before he’d taken the seat, he’d changed out of the captain’s clothes and layered up with the gear they’d brought.

“Test one, two, three. You’re the best lover this woman ever had.” Holly whispered into his ear.

He clicked the mike switch already taped to his wrist. “Right back at you, Hol.” He’d needed every second, and about three additional weeks, to figure out how to do what they needed to make this plane go.

But after hauling him out of the pilot’s seat earlier before she’d turned and grabbed him in the galley…

Then he’d taken her up against the forward bulkhead.

And the things she’d done to him in one of those fancy leather passenger chairs…

Well, he’d regret the time if he ended up killing them for lack of study, but that was the only part he’d regret.

“We all set?”

She stuck a thumbs-up out in front of him. “You?”

He doubted it but didn’t say so.

“Say when.”

Mike nodded, watching the course plot and autopilot carefully. When the timing matched the plan Max had laid out on the top of The Bunker’s bar, he began the countdown.

“Five.”

“Four.” Oh God, had he ever done anything so stupid?

“Three. Holly, are you positive?”

“Say two, Mike.”

He said, “One.”

Holly hadn’t been merely giving him a thumbs-up. She pressed her thumb down on the small trigger he hadn’t noticed clenched in her hand.

The plane gave a god-awful thump.

The Number One engine, mounted on the plane’s left side just ahead of the tail, didn’t give any alarms. It didn’t give any readings either.

Holly had just blown the engine off the tail.

Also, if she’d done it right—and if there was one thing Holly knew, it was explosives—the flight data and cockpit voice recorders had ceased to exist in any meaningful sense of the word in that same instant.

No data from this flight would remain, including the odd directions he’d given the autopilot, though it still had more work to do before it too died.

He transmitted a Mayday call, Holly had rehearsed him on the tone and accent until he could say it properly in his sleep. What he hadn’t expected was Inessa to come rushing forward. She grabbed the microphone from his hands halfway through the call.

Then she screamed into it in Russian.

“This is Inessa Turgeneva. Someone has blown up my airplane. You must come save me. Now! Hurry! Hurry! Oh my God, we’re going to crash and die, don’t let me die! I don’t want to—”

Holly wrestled the microphone from her and handed it back to him. He glanced back to make sure that Inessa wasn’t going to try to grab the controls or something truly dangerous. Instead, she offered him a brief smile and a pat on the shoulder before Holly shooed her back into the cabin.

“Could have warned me.” Mike’s heart rate would be a while coming down from that.

“Where’s the fun in that?” And she too headed aft.

Women. They were absolutely going to be the death of him. Which, this time, just might be true.

The air traffic controller was shouting for more information, which he ignored.

Mike checked the autopilot one last time. The big plane was following his laid-in course just fine on one engine. Holly had added a small additional item to the electronics that would massively over-volt the autopilot during the crash. Any local memory would be permanently lost as well.

To all appearances, the plane had been sabotaged and that had caused the upcoming crash with no slight against the manufacturer. Allowing that would have made Miranda very upset. And it was true, the plane had been sabotaged as they’d been the ones to do it.

Sabotaged!

Right!

Mike popped his safety harness and raced for the back of the plane.

They were waiting for him. Inessa stood by the couch. Her face spoke of terror, but her actions of calm. Mike shrugged on the parachute harness that Holly held out for him. In seconds, he was in and they’d both checked everything twice.

Then he stepped up behind Inessa. He’d never been trained in tandem jumping, especially not as the lead, but now was apparently the time to learn.

He and Holly clipped and locked the four large D-rings that connected the front of his harness to the back of Inessa’s.

Her small knapsack was sandwiched between them.

She’d already pulled a balaclava down to protect her face from the bitter winds and Holly slid a pair of goggles over that.

He pulled down his own balaclava and goggles, then they stepped up to the hole in the side of the plane.

They’d raised the cargo net to keep her suitcases in place on the side opposite the gap.

Dresses and coats still flapped in the wardrobe area.

Yet more proof that she’d been here as if the radio call wasn’t sufficient.

“Ready?” He had to shout to be heard over the roar of noise coming in through the gap where the engine and the other side of the luggage compartment used to be.

She shook her head no. He couldn’t tell through all her gear if there was a humorous shrug in there or not.

“Excellent! Three, Two—” he stepped out of the plane on One rather than giving her a chance to brace back against him in case she really meant no.

Mount Elbrus towered to the northwest of them. Eighteen thousand feet of snow and ice shone deeply orange in the last of the day’s light. Like a mighty beacon of sunset fire.

He steered them southeast. It was a rugged no-man's-land between the back of the mighty mountain and the border of Georgia. They’d jumped at fifteen thousand feet where the air would still provide enough oxygen for clear thinking.

At twelve thousand, he released the big tandem parachute, which opened with a clean hard snap and elicited a squeak of surprise from Inessa.

Max from The Bunker had scrounged these up from his old Spec Ops buddies.

The coloring of the chute and their outermost coveralls would make them nearly invisible in the sunset light.

He aimed for the Georgia border. They wouldn’t get that far, but they’d get close. Then he’d call in Tad and his Russian helicopter for an extraction.

Mike wasted a little distance to turn the parachute enough to see behind him, but there was no sign of Holly or the jet. Not that he’d expected to be able to see them. But still—