Everything else was blocked out.
The trees, the sandy shoreline, the blue sky and the sun glinting off the nose of the plane. All of that was invisible—the only thing Hal could see was water, a dark blue magnet that was sucking them closer and closer by the second, to either oblivion or sanctuary.
At that point, Hal didn’t know which it was going to be—all he knew was that a crash landing in the lake was the only option they had. They were out of fuel and the rear landing gear was defective.
He’d executed a water landing only once before. While flying a turbo prop for Air America, the nickname for the unofficial CIA drug smuggling airline.
Hal had been flying into Key West from Columbia with a cargo hold full of heroin. Both engines on the old plane had cut out twenty miles from the coast of Florida, and he had no choice but to drop the plane into the rough waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It was a small plane, so it was an easy swan dive. He’d radioed ahead to the eager beavers of the DEA, and they met him with a fleet of cigar boats.
Hal allowed himself a wry smile as he remembered that the DEA agents had been more concerned with the precious cargo than they were about him. After unloading the floating plane that was on the verge of going under, he recalled that they even debated whether or not there was going to be room for him in the boats.
Hal had been fast on the draw though, much faster than they were. And, only at gunpoint, did they manage to clear out a small space on the floor for little old Hal.
This time, there wouldn’t be a fleet of boats meeting him. But luckily, the lake looming large in his view was narrow. And, thankfully, it was also long, which was a godsend for a plane this size.
The close proximity of the shoreline should allow them the opportunity to swim for it if they survived the splash landing. But he knew that the water would be cold—even though it was still autumn, he knew that mountain lakes at this high altitude only warmed up to about fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit at the best of times. So, they would have to swim fast to avoid hypothermia.
The plane was crossing the end of the lake now, and Hal skilfully manipulated the yoke to adjust the attitude of the nose. He pushed forward, lowering the jumbo jet to only about 100 feet above the water, then just as quickly pulled back on it to level the plane out of the dive. They were now parallel to the surface of the water.
“Flaps up.”
“Roger. Flaps up.”
Ted glanced over at Hal. “How are you going to do this?”
“The flaps will slow us down quite a bit. The lake is long, thank God, so we have a bit of space.”
Hal then quickly pulled back on his yoke. “Help me, Ted. Pull back on yours.”
Ted joined him in the exercise.
“Hal, won’t we start climbing again?”
He pointed at the fuel gauge. “No, we’re riding on empty now. The higher attitude of the nose and belly will merely help slow the plane down before we hit. Luckily, even without fuel, battery power allows us full use of the hydraulics.”
Ted nodded, and took a deep breath.
Hal turned his head and glanced back at Brock and Ziv. He noticed that their faces were as white as sheets.
“You guys okay?”
Neither of them said a word. Their eyes were glued to the ominous sight facing them through the windshield. A dark blue body of water that, from their point of view, probably looked bottomless.
“Guys?”
Brock snapped out of his trance. “Yeah, fine, Dad.”
Ziv followed Brock’s lead. “Do your thing, Hal. We trust you.”
Hal chuckled. “I guess you have no choice! When we get out of the plane, swim like you’ve never swum before. The water will be very cold. Leave the lifejackets behind—they’ll just slow you down.
“When I yell to brace, you know what to do. We’re going to hit the water with a lot of force, so put your heads between your legs. And Ted, for you and me, there’s no room to bend our heads over, so push forward hard on the yoke at the very last second.
“And I mean, very last second. I’ll be pulling the nose up just before we hit, so that the force of the impact will be absorbed by the belly. If the nose is too far down, it’ll hit the water first and we’ll somersault. So, push forward on the yoke once you hear the water splashing onto the belly. No earlier. I can’t stress this enough.”
Silence from his co-pilot.
“Ted, did you hear me? Do you understand? We don’t want to slam forward and hit our chests against the yokes, so push forward but at the last second only.”
Ted swallowed hard. “I hear you, Hal. I’m just in a bit of shock. I’ve trained to do this, but suddenly I seem to have forgotten everything.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve done one of these before. No sweat.”
Ted nodded. Suddenly, he pointed through the windshield. “Jesus! Look!”
Hal saw it at almost the same time. A boat with what looked like two occupants, right smack in the middle of the lake.
*****
“Dad! Do something!”
For a few moments, Kirk felt like he was daydreaming. This couldn’t be happening—it had to be a dream.
Riley’s frantic voice brought him back to reality.
The plane was huge, with a wingspan that appeared to take up the entire width of the lake. And it was almost as if it was flying in slow motion—and oh so silently. The plane seemed to be creeping up on them, aiming right for them.
Without a doubt, with the angle that it was at, the massive jet was going to land right on top of them. It was so close to the water now that the belly appeared to be kissing the gentle waves of Twelve Mile Lake.
Kirk abandoned his half-dead brown trout and dashed to the front of the boat. He turned the key in the ignition, and slammed the gear shift into Forward.
“Riley, lay down on the floor and wrap your arms around the legs of the chair!”
The child didn’t have to be told twice. Riley took one last look down the lake and screamed. Then she dove to the floor and held on tight to the pedestal legs of the elevated seat. She didn’t even care that the flip-flopping trout’s snout was practically in her face.
Kirk spun the wheel of the sleek boat, rammed the throttle to full power, and then turned in the direction of the shore. The bow of the boat rose in the air, but they only moved a few feet. Kirk panicked. He stole a quick glance down the lake while pushing hard on the throttle. The plane was looming larger in his vision now, and it would only be a matter of seconds before it crashed on top of them.
Kirk kept the throttle at full power, but the boat was still barely moving in the water. He could hear the engine straining to its limits.
Suddenly, he knew why.
The anchor!
He’d forgotten about the anchor!
No time to pull it up now.
Kirk shut down the engine, then dashed back to the middle of the boat. He grabbed Riley around the stomach and forcibly yanked her arms away from the mounted chair legs.
Then he swung her into the air and tossed her overboard.
He dove in after her.
Riley surfaced first, sputtering and screaming at the top of her lungs. Kirk broke the surface a second later and quickly slapped her across the face. He yelled at her. “Wrap your arms around my neck! We have to dive!”
She obeyed. Kirk took three quick breaths, the most rapid hyperventilation he’d ever done. Then he allowed for one last glance upward. The monster was close, very close.
He dove.
*****
The forward motion of the giant airplane was already kicking spray up onto the windshield of the cockpit. Hal flipped on the wipers.
In Hal’s estimation, they were only about fifty feet above the surface of the water now. At their present rate of descent, it looked like they were going to come right down on top of the boat.
“Brace!”
He pulled back on the yoke, which immediately corrected their downward motion. It was going to be close, but he was confident now that they would miss the boat, probably by just a few feet. At that same instant, he saw the man toss the little girl into the water and dive after her.
He breathed a sigh of relief, then pushed down on the yoke one last time. The nose of the plane responded immediately, and he could sense that the plane was now skimming the surface.
“Ted! Yank back hard!”
Both pilots pulled back on their yokes and the plane made its last nose-up manoeuvre. Hal could feel the upward motion and no longer saw water. All that was in his vision now was blue sky.
The belly of the plane hit the lake hard. The rushing sound of water frothing against the airframe was deafening.
Hal issued one last command. “Ted, push forward! Brace!”
In unison, the pilots pushed forward on their yokes and locked their elbows in place to prevent their upper bodies from lurching dangerously into the control column.
The plane snowploughed through the water for at least a hundred yards before finally coming to a stop and settling down, the friendly lake sloshing against the side cockpit windows.
Hal leaned forward and sighed.
There was a faint moaning sound from the backseats. He glanced back and noticed that Ziv’s forehead was resting against Ted’s chair back. He seemed to be okay other than being just a little dazed.
Hal then looked at Brock. He flashed his dad a relieved smile—didn’t say a word, but found the strength to give him a thumbs up sign.
With everyone distracted, Ted suddenly made his move.
In one swift motion, he clicked off his seatbelt and whirled around. His hand grasped onto the grip of Ziv’s pistol and pulled it out of his holster.
*****
Kirk and Riley surfaced, both gasping for breath after what seemed like an eternity under water. The first thing Kirk did was look toward his boat—he was relieved to see that it was still intact and none the worse the wear. The plane had missed it. The vessel was rocking in the waves created by the jet’s landing, pulling hard against the anchor that was still resting on the bottom.
He glanced up the lake. The big jet had come to rest about a football field away, and it looked like it was already starting to sink into the depths.
“Riley, swim back to the boat! We have to try to rescue them!”
*****
Hal was too exhausted to react. He was vaguely aware of Ted’s sudden movement, and felt the instant panic of knowing that a gun was on its way to being pointed at his head. But his usual lightning instincts didn’t kick in fast enough.
Brock’s did. As Hal recoiled back against the side window at the threat that was coming his way, Brock’s foot lashed out from the back of the cockpit, striking Ted’s wrist just hard enough to knock the gun loose.
Hal’s own gun was in his hand a millisecond later. The long and deadly barrel rammed up against his co-pilot’s forehead. Ted raised his hands, and shouted, “No, Hal! Please!”
Hal’s finger was twitching against the trigger. He didn’t know why he was hesitating. Maybe it was the stress they’d both just undergone as pilots together—partners in an intense experience that was hard to explain or even define. But—there was something causing him to pause. It didn’t even matter to Hal that, if not for Brock, Ted probably would have blown his head off.
He just wasn’t eager to pull the trigger.
Hal’s life had never been about revenge or retaliation. Whenever he’d killed, it had always had purpose—either he had been paid to do it, or it was to eliminate a genuine obstacle or threat.
This time, he wasn’t being paid, and neither was Ted a real threat. Thanks to Brock, the threat was over.
His moment of indecision received divine intervention—in the form of a strong and familiar hand on his wrist, forcing the barrel of the gun up in the direction of the cockpit ceiling.
Brock whispered. “No, Dad. No one else is going to die today.”
Hal looked into his son’s compassionate eyes, and nodded.
He stuffed the gun back into his waistband, while Brock retrieved the one off the floor that he’d kicked out of Ted’s hand.
Ted muttered, “Thanks, Hal.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank my son.”
Hal unfastened his seatbelt, stood up and glanced out the side window.
“I think we’re going to be spared a swim, boys. That boat’s coming for us. Let’s move before this thing sinks.”
Hal led the way back to the emergency exit over the wing, on the port side of the jet. He swung the handle and pulled the door inward. At that same instant as the door opened, a hatch door opened automatically along the side of the airframe, about four feet away from the door. A slide popped out and inflated. First, a “step” portion that covered the initial three feet of the wing structure. Then the rest of the thing inflated, which was the slide portion itself, extending down from the step section right to the surface of the water.
Hal put his hand on Ziv’s shoulder. He still looked a bit dazed. “Are you okay?”
Ziv rubbed his bruised forehead. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just more shocked to be alive than anything else. That was one miracle landing you pulled off, Hal. I’m stunned. Thanks.”
Hal laughed, stuck his head out the exit door, and looked skyward. “I think we all might have someone else to thank today.”
He motioned for his three companions to go ahead of him. “Remember, stand only on the step part that’s inflated, near the base of the wing. Don’t walk further out onto the wing—it won’t hold you.”
Hal noticed that the fishing boat had already pulled up alongside the slide. He cheerily waved to the occupants.
“Hey, our welcoming party is here. It looks like we won’t even get wet.”
*****
They were standing on the shore of Twelve Mile Lake. The four of them had helped Kirk and Riley pull their boat up onto the sand, and now Hal was looking towards the forest. A truck and boat trailer were parked on a dirt road.
Hal pointed. “Is that your truck, Kirk?”
“Yes.”
Hal held out his hand. “Give me the keys. We need to borrow it.”
Kirk hesitated. Brock reached into his pocket and pulled out the large roll of bills that Sean Russell had given them. He peeled off 1,000 dollars.
“Here, for your trouble.”
Kirk must have noticed the pistol in Brock’s waistband when he reached into his pocket, because his hesitation ended quickly. He took the money and handed the keys to Hal.
Then he directed his gaze back to Brock—from the gun in his waist, right up to his face.
“Am I going crazy or are you the actor, Brock Winters?”
Brock laughed. “I get that all the time. I can only wish, huh?”
Kirk frowned, not convinced. Then he turned back to Hal. “Where will my truck be?”
Hal ignored the question. “How do we get to the Laramie airport from here?”
Kirk pointed. “Go north on the dirt road for about five minutes, then hang a left onto Hwy 130. Keep going west until you hit Aerospace Drive, then go left again. That’ll lead you right into the Laramie airport. Should take you no longer than ten minutes.”
Hal squinted as he gazed off into the west. “Well, that’s where your truck will be, then. We have another flight to catch.”
Hal smiled at the father and daughter team. “Ciao. And—thanks for plucking us out of the lake. We appreciate it.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the truck and his three companions followed.
Hal suddenly stopped, turned, and put his hand up. “No, Ted. You can hike to the airport with Kirk and Riley. I don’t want to have to worry about what to do with you.”
Hal, Brock, and Ziv climbed into the truck and Hal started the ignition. Just then, he noticed a little hand resting on the window frame. Riley was leaning against the door, her innocently pretty face gazing up at him.
“We have to scoot, Riley. Back away, girl.”
“I know, I know. But, before you go, Mister, what happened? Why were there no other passengers on that big plane?”
“There were, Riley. At one time, a long time ago—there were.”
*****
As Hal was turning the truck onto Aerospace Drive, Brock rested his hand on his father’s shoulder.
“Where to next, Dad?”
“I don’t know. Nowhere in the U.S., that’s for sure! Where is it you’ve always wanted to go?”
“Costa Rica. Always wanted to live there.”
“Perfect. That’s where we’ll go, then. And the best part is, it’s next door to Panama—which is where I have a few million stashed in a numbered account.”
Brock laughed. “God, we think so much alike. That’s where I have a few million, too!”
Hal smiled warmly at his favorite son. “Gotta love those tax havens, huh? And the good thing is, I know people in Costa Rica, Panama, and even Nicaragua, from a bunch of jobs I did down there in Central America. So—we’ll have connections.
“Also, there’s no extradition from Costa Rica to the U.S. for political or military matters, and I think what we’ve been involved in qualifies for that protection. And, Ziv, you’re Israeli but also Canadian—there’s no extradition to Canada from Costa Rica for any reason whatsoever.”
Brock glanced at Ziv. “Do you have any money hidden in Panama, Ziv?”
Ziv shook his head. “No, the Mossad obviously wasn’t as generous as the CIA or Hollywood. I think I’ll need a loan from you rich buggers.”
Hal frowned. “A loan? You’re insulting me, Ziv. There’ll be plenty to go around for all three of us amigos, trust me. Life will be good. Well, at the very least, it can’t be worse than Emerald City!”
Brock nudged Ziv’s elbow. “So, what do you think about hiding out in Costa Rica, Ziv?”
“Sounds like a marvelous idea to me. And it’s close to Belize.”
“Why? What’s in Belize?”
Ziv sighed and gazed dreamily out the truck window. “Just a lady I used to know.”
Brock’s curiosity was piqued now. “Oh, really? What’s she like?”
Ziv looked Brock in the eyes and winked. “Cat Woman.”