Chương 8
"Hands up, Jonathan."
He stood slowly.
The theatrical collapse was gone now.
So were the tears.
From the rescue boat, I watched him raise both hands beneath the hard floodlights.
Marcus leaned closer to the screen.
"He's deciding whether to run."
"There's nowhere to run."
"That doesn't mean people don't try."
Jonathan turned in a slow circle.
The agents had closed every path toward the hangars and access road.
A ground crewman who had been approaching him backed away with both palms raised.
One of the mechanics ducked behind the fuel cart.
The world was not composed of trained professionals after all.
Some people simply wanted not to get shot at work.
"Jonathan Pierce," the loudspeaker said.
"Keep your hands visible and do not reach into your clothing."
His mouth moved.
The microphone on the airfield picked up only fragments.
"My wife."
"Later."
"She fell."
"Hands higher."
He raised them.
A federal agent approached from his left with a rifle trained on him.
Another moved toward the helicopter.
Jonathan glanced toward Owen.
"Don't touch him!"
His voice cracked across the tarmac.
The agents stopped for half a beat.
Then the lead agent answered.
"We are going to secure the pilot."
"He's involved."
Owen finally moved.
Slowly, he lifted both hands away from the controls.
Blood had soaked the side of his collar.
Jonathan saw it.
His face changed again.
"He attacked me."
I almost dropped the phone.
Marcus muttered something under his breath.
Jonathan continued.
"He attacked me after my wife jumped."
Owen looked straight ahead.
He did not respond.
The restraint in him made Jonathan's panic look worse.
"Get on your knees," an agent ordered.
Jonathan hesitated.
"Do you know who I am?"
The question was so familiar I nearly laughed.
He had spent years resenting my name opening doors, and now he was reaching for his own version of the same privilege.
The agent did not react.
"Knees."
Jonathan lowered himself to the concrete.
His jacket shifted.
The pistol became visible at his waistband.
Several agents shouted at once.
"Gun!"
"Do not move!"
"Hands up!"
Jonathan jerked instinctively.
Every rifle rose.
I stopped breathing.
For a moment, the entire airfield seemed balanced on the movement of one terrified man's fingers.
Jonathan stared at the weapons aimed at him.
Then he lifted his hands higher.
"Don't shoot."
Nobody did.
The lead agent approached from behind and removed the pistol.
Another forced Jonathan forward and cuffed his wrists.
His cheek struck the tarmac.
He screamed.
Not from pain, I thought.
From humiliation.
The man who had expected to land as a widower was lying facedown beneath floodlights while strangers cataloged the contents of his pockets.
The screen shook as Marcus changed cameras.
Owen was being helped from the helicopter.
His knees nearly buckled when his boots touched the ground.
Two agents caught him.
"Get medical on him," I said.
"They're already moving."
"Tell them head injury."
"Victoria."
"Tell them."
Marcus relayed it through his radio anyway.
Dana glanced at me.
"Your blood pressure is climbing."
"That seems reasonable."
"Your body doesn't care whether it's reasonable."
She checked the fetal heart rate again.
The rapid thudding filled the boat.
Still there.
Still fast.
The tightening returned.
This one hurt.
I sucked in a breath.
Dana's head lifted.
"Again?"
I nodded.
"How long since the last one?"
Marcus looked at his watch.
"Six minutes."
Dana stared at him.
"You were timing?"
"I time everything."
"Well, congratulations on finally being useful."
He did not answer.
I would have laughed on any other night.
Instead I gripped the side rail until the pressure eased.
"That was stronger."
Dana placed a hand against my abdomen.
"We're almost at the dock."
"I need five minutes at the airfield."
"No."
"I don't need to get out of the ambulance."
"No."
"The airfield is on the route."
"It isn't."
I looked at Marcus.
He avoided my eyes.
Traitor.
"You planned the hospital route around me."
"Yes."
"Before I fell?"
"Thursday."
That stopped me.
Marcus had known exactly what I would try to do.
I looked down at the phone.
Jonathan was being pulled to his feet.
His face was scraped along one cheek.
An agent spoke close to him.
I could not hear the words.
Jonathan suddenly twisted around.
"Where is she?"
The question carried through the microphone.
No one answered.
"My wife."
He pulled against the cuffs.
"Where is Victoria?"
The lead agent said something too low to hear.
Jonathan stared at him.
Then he began shaking his head.
"No."
The agent spoke again.
Jonathan's knees bent.
For one brief instant, I thought he knew.
Then he shouted.
"She jumped!"
His voice was raw.
"You ask the pilot."
Owen was sitting on the edge of an ambulance now with gauze pressed against his head.
Jonathan pointed at him with both cuffed hands.
"He saw it."
Owen looked up.
Their eyes met across the tarmac.
Jonathan's expression shifted from accusation to command.
"Tell them."
Owen said nothing.
"Tell them what happened."
One of the agents stepped between them.
Jonathan craned around him.
"She opened the door herself."
Owen lowered the gauze.
His face was gray.
"No."
Jonathan stopped.
Owen's voice was quiet, but the microphone caught it.
"You opened it."
The air seemed to leave Jonathan's body.
"You liar."
Owen looked at the agent beside him.
"He forced her toward the door with a firearm."
"Shut up."
"He put his left hand on her waist."
"Shut up!"
"And he pushed her."
Jonathan lunged.
The agents holding him barely moved.
He went nowhere.
"You son of a bitch!"
The mask was gone completely now.
He kicked backward, twisting against the cuffs.
"She paid you!"
Owen watched him without expression.
"She owns you!"
I closed my eyes.
That line hurt in a place I had not expected.
Because underneath the rage was the grievance Jonathan had carried into the helicopter.
Everyone around me was bought.
May you like
Everyone around me belonged to me.
Maybe that was how he had survived loving a woman wealthier and more powerful than he was.
