Behind the Lies (Montgomery Justice #2)(9)

He hissed at the burning of the cut. He wasn’t going down from this traitor’s actions.

The pilot dove for the oxygen mask. “He’s awake,” he yelled. “Get out here or we’re dead.”

The captain scrambled from the cockpit, a mask on his face.

Zach backed up a step, eyeing both men. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, behind the thick plastic.

They didn’t respond but stepped forward as one.

“Shouldn’t someone be flying the plane?” Could the autopilot land the Gulfstream?

Zach shifted his weight, testing his strength and balance. He couldn’t move with the bulky tank. He heaved in a last breath, dropped the oxygen, and threw the mask to the ground. He launched himself toward the men. He shoved his boot straight into the windpipe of the copilot. The man’s head whipped back and he slumped to the ground, neck tilted to one side, eyes wide open.

Lungs burning, Zach whipped around to the captain. The man drew a gun. Hell, no. Zach recognized the resolve in the pilot’s eyes, but saw no regret. No emotion. Zach was just a job.

So be it. Zach did jobs, too.

He shoved his shoulder at the guy’s chest. They went flying. Zach landed on top of him, grabbed him in a chokehold, and stared into the captain’s eyes.

Zach wanted to breathe. Strange how everything sort of faded to gray. Strange how this man wanted to kill him. Too bad they didn’t have Irish whiskey on board. Zach had a fondness for a nip.

Wait a minute. He shook his head, trying to clear the odd thoughts. He had a mission. Stay alive. Out of time. He needed air.

Zach ripped off the captain’s life-giving air and slammed it against his own face. He sucked several breaths then met the captain’s gaze.

The man’s eyes bugged. Zach didn’t loosen his hold.

The weapon slipped from the man’s fingers.

“Who gave the order?” Zach demanded.

The captain clutched at the mask, but didn’t say a word.

The plane shifted underneath them.

“You’ll die, too,” the man gasped. “Unless you can fly this thing.”

He sagged forward, his eyes closed. He’d passed out.

Zach took several deep breaths and raced to the cockpit. He scanned the panel. There it was. The outflow valve was open. Slowly, so he wouldn’t blow out his eardrums, he restored cabin pressurization.

He took in several deep breaths to clear his head and strode back to the main cabin. The pilot stirred and moaned. Zach didn’t waste any time. He wrapped the man’s hands and feet with plastic tubing and shoved him into a seat, then secured the tubing to the chair. He’d interrogate the guy when they landed.

First things first. He had to find a way to survive landing a jet.

He circled his neck to ease the tension and walked to the cockpit, adjusted the pilot’s seat for his six-foot-three-inch frame, and tucked on the headset. He’d been flying since the age of sixteen. His dad’s doing, though he’d probably regretted the gift. Zach had gotten a taste for excitement. Skiing, skydiving, mountain climbing…and risk taking. The kind that seduced you to Hollywood’s so-called glamorous life and lured you into being a spy.

He’d never flown anything quite this big, though.

He glanced at the sophisticated screens and panels. Like something out of Star Trek. A hell of a lot more involved than the small Cessna he’d learned on or the Huey he’d flown in his last movie. Methodically he scanned the dials. Altimeter, heading. And yes…autopilot. On.

Thank goodness.

A crackling sounded in his ear. “Camelot three-two-nine. Fifth time I tried to call you. Respond or an F-16 will be escorting you in and you won’t like the reception,” an irritated voice snapped.

OK. Clearly someone had noticed the pilotless plane. Los Angeles Center sounded pissed.

Zach took a deep breath. “This is Camelot three-two-nine. Go ahead.” At least he hoped he was Camelot three-two-nine.

“Camelot three-two-nine, Los Angeles Center. Did you enjoy your nap?”

Yeah, the controller was in a mood. Zach glanced at the altimeter. Thirty-nine thousand feet. And he was only ninety miles out of La Jolla. Shit. This was going to be a wild ride.

“Descend immediately, maintain flight level two-four-zero,” the controller ordered.

Straightening his shoulders, Zach focused on the videogame-like screen. He knew what he should do. He should have someone talk him through the landing. Except he couldn’t reveal his identity or the true situation. He had a dead body on board. The airport would pull out all the emergency vehicles. It would be a circus.

And if word got out he was alive…the fewer people who knew he was still breathing the better. No. He had to make this work. He’d flown planes before. Like riding a bike.

“Los Angeles Center, this is Camelot three-two-nine. Request lower altitude.”

“Descend to twenty-four-thousand feet. What, were you joining the mile-high club?”

Yeah, funny guy. The controller barked out instructions. Zach set the altimeter and heading, then sifted through the captain’s flight bag and found the aircraft operations manual. “At least I have step-by-step instructions,” Zach muttered.

His head ached at the number of pages. He didn’t have much time. He skimmed the section on normal operations. Like this was normal. Reading the manual the first time twenty minutes from landing made even the adrenaline junkie in him sweat.