Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) (20 page)

A loud boom from the front
of the plane sent a shock wave back through the craft that flung him back in
his seat and blew the air from his lungs. The next moment, a brilliant
explosion in the engine seared his eyes and blinded him.

“Fuck!”

The silence of the cockpit
evaporated under the screaming wind as the integrity of the cabin
disintegrated. Derek pulled the ejection lever instinctually. The benefit of
practicing emergency procedures repeatedly was that when the time came to put
them into use it required no conscious thought on his part. His body knew what
needed to be done and acted before his mind processed the explosion and how
dire the situation was.

The plane disintegrated
around him as he jettisoned out and through the air, clear of the plane and
attendant debris that could have taken him out. He watched the plane tumble
through the air below him, more explosions rocking the body and blowing it
apart. If he had waited one more second to pull the lever, he would have still
been inside and unable to escape the inferno.

When he reached the apex of
the jettisoned arc, Derek’s body again took control and brought itself into the
correct position in the air to stabilize
himself
and
ensure his chute would open with no malfunctions. He formed an arch with his
hips thrust toward the ground as though he were a giant badminton birdie set to
glide down to earth.

He pulled the chute as he
accelerated toward the ground, watching it grow nearer. The fabric flared
behind him and caught the air as it opened. Free fall halted, and the shoulder
straps creaked as they absorbed his weight against the chute’s resistance.

There was a loud ripping
sound, and Derek’s stomach lurched as he dropped another several inches before
being brought up short again. He looked up to see the shoulder straps giving
way. A deep and straight cut through most of the strap had begun to tear the
rest of the way.

A million thoughts rushed
through Derek’s mind, and he struggled to keep from being buried underneath the
litany of useless contributions from his panicked brain. If the shoulder straps
went, he would fall out of the canopy and drop to his death on the ground
below.

He reached up as high as he
could and grabbed for the webbing of the rigging, the strong material the lines
of the parachute attached to. Just as his fingers were about close down, the
shoulder strap gave way, and he fell.

Derek’s fingers caught in
the lowest segment of the webbing, the fingertips crooked enough to prevent him
from falling. The weight that had been evenly distributed across his shoulder
and thigh straps was suddenly entirely on his fingertips, and he howled in pain
as he hung on for his life.

All control of the chute was
lost, and Derek looked on as the ground drifted by underfoot. He was still too
high to hear anything from the ground, the wind whipping around him the only
sound to compete with his grunts as he willed his muscles to hold on. He
drifted further and further away from the airport and a safe landing space, out
over the big lake alongside the
air field
’s property.

“Come on,” he said as he
leaned to one side in an unsuccessful effort to circle back. Landing in the
water was not high on his list of priorities—he could tangle in his
equipment and drown. Flat ground was the far safer choice, with ground crews
ready to respond.

Then he had bigger problems
than where the chute would set him down. His fingers cramped from the effort of
holding his entire body weight, and he focused his entire being onto just
holding on.

Come on, Derek, you can do this. Just hold on. Just hold on. You can do
this. Just hold on.

It became a mantra, a
rallying cry. The mental litany continued, on and on, his only mission to not
let his fingers give way under the intense pressure. He stopped looking at the
ground, stopped thinking about anything but the need to keep holding on and not
let go.

The wind died down and the
quality of the surrounding sounds changed, and Derek squeezed one eye open to
look around. He had dropped rapidly and approached the surface of the lake. It
was too late to see where he would land, but he did what he could to brace for
impact.

With the complete lack of
control, there was no way for him to flare his parachute to make a light
landing. It would hurt no matter what he did—both his vertical and
horizontal speeds were far too fast.

The moment of impact was
upon him, and he took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he bothered—a
second later it was torn from his body as he slammed into the unforgiving
surface of the water. It pulled him in and dragged him down as the chute
continued on overhead. His fingers, trained to hold on for so long, couldn’t
let go, frozen into position. The chute dragged him forward under the water,
searing pain shooting through his arms and shoulders as his body was tugged in
two separate directions.

He tried to scream, but
nothing came out except for a gargle, and he lost the last of his precious air
as the water rushed in to replace it. Unable to control his body’s reflexes,
Derek gulped
lungfuls
of water, the chilled liquid
entering his body and causing a violent reaction.

After a short period, the
struggle ceased. The water had claimed him, and he lost all reason to resist.
It was so much more peaceful to lie there and let the darkness claim him. He
was owed rest, and it arrived.

Harsh, artificial light shone into Sara’s eyes as
she blinked them open. The light triggered blinding pain in her forehead as she
struggled to sit up and found that she couldn’t.

“What happened?” she asked
no one in particular as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

It appeared to be an office,
and could have been one of a dozen at the paper’s headquarters in Chicago. She
had to fight through fog cobwebbing her thoughts to decide there was no way she
could be in Chicago.

The light came from standard
fluorescent lights, and she lay on a bench facing toward a desk that held an
office chair before it. A window beside the desk showed her nothing but blue
sky from her position. It all looked mundane.

“Why am I here?”

Sara tried to bring her
hands to her head to press against her scalp and probe why she had such
splitting pain there, but found her hands wouldn’t move the way she wanted them
to. She looked down.

Her hands were bound with
zip ties, and they were secured to similar zip ties that kept her feet
together. The dress Becky had made for her was torn in a few places, and for a
moment, that was worse than her own situation.

The office was empty of any
other human presence, but Sara didn’t know whether to find that disturbing or
comforting. How was she supposed to know who kept her here, or where “here”
was?

“Hello?”

There was no response. Sara
tried once more to sit up and now she knew the nature of her bonds she was more
successful. It took effort, but she could push herself upright on her elbows
and swing her feet off the bench. She had to remain hunched over since there
was hardly any slack in her bonds.

How did I get here?

The air conditioning was
aggressive.
Too much so.
Her legs, bare under the
dress Becky had made for her, were freezing.

The dress… the date!

Memories came back to her in
bits and pieces—the date with Derek, Ron’s appearance and his betrayal of
her assignment to Derek. Derek’s response, and the way she had run away from
the restaurant to avoid dealing with Ron after she slapped him.

Did Ron do this?
He was a creep, and a big asshole, but this was pushing things too
far, even for him. Still, it was all she had to go on.

“Ron? Are you out there? Did
you do this?” She waited for a response.

There were a few sounds
beyond the office door, and Sara waited with bated breath for a possible
response.

The handle twisted, and the
door opened. A man Sara had never seen before entered.

He was a tall, lean figure.
His face was severe, and he held no expression on his face she could read. He
looked at her with the interest a person might show to a goldfish in a bowl. A
nice suit clothed him, but although the fabric itself fit well, it didn’t look
like a natural fit for him. His movements were stiff and formal and very
precise, and something about them jogged Sara’s memory. She had seen people
like this before during one of her investigations.

Like a
wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She had only seen military agents hold themselves
like that.

The man’s arm stayed behind
him oddly, almost as though it was second nature for him to hide it from
others’ sight.

“Who are you?” she asked.
“Why have you taken me here?”

He leaned against the edge
of the desk facing her, but didn’t respond to her questions. His eyes narrowed,
and he spoke. “What information do you have on Derek Devereux?”

Sara shook her head. “I’m
not telling you anything about Derek until you tell me what right you have to
kidnap me and bring me here against my will. Where am I? What kind of place is
this?”

The man’s face tightened.
“Girl, you can make this a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate. I hold all
the cards here, and I could make you disappear with no one the wiser. So you
had better talk, and talk quick. Otherwise, you’ll find out what it’s like to
get on my bad side.”

“What do you want to know
about Derek? It’s not like I can help you if I don’t even know what information
you’re looking for. He’s a public figure, a celebrity. Almost all the details
of his private life are right there in the tabloids for anyone to read.”
Playing stupid was her best option.

The hidden hand appeared as
it crashed through the surface of the desk. Wood splintered as the clenched
fist tore through the
fibers
. The sight reminded Sara
of something she had seen, but she couldn’t recall what. She shivered at the
ease with which the man pulverized such a solid piece of furniture.

“Don’t play me for a fool,
Ms. Flight. I know you have much more about Derek Devereux than you are letting
on. If you don’t talk, then I will assume you are a threat, and eliminate you.
Believe me when I say I hope that won’t become necessary.” He lifted his hand
from the crater it had made in the glossy finish of the rich wooden surface,
and finally Sara could get a good look at the appendage.

That’s not a normal hand!

It was black and glossy,
reminiscent of the carbon
fiber
accents on a few of
Derek’s cars. A carefully crafted masterpiece, it looked very similar to a real
hand but was obviously not one. It could have been a fancy and unique glove,
but there was a certain something about the way the digits moved that
telegraphed the mechanical nature of the workings underneath the surface.

And on the edge of the palm,
on what would have been the padded part of the thumb joint on a normal human
hand, was the Onyx Company logo.

Her eyes widened before she
could help herself.

To see the Devereux company
logo on this man’s hand asking questions about Derek—she was confused.
And the power of that hand! She wouldn’t be surprised if he could punch through
metal considering how easily he’d destroyed the desk.

Wait, punch through metal?
Suddenly the familiarity of the damage came back to
her. Her and Becky’s apartment was torn apart by someone who could drive a
dagger into the metal of the door, who could rip into it and tear it apart like
it was butter. The man standing in front of her was the only person she had met
who might have been able to pull off something like that. And he had kidnapped
her off the streets and brought her here to ask questions about Derek.

As an investigative
journalist, she didn’t believe in coincidences that big. They didn’t exist. Not
in her world, and not in any other—she was positive of it.

It had been too long since
she’d last spoken, and she didn’t want him to know she was slowly puzzling her
way through the facts. She needed to keep him talking in case he revealed more.

“Why would you have to
eliminate me?” Sara asked. “What threat am I to you? I’m just a journalist. I
know nothing about you, or what you want. I don’t know what I’m doing here or
why Derek matters to you.”

He growled. “You can stop
playing that act, Ms. Flight. My employer has a good idea of what you are
capable of and the knowledge you can extract from your sources. He doesn’t want
you anywhere near the Devereux brothers or the Onyx Company where you might
stumble across things you don’t understand and are too big for you to see. It
could compromise everything from the company’s goals to national security. That
isn’t what you want to have on your conscience, is it, Ms. Flight?”

At least he genuinely seems to have a goal other than getting
information from me and killing me.
It didn’t give her total confidence in the
situation, but it made her feel better about her prospects than she had when
the man turned a perfectly good desk into kindling.

“So, the company is up to
something big?”

The mechanical hand whirred
gently as it clenched tight. He had remarkable control over the thing. It wasn’t
a typical replacement for a lost hand, but appeared to have at least as much
utility as a real one. Not to mention the sheer strength behind it.

“Just stick to what I’ve
asked you. Tell me what you know about Derek and the company. Once we’ve
ascertained you’re no threat, we can let you go so long as you promise to never
attempt to return to the city, get in contact with Derek or his brothers, or
poke your nose into the company’s business ever again. And trust me, the
company has ways of knowing what you are doing. There is no way you could ever
get off a single inquiry without them hearing about it—online, offline,
in a coffee shop, or elsewhere. The name Onyx is never to cross your lips
again, or else your life will end faster than you would believe.”

It sounded like a bluff.
There was no way anyone could follow through on such a threat, but his face
betrayed none of the
telltale
signs of such lies.
Signs Sara had been trained to pick up on and detect. He spoke with the easy
confidence of those who spoke nothing but the truth.

It was still hard to believe
a shadowy corporation could have so much power, but she’d seen government
contracts and research grants. The man’s hand alone was proof it wasn’t all a
mirage.

Onyx research… didn’t I read something about an Onyx experiment ending
badly?

Sara’s memory was fantastic,
one thing that helped her draw together seemingly random and unrelated facts
and events and correlate them. She’d found only one article about the Onyx
company
, and it had involved a soldier testing equipment and
losing a hand in the accident. Everything started to make more sense. Human
nature was always the central driver behind any mystery.

It gave her an upper hand.
Not much of one, but it
was
all she had to go on. If
this man could be believed, the threat against the Devereux brothers originated
from within the Onyx Company all along. Rex had been nothing more than the
idiotic fool they had all thought. Any other foes had been mere distractions.
The real question was why the company wanted to kill Derek and his brothers.
Evan had inserted himself into the thick of things—was it possible his
efforts made someone high in the company nervous? Was he on the verge of
discovering something big he might not agree with?

“Why are you going after the
Devereux brothers?” Sara asked again. “They own the company, and you shouldn’t
be doing anything that might harm them. Are you acting in the interests of the
company, or is there someone else you call master, Chad Hunter?”

He stared at her, jaw
dropped. “How the hell do you know my name?”

It had been an educated
guess, but Sara didn’t let on. “Tell me, Chad, are you bitter you lost your
hand in service to the company? Is that why you were so willing to turn on the
owners? Did you think they deserved to suffer pain for what you went through?”

The cybernetic hand lifted
to his chest and his remaining flesh and blood hand cradled it and stroked the
artificial material. Chad’s mouth hardened. “They don’t care about the people
who work for them. When I lost my hand, the company wouldn’t do anything about
it. If it weren’t for Mr. Knight, I would have been crippled for the rest of my
life. He’s the one who got me this replacement straight out of the development
labs. I would have had only half a life if it weren’t for him.”