Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(55)

“Let’s blow this Popsicle stand!” he yelled into his mic so the others would know they were about to start taxiing.

Fear and purpose fueled his movements as he powered up. The plane responded like a dream, engines providing thrust as he used his feet to steer them down the tarmac and away from the man in the truck. The rain sheeted off the front windshield as the wipers worked like crazy to combat it. The runway lights were a dim blur. The radio squawked with air traffic controller jabber, but it wasn’t coming from the local tower, as it was closed for the night.

Cusco airport was remote enough that it only saw a handful of flights each day, and those stopped long before sundown. So the good news? He didn’t have to worry about air traffic on takeoff. The bad news? It was going to be a hell of a ride. The wind had to be blowing damn near 20 mph.

The boom and the pop of Zoelner and Chelsea’s weapons came to an abrupt halt once he’d gone thirty yards down the runway. And when he heard the stairs fold in, the door close with a thunk, and the light on his console told him the door’s lock was engaged, he wiped a hand over his wet brow, wincing when he inadvertently touched his wound. A second later, Zoelner, drenched and shivering, slid into the copilot’s chair.

“We good?” Dan asked him. Just two words that conveyed about ten separate questions.

Zoelner knew what he was after. “The ladies are fine. I’m fine. Winterfield is still alive and still a f*cking traitor. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dan said, turning the plane around when he reached the end of the runway. A quick look to his left told him the wind sock was standing straight and pointing fifteen degrees off center. The rain was still coming down by the bucketful. And the mountain peaks were completely obscured by clouds. He and Zoelner were going to have to rely on their gauges instead of their eyes.

“This is going to be one suck-ass takeoff,” Zoelner said after checking the conditions outside and sneaking a peek at the wind sock.

Dan smiled. Getting his pilot’s license had been part of his recovery. Initially he’d done it because it accomplished a few important things. One, it had filled a hole that had been left in the Black Knights’ personnel. They’d needed another fixed-wing pilot besides Zoelner. There had been too many times in the last few years when the Knights had had to rely on contracted pilots to get them to and from where they were going. And in their line of work, where mum’s the word, that was a problem.

Two, it had given Dan a goal to shoot for. Which, let’s face it, he’d desperately needed. You know, that whole not-caring-if-I-wake-up thing.

Three, it kept him away from the bottle since flying drunk or hungover was out of the question. He was an * but he’d never be that much of an *.

And four, when he had the yoke in hand and he was up in the clear blue, the world seemed to come into focus, and all his problems, all his hurts and regrets seemed…less somehow. Smaller somehow. Maybe because at twenty thousand feet, the world was smaller.

But regardless of why he’d originally decided to get his license, the truth was he loved flying. And in the last dozen months he’d logged over a thousand hours through rain, sleet, snow, and gale-force winds. He was like the motherf*cking U.S. Postal Service—nothing kept him from his rounds. And not to toot his own horn or anything, but he was a damn good pilot. A natural, according to his instructors.

So even though Zoelner was right that this takeoff was going to suck something fierce, Dan had no doubt that between the two of them, they could pull it off without a hitch. Chelsea wasn’t as convinced.

“I don’t like the sound of a suck-ass takeoff,” she piped up from the back, their mics still keeping them all connected.

“I second that opinion,” Penni’s dear, sweet voice thrummed through Dan’s ears.

He could have told Penni any number of truths right then, starting with We don’t have a lotta options to I’d sooner die than put you in any more danger, but what he ended up going with was, “Don’t worry, ladies. We got this.” He winked over at Zoelner and saw one corner of the former CIA agent’s mouth twitch. Though neither one of them liked to admit it, they absolutely lived for this shit.

He heard the ladies grumbling through his earpiece, their voices competing with the squawk and the chatter of the radio. And even though he would have loved to continue to listen to Penni, to have her voice in his head, he and Zoelner couldn’t afford any distractions. Dan flipped off the power on his mic and saw Zoelner do the same. Then he reached under his headset, pulled out his earpiece, and stuffed it in the hip pocket of his sopping wet jeans before grabbing the throttle and shoving it forward. He got a little giddy when the thrum of the twin-turbo engines shoved them back in their seats.

The King Air ate up the runway like the aerial beast she was, gaining momentum by the second, the front edges of her wings gripping the air, impatient for lift. They’d just about reached takeoff speed when Mr. Mystery came barreling down the runway toward them. The truck’s bare rim sparked against the tarmac and flashed yellow through the driving rain.

“Motherf*cker!” Zoelner yelled, his knuckles white around the copilot’s yoke. Water dripped from his hair and his ears as the Beechcraft shimmied and shook in anticipation of jumping into the air. “Whoever this guy is, he’s a damned lunatic!”

Dan did not disagree, and he could not wait to leave the bastard behind. “Hold on!” he yelled, knowing his voice carried through the open cockpit door. And to borrow a line from Chelsea, “This one’s gonna be a doozy!”